Well of Shiuan (27 page)

"No," Jhirun whispered after him, ran suddenly and caught his arm; he looked back, chilled at the terror in her face: a sense of ambush prickled about him.

"Lord," she whispered, "there is a man hiding here. Do not leave, do not leave me here."

He seized her arm so hard that she winced. "How many more? What have you arranged for me?"

"No," she breathed. "One. He—" With her head she gestured far off across the stalls, into the dark. "He is there. Do not leave me with him, not now, with the horses—Kithan. It is Kithan."

She stifled a cry; he opened his hand, realizing he had wrenched her arm, and she rubbed the injured wrist, making no attempt to run.

"When the attack came," she said, "he came here and could not get out. He has slept—I took a hayfork, and I came on him to kill him, but I was afraid. Now he will have heard us moving—he will come here when he thinks it safe, when you are gone."

He slipped the ring of his sword, drew it carefully from sheath. "You show me where," he said. "And if you are mistaken, Myya Jhirun i Myya—"

She shook her head. "I thought we were leaving," she whispered, through tears. "I thought it would be all right, no need, no need for killing—I do not want to—"

"Quiet," he said, and seized her wrist, pushing her forward. She began to lead him, as silently as possible, into the dark.

Small, square windows gave light within the stable, shafts of dusty light, and a maze of aisles and stalls, sheaves of straw, empty racks for harness. The building curved, irregularly, following the keep wall, and the aisles were likewise crooked, row upon row of box stalls, empty—a hay loft, a nesting-place for birds that fluttered wings and stirred restlessly.

Jhirun's hand touched his, cautioning. She pointed down a row of stalls, where the shadow was darkest He began to go that way, drawing her with him, watching the stalls on either side of him, aware how easily it could prove ambush.

A white shape bolted at the end of the stalls, running. Vanye jerked at Jhirun's wrist, darted into a cross-aisle, into the next row.

The man raced—white hair flying—for a farther aisle, Vanye let Jhirun go, and ran, pursuing him, in time to see him scale a rail barrier and scramble for open windows. The lead was too great. The qujal disappeared outside, hurling himself through, as Vanye reached the stall railing.

He stood, cursing inwardly, whirled about on guard as a sound reached his ears; Jhirun came running to him. He let fall his sword arm.

And outside he heard the hue and cry, human hounds a-hunt, and Kithan loose for their quarry, the whole of Ohtij-in astir: they would not be long in taking him.

He swore, an oath that he had never used, and shook Jhirun's fingers roughly from his arm and started back toward the front of the stable, she struggling

along beside him, hard-breathing.

"Stay here," he said. "Mind the horses. I am going to Morgaine. We are leaving here as quickly as may be."

CHAPTER Thirteen

Then was chaos in the courtyard, men raced from doorways. Vanye walked through it, shouldered his way through a press that was coming out of the keep, folk giving back from him in fright when they saw him. He kept his sword, sheathed, in his left hand, and entered the halls of the keep, moving as quickly as he could without running. He would not run: there was panic enough ready to break loose, and he was known as Morgaine's servant

He reached the lords' halls, high in the tower, crossed through to the inner chambers and startled the guards that were on watch there, who snatched at weapons and then confusedly moved out of his path, recognizing his right to pass. He flung the door open and slammed it behind him, for the first time daring draw the breath he needed.

Morgaine faced him—she standing by the window, her hand upon the sill. Distress was in her look. Distantly the cries of men could be heard from the courtyard below.

"Thee's stirred something?" she asked him.

"Kithan," he said. "Liyo, the horses are saddled, and we only need go—now, quickly. Someone will come into that stable and see things prepared if we wait overlong, and I do not think long farewells are fit for this place."

A cry went up, outside. She turned and leaned upon the sill, gazing down into the yard. "They have taken him," she said quietly.

"Let us go, liyo. Let us go from here, while there is time."

