Exile's Gate

  But, he thanked Heaven, there were no ambushes.

  The hill beyond the next rise gave out onto the flat again, a broad valley; he blinked at the sweat in his eyes and rubbed at them to make the haze go away.

  "Vanye?" Morgaine asked, as Siptah's heavy weight brushed his leg.

  "Aye?" His head ached where the helm crossed his brow; the sun heated the metal, heated his shoulders beneath the armor and the pain in his ribs made his breath hard to draw.

  "Is thee bearing up?"

  "Well enough. Would there was more wind."

  Chei had drawn rein in front of them, and scanned the ground; and waited for them with the others.

  "We should bear south a little," Chei said. "Around the shoulder—" Chei pointed. "Off into the hills. One of them may well have us in sight. But the weapon you used up there—" He gave a small, humorless laugh. "—will have improved my reputation with Mante. At least for veracity. They will be very hesitant to come at us."

  "Why south?"

  "Because—" Chei said sharply, and pointed out over the plain, below, and to their right, toward the hills. "To reach that, necessitates crossing this, else, and if you have no liking for—"

  "Courtesy, man," Vanye muttered, and Chei drew another breath.

  "My lady," Chei said quietly, "it is safer. If you will take my advice—lend me the stone a moment and I can send a message that may draw their forces off us."

  "Tell me the pattern," Morgaine said.

  Chei took up the reins on the roan, that flattened its ears toward Siptah. "Two flashes. A simple report. I can send better than that. I can tell them the enemy has gone up into the hills. In numbers. And if you provoke them to answer you, my lady, and you cannot reply rapidly, they will know what you are. I can answer them."

  "Do not give it to him," Vanye said, and made no move to hand over the stone.

  "No," Morgaine said. "Not here and not now."

  "My lady—"

  "Can it be—you have sent?"

  "Aye. From Tejhos."

  "And the stone, man!"

  "With that," Chei said with a reluctant shrug. "Yes. The first night."

  "And told them it would stay unshielded. Do not evade me. I am out of patience for guesswork. What have you done, what do you suspect, what is out there?"

  "They will have known something went amiss from the time you sealed off the stone," Chei said in a low voice. "There is rumor Skarrin's gate can tell one stone from the other, given sure position. I do not know. I only know there are two more such stones out there. I saw them, clear as I could see Tejhos."

  "In the stone."

  "In the stone, my lady. There may be more than that by now. When yours stopped sending—It is myself they will be hunting, along with you. I am well known for treason."

  "Did you think they would forgive," Vanye asked, "the small matter of killing your lord's deputy?"

  Chei's eyes lifted to his, hard and level. "No. But, then, if I had won, I would have done what we are doing now. With your weapons. It is not Mante I want. It is the gate. . . . With your weapons. I told you my bargain. And, lady, you have convinced me: I will not follow a lord in the field who cannot beat me. I should be a fool, else. You won. So I take your orders."

  There was a moment's silence, only the stamp and blowing of the horses.

  "Let us," Morgaine said to Chei then, "see where your ability leads us."

  And in the Kurshin tongue, when they struck a freer pace, tending toward the south, into rougher land.

  "Do not be concerned for it. I will choose any camp we make, and he will not lay hands on the stone, to be telling them anything. —Thee is white, Vanye."

  "I am well enough," he said again.

  If he confessed otherwise, he thought, she might take alarm, might seek some place to rest, where they must not—must not go to hiding now, when Mante knew the vicinity to search, and might throw company after company into the field. Even Changeling had its limits—

  —had them, more and more as they drew near the aching wound that was Mante

  My fault, he kept thinking. All of this. O Heaven, what are we going to do?

  And others, out of the muddle of heat and exhaustion, she has taken them because she knows I am near to falling; she needs help; she takes it where she can, against this stranger-lord in Mante—against this Skarrin—needs them in place of me—to guard her back—

  O God, that I leave her to these bandits—

  It is her own perverse way of managing them, putting them under my hand, forcing the bitter draught down their throats—lest they think they can leave me behind: it is her own stratagem, give them a captain like to spill from his horse, and let them vie for her favor, whereby she keeps Chei at bay, and in hope of succession, and he never dares strike at me, lest he lose what gratitude he might win of her later—If he has not betrayed us outright—if the ambush was not a trick, their own arrangement—

  A man learned to think in circles, who companied with Morgaine kri Chya. A man learned craft, who had before thought a sword-edge the straightest way to a target.

  She might manage Chei. Surely Rhanin. I should tell her to keep that man.

  And: This weakness of mine may pass. It may well pass. She is winning time for me. Gaining ground.

  And lastly: Why did she prevent me from Chei? Why strike my hand?

  You care too much?

