Well Of Shiuan Part 13

More bodies awaited them: tapestries rent, bodies of men-at-arms and the one-time lords lying amid shattered crystal and overturned chairs. Vanye knew them. One was the body of an old woman; another was that of one of the elder lords, he that had made most grudging obeisance to Hetharu.

"See to it," Morgaine said sharply to the servants. "Remove them."

And while this was being attended, she righted a heavy chair and put it near the fire that still blazed in the hearth for its former owners, extended her legs to it, booted ankles crossed, paying no attention to the grisly task that went on among the servants. Changeling she set point against the floor and leaning by her side, and gave a long sigh.

Vanye averted his eyes from what pa.s.sed in the room. Too much, too many of such pathetic dead: he had been of the warriors, but of a land where men fought men who chose to fight, who went armed, in notice of such intention. He did not want to remember the things that he had seen in Ohtij-in, alone or in her company.

And somewhere in Ohtij-in was Myya Jhirun, lost in this chaos, hidden or dead or the possession of some rough-handed marshlander. He thought of that, sick at heart, weighed his own exhaustion, the hazard of the mob outside, who spoke a language he could not understand, but he was obliged. For other wretched folk within the hold, for other women as unfortunate, he had no power to stop what happened-only for Jhirun, who had done him kindness, who had believed him when he said he would take her from Ohtij-in.

"Liyo," he said, and dropped to his knees at the fireside, by Morgaine. His voice shook, reaction to things already past, but he had no shame for that; they were both tired. "Liyo, Jhirun is here somewhere. By your leave I am going to go and do what I can to find her. I owe her."

"No."

"Liyo-"

She stared into the fire, her tanned face set, her white hair still wet from the rain outside. "Thee will go out in the courtyard and some s.h.i.+ua will put a knife in thy back. No. Enough."

He thrust himself to his feet, vexed by her protection of him, exhausted beyond willingness to debate his feelings with her. He started for the door, reckoning that she had expressed her objection and that was the sum of it. He was going, nonetheless. He had seen to her welfare, and she knew it.

"Ilin," her voice rang out after him. "I gave thee an order."

He stopped, looked at her: it was a stranger's voice, cold and foreign to him. She was surrounded by men he did not know, by intentions he no longer understood. He stared at her, a tightness closing about his heart It was as if she, like the land, had changed.

"I do not need to reason with you," she said.

"Someone," he said, "should reason with you."

There was long silence. She sat and stared at him while he felt the cold grow in her.

"I will have your belongings searched for," she said, "and you may take the horse, and the Hiua girl, if she is still alive, and you may go where you will after that."

She meant it. Outrage trembled through him. Almost, almost he spun on his heel and defied her-but there was not even anger in her voice, nothing against which he could argue later, no hope that it was unthought or unmeant. There was only utter weariness, a hollowness that was beyond reaching, and if he left, there would be none to reach her, none.

"I do not know," he said, "to what I have taken oath. I do not recognize you."

Her eyes remained focused somewhere past him, as if she had already dismissed him.

"You cannot send me away," he cried at her, and his hoa.r.s.e voice broke, robbing him of dignity.

"No," she agreed without looking at him. "But while you stay, you do not dispute my orders."

He let go a shaking breath, and came to where she sat, knelt down on the hearthstones and ripped off the cloak she had lent him, laid it aside and stared elsewhere himself until he thought that he could speak without losing his self-control.

She needed him. He convinced himself that this was still true; and her need was desperate and unfair in its extent and therefore she would not order him to stay, not on her terms. Jhirun, he thought, would be on his conscience so long as he lived; but Morgaine-Morgaine he could not leave.

"May I," he asked finally, quietly, "send one of the servants to see if he can find her?"

"No."

He gave a desperate breath of a laugh, hoping that it was an unthought reaction in her, that she would relent in an instant, but laugh and hope died together when he looked at her directly and saw the coldness still in her face. "I do not understand," he said. "I do not understand."

"When you took oath to me," she said in a thin, hushed voice, "one grace you asked of me that I have always granted so far as I could: to remain untouched by the things I use and the things I do. Will you not grant that same grace to this girl?"

"You do not understand. Liyo, she was a prisoner; they took her elsewhere. She may be hurt. The women out there-they are a prey to the marshlanders and the mob in the court. Whatever else, you are a woman. Can you not find the means to help her?"

