The Complete Morgaine

by C. J. Cherryh

  Then he realized it for her wound, not his—a doubt she could not lose.

  “There will never be a time,” he said. “There will never be. Liyo, when will you believe it? I cannot leave you. I could never leave you. When will you trust me?”

  There was long silence. He wished that he could see her. The very air ached.

  “I do not know,” she said finally, in a voice hushed and faint. “I do not know why thee should love me.”

  “God in Heaven—”

  But it was not a simple thing that she meant. It was all that she was. It was the whole that she was.

  Chei, then, was not the one she had meant—be his friend. Let him go.

  He took her face between his hands. He kissed her on the brow, and on either cheek, as a man might his kin. He kissed her a third time on the lips, not after the same fashion. It was desperate; it became passionate, and her arms came around him, while the tumult went on outside.

  Then he remembered she had not wanted this, and he heard the arrival of the horses out beside the shelter; and reckoned that there was too much of ill in this place and too much chance of disturbance and too much that they risked. Perhaps she had the same sense of things. He separated himself from her in consternation, and she touched his face.

  “I think they have brought the horses,” she said, foolish for the moment as he was, one heartbeat, one way of thinking, one intention between them, and all of it sliding in that way a dream might—coming apart and passing into the ordinary.

  “Aye,” he said, feeling himself still breathing in time with her, and all the world having shifted in its balances, and still reeling. He drew another breath. “Best I see where the rest of our gear is.”

  And outside, with the horses, dealing with the several men who tried with little success to deal with the gray—“Let him be,” he said, and took the reins himself. “Put the tack over there—” He gave orders while the figures at the fire moved darkly against the glare, and shouts rang out, and his mind was dangerously busier with his liege than it was with Arunden’s men and with Chei and Bron, who had deserted them.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he whispered to the gray stud, and to the mare, the both of which were unsettled by the place, the fire, the strangers about them. He spoke to them in his own tongue, he stroked them with his hands.

  It was strange that he could suddenly be so content to stay a night in this wretched place, or that he could suddenly put the matter of Chei and Chei’s betrayals out of his mind. He went back in, he shared a supper of yesterday’s bread and a little honey and a sip of their own arrhendur liquor, and somehow they sat closer together than they were wont, and leaned together, armored that they were—and not, after all, fools enough to shed it, whatever the temptation.

  “There is time,” she said against his cheek, when they were also fools enough to lie down together, because it was easier than to move elsewhere.

  And what she had said somehow frightened him, like an ill omen.

  There was a third presence by them, an unliving thing. She had laid Changeling on her other side, that fell thing without which she never slept, and with and without which she could not rest.

  Against that, against the things which had begun to move in the world, he knew he had no power.

  Chapter 7

  There had been quiet in the camp for some time, in Vanye’s restless sleep. The tumult around the fire had sunk away. Now a milky daylight was streaming through the reed walls, and he lay with his eyes open a moment content only to breathe and to feel Morgaine’s warmth against his side, and to know that it was no dream that had happened. Sleep, she had bade him finally: if there was harm here they would have done it—only sleep lightly. It had thundered in the last of the night, a little flashing of lightning, a little sifting of rain against the reed roof, no more than that.

  He drifted again, in that half-sleep in which he had spent the little of the night they had had left, alternate with Morgaine, when she would shake at him and tell him it was her turn for an hour of deep rest.

  It was more rest, at least, than sitting awake and battling exhaustion during a first watch: as the course of things had gone, it was rare luxury, considering the weather and the night chill.

  But he came wide awake again at the simultaneous realization that there was a quiet stirring in the camp, and that Morgaine had shifted onto her elbow.

  “They are awake out there,” he said reluctantly; and she:

  “We had best take our leave of this place, gather Chei, and go.”

  “I will find him.”

  She rested her hand on his chest. “Do not stray from here.” Fingers tightened on his harness. “The horses first. Then we both find Chei, if he does not come to us. We can break our fast on the way.”

  She was always cautious. This had other cause. He sensed that suddenly, wider awake than a moment ago, though he did not know which cause of many he could think of.

  “Aye,” he said. He understood it for something of instinct; he did not take his own such impulses lightly, when they came; and Morgaine’s, which were reliable, set a chill into him and cleared his head faster than cold water.

  He gathered himself up and moved.

  • • •

  All the world outside was gray and wet, in a hanging fog—except he had kept the blankets dry, and seeing the likelihood of dew, even if he had not foreseen the rain, had thrown a reed mat over the good leather of their tack—being of mountainous Morija, where heavy dew and sudden rains were ordinary. The horses blew and stamped and threw their heads when he came to saddle them, and shifted skittishly as he worked, liking the drying-off, all the same.

  Around the dead fire below, the women labored, wrapped in blankets, strange moving shapes like their own huts gone animate in the mist, among the less energetic forms of men who had begun to rise and wander about the peripheries of the camp similarly shrouded.

  Morgaine came out with their packs and slung them over Siptah’s saddle, pausing to cast a glance downhill toward the fire-site and the moving figures.