  What did she mean by that?

  Hills closed about them, brushy ravines and rock and scrub, steep heights on either side. He looked up and behind them, and never was there trace of any watcher.

  Except in a fold between two hills, near a stand of scrub, where they came to a stream: there Hesiyyn drew up by the grassy margin and signaled Chei.

  They were old tracks. It had surely been yesterday that some rider had paused to water his horse, and ridden along the hillside, in this place of tough, clumped grass which showed very little trace otherwise. The track there went out onto that ground on their own side, not, Vanye reckoned, hard to follow, if one had to wonder where that rider had gone, or if one were interested in finding him.

  As it was: "What is this place?" he asked angrily. "A highway their riders use? A known trail?"

  "Doubtless," Hesiyyn said, "my lord human. We are all anxious to die."

  He sent Hesiyyn a dark look.

  "We are no more anxious for a meeting than you are," Chei said. "They are out here, that is all. I told you. Skarrin is no longer taking the matter lightly.—I ask you again, lady, in all earnestness: lend me the stone."

  Morgaine leaned her hands against the saddlebow and quickly restrained Siptah from edging toward the roan. It was warfare, now. The red roan's ears were flat, his eyes—red-rimmed, his least lovely feature—constantly one or the other toward the gray stud.

  "No," she said shortly, and reining Siptah sharply aside to gain room, dismounted and threw her hand up to shy the roan. "Move him off! We will rest here a little. At least they have passed here. And it is at least some cover."

  "My lady," Chei said with heavy resentment, and drew the wild-eyed roan aside, along the stream.

  So the rest of them. Vanye glared a warning in their direction, threw his leg over the horn and slid down. He dropped Arrhan's reins to let her drink, and let the two horses he led move up to the water, then sank down on his knees and bathed his face and the back of his shorn neck, discovering that insult again, where it had passed in shock when Chei had done it. For this one unjustified thing he was more and more angry, an unreasoning, killing anger, of the sort he had not felt—

  —since the day his brother died.

  "We will rest here an hour," Morgaine said, sinking down to wash beside him, letting Siptah drink.

  "Aye." He dipped up another double handful. It was spring-fed, this stream, and like ice, taking the breath. He stood up with a sudden effort.

  The daylight went to gray and to dark.

  "Vanye—" Morgaine said.

  "Watch them!" he said to her in the K
urshin tongue, and sat down hard where he stood, his balance simply gone, his foot off the edge into the chill water, his wounds jolted so he thought he would not get the next breath at all.

  "Vanye!"

  "Watch them," he said again, calmly, fighting panic. He drew his foot out of the water. "Liyo, I will rest here a little. I am tired. That is all."

  He heard her bend near him, felt her shadow take the heat of the sun from his face. He heard footsteps in the grass nearby and that frightened him.

  "Liyo, do not turn your back on them."

  She laid her hand on his brow. "Thee is fevered," she said.

  "Liyo, in the name of Heaven—"

  "We will rest here," she said. The daylight began to come back, but it was still brass and full of illusion, with her as a darkness in the center of it.

  "We have no time—"

  "Vanye, lie down."

  He did as she asked, reckoning if they must stop an hour for his sake, he had as well not waste the time it cost them in argument. He let himself back on the grass and rested his head on his arm, and shut his eyes against the giddiness of the sky. The ground seemed to pitch and spin under him. He had not felt that dizzy when he was riding, and now that he let go it was hard not to lose all his senses. His stomach tried to heave and he refused to let it, refused the panic that lay at the bottom of his thoughts.

  A little time, he told himself. They had been pushing too long to keep moving; and a battle and a ride with enemies-turned-comrades did not count for rest. An hour on his back, and he would be good for another ten.

  Only, O God, he was weak. And his head spun.

  And Morgaine was alone with these men.

  She came back to him, knelt down by him, dampened a cloth in the cold stream and laid it on his brow.

  "You are watching them," he murmured in his own tongue.

  "I am watching them."

  "Liyo, kill them."

  "Hush, rest."

  "Kill them!" He sat up on his elbow and caught the cloth in his hand, the pulse at once hammering in his ears and his gut hurting and his ribs a blinding pain. " 'Man and man,' you said. Then trust me to know. I am telling you these men are after the weapons; they are only waiting to see what more they can find out, whether we have anything else they want—Kill them. And do not give them any warning."

  Her hand rested on his chest, pressing him to lie back. He would not yield.

  "Listen to me," he said.

  "Hush," she said. "Hush. I have an eye to them."

  "This is a man who gave Chei to the wolves. This is the guide who lied to us, whose brother I killed. If it is sane inside it is a wonder."

  "Lie back. Lie down. Do not make me trouble. Please. Please, Vanye."