She turned toward him a second time, and there was a curious expression in her eyes: doubt. Panic rose in him. In one thing he had lied to her, and the lie gathered force, troubling all the peace that had grown between them.

"I do not think that it would be graceful of us," she said, "to try to pass them in the hall. They are bringing him into the hold. Doubtless they are bringing him here. —So short a time from my sight, Vanye, and so much difficulty… Was it a chance meeting?"

He drew breath, let it go quickly. "I swear to you. Listen to me. There are things the lord Kithan can say that do not bear saying, not before these men of yours. Do not question him. Be rid of him, and quickly."

"What should I not ask him?"

He felt the edge in that question, and shook his head. "No. Liyo, listen to me. Unless you would have all that Roh said made common knowledge in Ohtij-in—avoid this. There can be questions raised that you do not want asked. There is a priest down the hall... and Shiua out in the court, and servants, and whatever qujal are still alive... that would raise questions if they lost all care of their lives. Kithan will do you no good. There is nothing he can say that you want to hear."

"And was it a chance meeting, Vanye?"

"Yes," he cried, in a tone that shocked the silence after.

"That may be," she said after a moment. "But if you are correct—then it would be well to know what he has said already."

"Are you ready," he asked her, "to leave upon the instant?"

"Yes," she said, and indicated the fireside, where her belongings were neatly placed; he had none.

Outside, in the halls, there was commotion. It was not long in reaching them—the sounds of shouting, the heavy sound of steps approaching.

A heavy hand rapped at the door. "Lady?" one asked from outside.

"Let them in," Morgaine said.

Vanye opened it, and in his other hand only his thumb held the sheath upon the longsword: a shake would free it

Men were massed outside, a few of the marshlanders; but chief among them was the scarred Barrows-man, Fwar, with his kinsmen. Vanye met that sullen face with utter coldness, and stepped back because Morgaine had bidden it, because they were hers—violent men unlike the Aren-folk: he surmised seeing them now who had done most of the slaughter in Ohtij-in, that were murder to be ordered, they would enjoy it

And among them, from their midst, they thrust the disheveled figure of the qujal-lord, thin and fragile-seeming in their rough hands. Blood dabbled the satin front of Kithan's brocade garment, and his white hair was loose and wild, matted with blood from a cut on his brow.

Fwar cast the dazed halfling to the floor. Morgaine settled herself in a chair, leaned back, Changeling balanced on her knee, under her hand; she watched calmly as the former lord of Ohtij-in gathered himself to rise, but they kept him on his knees. Vanye, moving to his proper place at Morgaine's shoulder, saw the force of the qujal's gray eyes, no longer full of dreams, no longer distant, but filled with heat and hate.

"He is Kithan," said Fwar, his scarred lips smiling.

"Let him up," Morgaine said; and such hate there was in Kithan that Vanye extended his sheathed sword between, cautioning him; but the captured halfling had some sense. He stumbled to his feet and made a slight bow of the head, homage to realities.

"I shall have you put with the others," Morgaine said softly. "Certain others of your folk do survive, in the higher part of this tower."

"For what?" Kithan asked, with a glance about him.

Morgaine shrugged. "For whatever these men allow."

The elegant young lordling stood trembling, wiped a bloody strand of hair from his cheek. His eyes strayed to Vanye's, who returned him no gentleness, and back again. "I do not understand what is happening," he said. "Why have you done these things to us?"

"You were unfortunate," said Morgaine.

The arrogance of that answer seemed to take Kithan's breath away. He laughed after a moment, aloud and bitterly. "Indeed. And what do you gain of such allies as you have? What when you have won?"

Morgaine frowned, gazing at him. "Fwar," she said, "I do not think it any profit to hold him or his people."

"We can deal with them," said Fwar.

"No," she said. "You have Ohtij-in; and you have my order, Fwar. Will you abide by it, and not kill them?"

"If that is your order," said Fwar after a moment, but there was no pleasure in it.