"She may be hurt. If you would heal her, leave my service and see to it. If not, have mercy on her and leave her alone." She lapsed into silence for a moment, and her gray eyes roamed the room, with its torn tapestries and shattered treasures. From the courtyard there was still shouting and screaming, and her glance wandered to the windows before she looked back to him. "I have done what I had to do," she said in an absent, deathly voice. "I have loosed the Barrows and the marshlands on s.h.i.+uan because it was a means to reach this land most expediently, with force to survive. I do not lead them. I only came among them. I take shelter here only until it is possible to move on. I do not look at what I leave behind me."

He listened, and something inside him shuddered, not at the words, which deserved it, but at the tone of them. She was lying; he hoped with all his heart that in this one thing he understood her, or he understood nothing at all. And to rise now, to walk out that door and leave her, took something he did not possess. In this, too, he did not know whether it was courage or cowardice.

"I will stay," he said.

She stared at him, saying nothing. He grew afraid, so strange and troubled her look was. There were shadows beneath her eyes. He reckoned that she had not slept well, had rested little in recent days, with no companion to guard her sleep among strangers, with no one to fill the silence with which she surrounded herself, implacable in her purpose and disinterested in others' desires, "I will make discreet inquiry," she said at last. "It may be that I can do something to have her found without finding her ... only so you know clearly what the conditions are."

He heard the brittleness in her voice, knew what it masked, and bowed, in shaken grat.i.tude, touched his brow to the hearthstones, sat up again.

"There is surely a bed to be had," she said, "and an hour or more before I shall be inclined to need it."

He looked beyond her, to the open arch of the shadowed next room, where the servants had begun stirring about, the removal of the former owners completed. There was a light somewhere within, the opening and closing of cabinets, the rustle of fabrics. A warm bed: he longed toward it, exhausted-luxury that he seldom knew, and far different from the things he had expected at the end of this ugly day.

It was far different, he thought, from what many others knew this night: Jhirun, if she still lived, Kithan, bereft of power, Roh-fled into the storm and the flood this night, in his private nightmare that centered upon Morgaine-Roh, with Abarais before him and the chance of defeating them.

But Morgaine gazed down on him now with a face that at last he knew, tired, inexpressibly tired, and sane.

"You take first rest," he said. "I shall sit by the fire and keep an eye on the servants."

She regarded him from half-lidded eyes, shook her head. "Go as I told you," she said. "I have eased your conscience, so far as I can. Go on. You have given me matters to attend yet; now let me attend them."

He gathered himself up, almost fell in doing it, his feet asleep, and he steadied himself against the mantel, looked at her apologetically. Her gaze, troubled and thoughtful, gave him benediction; and he bowed his head in grat.i.tude.

Nightmares surrounded her at times. There was one proceeding in the courtyard and elsewhere in the hold this night Stop it, he wanted to plead with her. Take command of them and stop it. You can do it, and will not.

She had led an army once; ten thousand men had followed her before his age, and had been swept away into oblivion, lost Clans and kingdoms had perished, dynasties ended, Andur-Kursh plunged into a hundred years of poverty and ruin.

So clan Yla had perished in her service, to the last man, lost in the void of Gates; so pa.s.sed much of Chya, and many a man of Nhi and Myya and Ris. Horrid suspicion nagged at him.

He looked back at her, where she sat, a lonely figure before the fire. He opened his mouth to speak to her, to go back and tell her what things he had begun to fear of this land, to hear her say that they were not so.

There were the servants, who would overhear and repeat things elsewhere. He dared not speak, not before them. He turned away toward the other room.

There was the softness of a down mattress, the comfort of fabrics smooth and soft; of cleanliness, that most of all.

She would call him, he reckoned, in only a little while; there was not that much of the night remaining. He slept mostly dressed, in clean clothing that he had discovered in a chest, the former lord as tall as he and no whit slighter, save in the length of arm and breadth of shoulder. The fine cloth rested easily on his hurts; it was good to feel it, to have stripped away the stubble of days without a razor, and to rest with his hair damp from a thorough scrubbing, ... in a place warm and soft, fragrant with a woman's care, be she servant or murdered qujalin lady.

He wrested his mind from such morbid thoughts, determined not to remember where he was, or what things he had seen outside. He was safe. Morgaine watched his sleep, as he would watch hers in turn. He cast himself into trusting oblivion, determined that nothing would rob him of this rest that he had won.