  “There will be aching heads this morning,” Vanye muttered, pulling Arrhan’s girth tight; and heard someone walking near them, through the brush, the which sound set his heart beating a little faster in apprehension. “Who will that be?”

  Morgaine made no answer. She had her cloak slung on one-sided against the cold; and because of the weapons she had. She carried Changeling at her back; and she stood by Siptah’s side looking in the direction of that quiet tread—more than one man was there, that much was certain.

  It was Chei that came out of the mist and the trees, with Bron limping behind him.

  “We are leaving,” Morgaine said quietly. “Chei, one last journey and I release you from your word—guide us as far as the Road. Beyond that—you are quit of us and you can go where you like, with our thanks.”

  “Lady,” Chei said, “you mistake me. Where I want to be, is with you and with Vanye. Myself and Bron, together. We have both decided. He understands everything. He agrees.”

  “There is no need,” Morgaine said with a shake of her head. “Believe me: that one service is all you need do us, and then go back, find some other place, do as you choose.”

  “I am not helpless,” Bron declared fervently—a man much like his brother in all points, but taller. It was the identical anxious look. “Lady, I limp, but I am a whole man on horseback—I shall not slow you; it is my leg that is wounded, that is all, and it is healing. I will not be lame, I have my gear, and I will not slow you.”

  The silence went on then, painfully. “No,” she said then.

  The man drew in his breath, slowly. “Then at least—do not cast Chei off for my sake.”

  “You do not understand,” she said.

  “You do not understand,” Chei said, and held out his hand toward Vanye with that same expression. “Vanye—we were wort
h something to our lord, Bron and I; Bron—Bron was the one he used to say—had no fear of the devil himself. You see he is wounded; but he will heal—I will heal; you have never seen what I can do, and the two of us—you will never regret taking us, we will fight for you, Bron and I, against any of your enemies, human or qhal; we will never find a better lord, I believe that, and Bron believes it—He knows what you might have done here, and did not, and how you dealt with Arunden—and how you dealt with me—Tell her, Vanye. Tell my lady we will repay everything she spends on us. We will earn our keep. We are worth having, Nhi Vanye!”

  “It is not your worth she disputes, Chei.”

  “Then what? Do you doubt us? I brought you through this. I have gotten you safe passage. I swore to you. What do you think—that I have not kept my word? Bron and I—will go with you on our own. We will prove to you what we are worth. Take us on those terms. You owe us nothing. Only for God’s sake do not leave us in Arunden’s debt.”

  Entanglement showed itself, unguessed and dark, an obscurity of honor and obligation. “You mean that Arunden has some claim on you.”

  “For Bron’s life,” Chei said. “For mine, if you leave me here; I will have to trade him everything I own; and most of everything that comes to me or Bron; and then we will never be free of him. One or the other of us he will always find a way to keep in his debt—that is the way he is. Lady, I swear we will manage, we will take nothing of your supplies—have I not brought you my own horse and gear already? Bron has his gear, he has a good horse—he traded his small-sword for it last night. He has his other. We will not slow you. We will earn our way, every step of it.”

  “Foolishness,” Morgaine said harshly. “Two wounded Men and qhalur territory ahead of us. And you would use our supplies. We have no time for hunting.”

  “We have them! We have provisions—we—”

  “Chei. Chei, no. This much I will do, if you have some debt here. Ride with us, both as far as the Road. I will at least get you free of here. You will see us as far as the Road and then we are quit of each other. You will have no debt to me or to Arunden, and that is as much as I can give you. I claim nothing of you.”

  “Did you not promise—promise to me—that you would take me through the gate if I chose?”

  Morgaine stopped for once with her mouth open, caught. Then she shut it abruptly and frowned. “That had condition, condition you cannot meet. You know nothing about the land further on.”

  “I thought it was for my life’s sake—for my protection. Not a few nights gone. I will not deny you that right, you said.”

  “I said I would advise you against it.”

  “But I will go, lady, and my brother will.”

  “You, I said. No other!”

  Chei’s face went paler still. “Both of us. You will not hold me to that. You will not deny me for Bron’s sake, you would not do that, lady.”

  “You do not know what I would do, fool!”

  “I know I will follow you. And Bron will. Both of us. And you will not turn us back. Please.”

  A long moment she stood still. And Chei was next to weeping, Bron’s face pale and set. “You are not afraid for that?” She swept her hand toward the camp, the dead fire, Arunden’s place and others’. “You have no fear of your priest and his curses?”

  “We will follow you.”

  “We will talk about it again before Tejhos. By then, you may have another opinion.”

  “Lady,” Chei said fervently, and knelt down and seized her hand, his brother after him kneeling and taking her hand and pressing it to his brow, the which she endured with a look of dread on her face.

  “We are leaving,” Morgaine told the brothers. “Arm and saddle and take everything you can. I would dispense with any long leave-takings with Arunden, if we can avoid that, Chei. Or if you have to deal with him, say we will remember him kindly—say whatever will keep him content and keep him off our trail.”

  “Aye, lady,” Chei said, and Bron murmured the same, rising with a great effort not to falter in the act. Chei delayed for him and then the both of them went off directly across the camp in all the haste Bron could use.