"So," said Morgaine. "Fwar's kindred and Haz of Aren rule in Ohtij-in, and you rule your own kind. As for me, I am leaving when the flood permits, and you have seen the last of me, my lord Kithan."

"They will kill us."

“They may not But if I were you, my lord, I would seek shelter elsewhere—perhaps in Hiuaj."

There was laughter at that, and color flooded Kithan's white cheeks.

"Why?" Kithan asked when the coarse laughter had died. "Why have you done this to us? This is excessive revenge."

Again Morgaine shrugged. "I only opened your gates," she said. "What was waiting outside was not of my shaping. I do not lead them. I go my own way."

"Not looking to what you have destroyed. Here is the last place where civilization survives. Here—" Kithan glanced about at the fine tapestries that hung slashed and wantonly ruined. "Here is the wealth, the art of thousands of years, destroyed by these human animals."

"Out there," said Morgaine, "is the flood. Barrows-hold has gone; Aren is going; there is nothing left for them but to come north. It is your time; and you chose your way of meeting it, with such delicate works. It was your choice."

The qujal clenched his arms across him as at a chill. "The world is going under; but this time was ours, tedious as it was, and this land was ours, to enjoy it The Wells ruined the world once, and spilled this Barrows-spawn into our lands— that drove other humans into rum, that plundered and stole and ruined and left of us only halfbreeds, the survivors of their occupations. They tampered with the Wells and ruined their own lands; they ruined the land they took and now they come to us. Perhaps he is of that kind," he said, with a burning look at Vanye, "and came through the Wells; perhaps the one named Roh came likewise. The Barrow-kings are upon us again, no different than they ever were. But someone did this thing to us—someone of knowledge more than theirs. Someone did this, who had the power to open what was sealed."

Morgaine frowned, straightened, drawing Changeling into her lap; and of a sudden Vanye moved, seized the slight halfling to silence him, to take him from the room: but Morgaine's sharp command checked him. None moved, not he nor the startled peasants, and Morgaine arose, a distraught look on her face. She withdrew a space from them, looked back at him, and to Fwar, and seemed for a moment dazed.

"The Barrow-kings," she said then: there was a haunted expression in her eyes.... Vanye saw it and remembered Irien, ghosts that followed her, an army, lost in that great valley: ten thousand men, of which not even corpses remained.

His ancestors, that were to her but a few months dead.

"Liyo," he said quietly, his heart pounding. "We are wasting time with him. Set the halfling free or put him with the others, but there are other matters

that want attention. Now."

Sanity returned sharply to Morgaine's gaze, a harsh look bestowed on Kithan. "How long ago?"

"Liyo," Vanye objected. "It is pointless."

"How long ago?"

Kithan gathered himself with an intake of breath, assumed that pose of arrogance that had been his while he ruled, despite that Vanye's fingers bit into his arm. "A very long time ago.—Long enough for this land to become what it is. And surely," he shot after that, pressing his advantage, "you are about to bid equally with the man Roh: life, wealth, restoration of the ancient powers. Lie to me, ancient enemy. Offer to buy my favor. It is—considering the situation— purchasable."

"Kill him," Fwar muttered.

"Your enemy has gone," Kithan said, "to Abarais—to possess the Wells; to take all the north. Hetharu is with him, with all our forces; and eventually they will come back."

Fear was thick in the room. Morgaine stood still. The Barrows-men seemed hardly to breathe.

"The Shiua spoke the same," said one of the marshlanders.

"When the flood subsides," said Morgaine, "then there will be a settling with Roh; and he will not return to Ohtij-in. But that is my business, and it need not concern you."

"Lady," said Fwar, fear distorting his face, "when you have done that—when you have reached the Wells—what will you do then?"

Vanye heard, mind frozen, the halfling held with one hand, the other hand sweating on the grip of his sword. It was not his to answer: with his eyes he tried to warn her.

"We have followed you," a Barrows-man said. "We are yours, we Barrowers—We will follow you."