Small sounds disturbed him now and then; once the opening of the outer door alarmed him, until he heard Morgaine's soft voice speaking calmly with someone, and that door then close, and her light tread safely in the room next his. Once he heard her in the room with him, searching the closets and chests, and knew that soon enough she would call him to his watch; he headed himself back into a few treasured moments of sleep. He heard the splash of water in the bath, the room mostly dark save for a single lamp there and the fireplace in the next room; grateful for the small remaining time, pleased to know she also took the leisure for such comforts as he had enjoyed, he shut his eyes again.

And the rustle of cloth woke him, the sight of a woman, qujal, in a white gown, ghost-pale in the darkness. He did not know her for an instant, and his heart crashed against his ribs in panic, thinking murder, and of the dead. But Morgaine drew back the coverlet on her side of the great bed, and he, with some embarra.s.sment, prepared to quit the other before she must bid him do so.

"Go back to sleep," she said, confounding him. "The servants are out and the door is bolted on our side. There is no need for either of us to stay awake, unless thee is overnice. I am not."

And in her hand was Changeling, that always slept with her; she laid it atop the coverlet, a thing fell and dangerous, in the valley that would be between them. Vanye rested very still, felt the mattress give as she settled beside him and drew the covers over her, heard the gentle sigh of her breath.

And felt the weight of Changeling, that rested between.

He held no more urge to sleep, his heart still beating rapidly. It was that she had startled him, he told himself at first-he found it disturbing that for that single instant he had not known her-frost-fair, frost-fair, an old ballad sang of her, and like frost, burning to the touch. It was kindness that she had not displaced him to the hearthside; it was like her that she was considerate in small things. Perhaps she would not have rested, having sent him to a pallet on the hard stone. Perhaps it was amends for the harsh words she had used earlier.

But it was not the same as campfires they had shared, when they had shared warmth, both armored, companions in the dark, one always waking in dread of ambush. He listened to her breathing, felt the small movements that she made, and tried to distract his mind to other thoughts, staring at the dark rafters. He cursed silently, half a pious prayer, wondering how she would understand it if he did withdraw to the hearthside.

Woman that she was, she might not have thought overmuch of the gesture; perhaps she did not understand.

Or perhaps, he thought in misery, she wished him inclined to defy that barrier, and tormented him deliberately.

She had asked him why he came with her. Your charity, he had told her lightly, was always more generous than my brother's. The remark had stung her; he wished to this day that he had asked why, that he understood why it had angered her, or why in all that bitter day it had seemed to set her at odds with him.

He was human; he was not sure that she was. He had been a G.o.dfearing man; and he was not sure what she was. Logic did not avail, thus close to her. All Roh's arguments collapsed, thus close to her; and he knew clearly what had drawn him this side of Gates, although he still shuddered to look into her gray and alien eyes, or to lie thus close to her; the shudder melded into quite another feeling, and he was horrified at himself, who could be moved by her, his liege, and thousandfold murderer, and qujal, at least to the eye.

He was lost, he thought, and possessed only this resolve, that he tried to remember that he was Kurs.h.i.+n, and Nhi, and that she was cursed in his land. Half that men told of her were lies; but much that was as terrible he had seen himself.

And that logic likewise was powerless.

He knew finally that it was neither reason nor virtue that stood in his way, but that did he once attempt that cold barrier between, she might lose all trust for him. Ilin, she had said once, hurtfully, thee has a place-Ilin, she had said this night, I have given thee an order, Pride forbade. He could not be treated thus; he dreaded to think what torment he could create for them, she trying to deal with him as a man, he trying to be both man and servant. She had a companion older than he, a demanding thing, and evil, that lay as a weight against his side; no other could be closer than that.

And if she had regard for him, he thought, she surely sensed the misery that she could cause him, and kept him at a distance, until this night, that she, over-practical, over-kindly, omitted to send him to his place.

He wondered for whose sake she had placed the sword between, for her peace of mind or for his.

Chapter Twelve.

Something fell, a weight upon the floor.

Vanye wakened, flung an arm wide, to the realization that Morgaine's place beside him was vacant and cold. White daylight shone in the next room.

He sprang up, still half-blind, fighting clear of the sheets, and stumbled to the doorway. He blinked at Morgaine, who was dressed in her accustomed black armor and standing by the open outer door. A ma.s.s of gear-armor-rested on the hearthside; it had not been there the night before. Books and charts were heaped on the floor in a flood of daylight from the window, most of them open and in disorder. Servants were even then bringing in food, dishes steaming and savory, setting gold plates and cups on the long table.

And just outside the door, in conversation with Morgaine, stood a different set of guards: taller, slimmer men than the run of marshlanders. She was speaking with them quietly, giving orders or receiving reports.