  Morgaine swore beneath her breath and shook her head.

  “It is freedom you offer them,” Vanye said. “Evidently they are beholden for whatever they take at Arunden’s hand.”

  “If that is all they want,” she muttered, and turned to Siptah to tie the thongs that held her blanket roll. “What would they want?”

  She cast him a frown over her shoulder. “Glory. Whatever else you name it. Power. I have seen it before.” She finished the tie with a vengeance. “No matter. I could be wrong.”

  “You do not understand them. I think that is a good man, Chei’s brother. I think that Chei is trying to be. He is young, liyo, that is all, and too proud, and he knows too little, and acts on it too soon, that is the trouble with him. I have done that, now and again.”

  “Then thee generally did it younger. No, likely I do not understand: men and Men, did I not say it from the beginning? When did I say I kept my promises? I lie; thee knows I lie; tell this boy.”

  “Why am I always the messenger?”

  “Because thee is the honest man in this company. Did I not tell thee how trouble looks for an honest face?”

  “I cannot tell him—”

  “Peace, peace, forbear. We will settle it later. I only want us away from here. We are already delayed. Now we have these two making noise in the camp—”

  “And it is trouble if we slip out without it. You will shame this Arunden if you leave with no courtesy to him.”

  “A wonder, something that would shame Arunden. No, I will pay him courtesy; and well enough it were short courtesy, and ourselves well away from here.” She took Siptah’s reins and flung herself to the saddle, reining back as the horse started forward. “Before noon, I hope.”

  Vanye mounted up more carefully, and leaned to pat the white mare’s shoulder as she stood quietly at Siptah’s side. In the camp in general there were more folk up shambling about their private business. A little tongue of fire gleamed through the mist, where blanket-shrouded figures crouched.

  And in a very little time there was the sound and the ghostly shapes of two riders coming back again through the mist, but they were not alone. A handful of bearish figures went after them afoot.

  “There is trouble,” Morgaine said between her teeth, about the time the riders broke free and came cantering their way.

  They did not shake the followers. A loud shout rang through the misty air and dark shapes jogged at the riders’ heels, others rousing from fireside and shelters and every occupation in the camp.

  The brothers did not bring the trouble that far. They turned their horses about and stopped there, in the face of the oncoming crowd.

  Morgaine sent Siptah forward and Vanye touched his heels to Arrhan, overtaking her as she reined in alongside Chei and Bron, in the face of Arunden himself and his priest, and by the size of the crowd that was rallying there, of every man in camp.

  “You do not take them only,” Arunden shouted at her, waving an arm at the brothers. “Here is a man in debt to me—I release him! I make no claim against him or his brother for his keep! But if it is my safe-conduct you want, by Heaven, lady, you do not have it through my land with these guides, and you do not have it without my riders. That is no lie, lady, God knows what they have told you to send you riding out like this, with no farewell cup and no advisement to me, but you are ill-advised to listen to them.”

  “My lord Arunden, I counsel you, I am traveling with all speed, and the more speed and the fewer and the more silence the safer.”

  “Arrows are quicker than any horse,” Arunden said, and set his fists on his hips, walking forward. Siptah snaked his head for more rein and Vanye sent Arrhan sidestepping closer on his side, forming a solid wall, whereupon A
runden stopped in his tracks. “My lady Morgaine—Yonder is no trail for any qhal, much less a woman and a handful of men, two of them such as I would never send out on a ride like this, and who do not have leave to come and go in my land. My warders will stop you, and at best hail you back here, and at worst shoot without asking questions! Whatever these two scoundrels have told you, I will tell you, you do not pass through these woods or any other without a good number of reliable men around you, and you before God do not ride that road without there be good human men around you, and men my warders know, or before Heaven, someone will take that hair of yours for a target! First cover that head of yours before someone takes you for some of Gault’s own, and stand down and wait while we break camp. We will rouse you more than one clan, my lady, and I will personally see you to the Road!”

  “We need no help,” Morgaine said. “The four of us are enough. Do not press me, my lord Arunden. Pay your attentions to Gault, southward.”

  “Do not be a fool,” Arunden said, and stalked off a few paces to give a wave of his hand at his gathered men. “Break camp.”

  The men started to obey; and froze and scrambled back as red fire cut through the mist and smoke and then flame curled up at Arunden’s feet. Arunden stood confused a moment, looked down and retreated in alarm as the tiny fire grew to larger points. Then he looked back at Morgaine, wide-eyed, and Vanye settled back in the saddle with his hand still on his sword-hilt.

  “Witch!” Arunden cried; and his priest held up the sword.

  “You have been my host,” Morgaine said coldly. “Therefore I owe you some courtesy, my lord. Therefore your land is untouched. But do not mistake me. Here I am lady, and these are men of mine, and whoever rides with me takes my orders or Vanye’s orders. There are no other terms with me, and I am sure they are not to your liking. If you would have my gratitude—my lord—then be sure of that southern border, where Gault is very likely to be no little disturbed by what we have done in his lands.”