Vanye ran a hand through his hair, let go his breath, deciding that there was nothing amiss. He ached; his lacerated wrists hurt to bend after a night's rest, and his feet-he looked down, grimacing at the ugly sores. He limped back into the bedroom and sought a fresh shut from the supply in the wardrobe, and found a pair of boots that he had set aside the night before, likewise from the wardrobe. He sat in the shadow, on the bed, working the overly tight boots onto his sore feet, and listened to Morgaine's voice in the next room, and those of the men with whom she spoke. He did not make sense of it; the distance was too great and their accent was difficult for him. It seemed awkward to go into the other room, breaking in upon her business. He waited until he had heard Morgaine dismiss them, and heard the servants finish their arranging of breakfast and leave. Only then he arose and ventured out to see what matters were between them in cold daylight.

"Sit," she offered him, bidding him to the table; and with a downcast expression and a shrug: "It is noon; it is still raining occasionally, and the scouts report that there is no abating of the flood at the crossing. They give some hope that matters will improve tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. This they have from the s.h.i.+ua themselves."

Vanye began to take the chair that she offered, but when he drew it back to sit down, he saw the stain on the carpet and stopped. She looked at him. He pushed the chair in again, then walked round the table and took the opposite one, not looking down, trying to forget the memory of the night. Quietly he moved his plate across the narrow table.

She was seated. He helped himself after her, spooned food onto gold plates and sipped at the hot and unfamiliar drink that eased his sore throat. He ate without a word, finding it wildly incongruous to be sharing table with Morgaine, stranger than to have shared a bed. He felt it improper to sit at table in her presence: to do so belonged to another life, when he had been a lord's son, and knew hall manners and not the ashes of the hearthside or the campfire of an outlaw.

She also maintained silence. She was not given to much conversation, but there was too much strangeness about them in Ohtij-in that he could find that silence comfortable.

"They do not seem to have fed you well," she remarked, when he had disposed of a third helping, and she had only then finished her first plate.

"No," he said, "they did not."

"You slept more soundly than ever I have seen you."

"You might have waked me," he said, "when you wakened."

"You seemed to need the rest."

He shrugged. "I am grateful," he said.

"I understand that your lodging here was not altogether comfortable."

"No," he agreed, and took up his cup, pus.h.i.+ng the plate away. He was uneasy in this strange humor of hers, that discussed him with such persistence.

"I understand," Morgaine said, "that you killed two men-one of them the lord of Ohtij-in."

He set the cup down in startlement, held it in his fingers and turned it, swirling the amber liquid inside, his heart beating as if he had been running. "No," he said. "That is not so. One man I killed, yes. But the lord Bydarra-Hetharu murdered him: his own son-murdered him, alone in that room with me; and I would have been hanged for it last night, that at the least. The other son, Kithan-he may know the truth or not; I am not sure. But it was very neatly done liyo. There is none but Hetharu and myself that know for certain what happened in that room."

She pushed her chair back, turning it so that she faced him at the corner of the table; and she leaned back, regarding him with a frowning speculation that made him the more uncomfortable. "Then," she said, "Hetharu left in Roh's company, and took with him the main strength of Ohtij-in. Why? Why such a force?"

"I do not know."

"This time must have been terrible for you."

"Yes," he said at last, because she left a silence to be filled.

"I did not find Jhirun Ela's-daughter. But while I searched for her, Vanye, I heard a strange thing."

He thought that the color must long since have fled his face. He took a drink to ease the tightness in his throat "Ask," he said.

"It is said," she continued, "that she, like yourself, was under Roh's personal protection. That his orders kept you both in fair comfort and safety until Bydarra was murdered."

He set the cup down again and looked at her, remembering that any suspicion for her was sufficient motive to kill. But she sat at breakfast with, him, sharing food and drink, while she had known these things perhaps as early as last night, before she lay down to sleep beside him.

"If you thought that you could not trust me," he said, "you would be rid of me at once. You would not have waited."

"Is thee going to answer, Vanye? Or is thee going to go on evading me? Thee has omitted many things in the telling. On thy oath-on thy oath, Nhi Vanye, no more of it."

"He-Roh-found welcome here, at least with one faction of the house. He saw to it that I was safe, yes; but not so comfortable, not so comfortable as you imagine, liyo. And later-when Hetharu seized power-then, too-Roh intervened."

"Do you know why?"

He shook his head and said nothing. Suppositions led in many directions that he did not want to explore with her.