  He let go his breath and let himself back. She wet the cloth again and wrung it out and laid it on his brow. It set him shivering.

  "I will ride," he said, "in an hour."

  "Only lie here. I will make some tea."

  "We cannot be risking a fire—"

  She touched his lips with her fingers. "Still, I say. Hush. A little one. Do not fret about it. Be still."

  "Willow tea," he murmured, "if you are going to do it anyway. My head aches."

  He rested then with his eyes half-open, slitted on Chei and his two men, who sat apart on the stream-bank. He watched Morgaine gather up twigs and grass, and his gut tensed as he saw Chei rise and walk toward her and have words with her.

  What they said he could not hear. But Morgaine settled down thereafter and made a fire with that means she could, and Chei and the others began to unsaddle the horses.

  He sat up then, and began to get to his feet in dismay, but Morgaine looked at him and lifted her hand in that signal that meant no.

  He fell back again, and lay in misery while the pulse beat like a hammer in his temples and the sun glared red behind closed lids.

  She brought him tea to drink, infused very strongly with something bitter; and little pellets wrapped in leaves, that were from Shathan, and very precious. He took them and drank the sour-bitter tea, as large mouthfuls as he could bear, simply to get it down, and rested back again.

  "I will be all right," he murmured then.

  "Thee is not riding in an hour. Or two."

  "Dark." he said. "Give me till dark. We can cut closer to the plain at night. Gain back the time."

  But he was no better. If anything, he hurt the worse. It is because of lying still, he thought.

  Then, clearly and honestly: I am getting worse.

  And we are too near the gate.

  He rested. It was not sleep that passed the hours into twilight, only a dimness in which Morgaine came and went, and gave him cold water to drink. "I will try," he said, then, "try to ride. Have them put me on my horse. I will stay there."

  There was fear in her eyes. It verged on panic. She smoothed the hair back from his face. "We will hold this place," she said.

  "With what? With them? With—" Anger brought a pain to his skull. His eyes watered, blurring the sight of her. "It is foolishness. Foolishness, liyo. No more time. Too many of them. When will you sleep? You cannot—cannot depend on me to stay awake. Cannot depend on me."

  "I will manage."

  "Do not lose for me! Do not think of it! Ride out of here!"

  "Hush." She touched his face, bent and kissed him, weary, so very weary, her voice. Her hand shook against his cheek. "Forgive me. Trust me. Will you trust me?"

  "Aye," he said, or thought he said. She unlaced his collar and took the stone from under his armor; and took it from him.

  "Not to him—" he protested.

  "No. I will keep it. I will keep it safe."

  It was too difficult to hold on. The dark grew too deep, a place unto itself, tangled and mazed. He wanted to come back. He wanted to stay awake to listen to her.

  He dreamed of dark, like that between the Gates.

  He dreamed of dark, in which she walked away, and he could not so much as tell where she had gone.

  Chei rested his head in his hands, weary with his own aches, with the foolishness that would not let the woman see reason.

  Will not leave him, the inner voice said, and it echoed a night in Arunden's camp, a doorway—embarrassed youth, rebuffed and dismayed and made lonely all at once, in a child's way; Pyverrn, seeking exile—riding into Morund on a wretched, shaggy horse—Ho, hello, old friend—Court grew deadly dull without you. . . .

  Thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, grimaced with the confusion of images.

  "My lord," Rhanin said.

  He looked up to see the lady walking toward them—with further delay, he reckoned. She looked distraught, her eyes shadowed and her face showing exhaustion.

  She had to sleep. There would come a time she had to sleep. Then there was a reckoning, with the weapons in his hands, and the lady brought to see reason once for all.

  He was not prepared to see her hand lift, and the black weapon in it, aimed straight at him. His heart froze in him: death, he thought. Our death, only so a crazed woman dares sleep—

  "My lord Gault," she said quietly, "Qhiverin. Chei. I have a proposition for you."

  "My lady?" he asked, carefully.

  "I am going to rest. You will tend him, you will do everything you can for him, you will make him fit to ride, my lord; and if he is not better by morning, I will kill you all. If he cries out—once—I will shoot one of you at random. Do you have any doubt of that, my lord?"

  "He will not be fit to ride—the man is fevered—he is out of his head—"

  "Do you doubt my word, my lord? Do you want an earnest of my intentions?"

  "She is mad," Hesiyyn exclaimed.

  Chei gathered himself hastily to his feet. "Up," he said, dragging at Hesiyyn, at Rhanin. And cast an anxious glance at Morgaine, whose weapon stayed centered on him, whose eyes were, as Hesiyyn said—mad and beyond all reason.

  Chapter 16

  "Vanye. Vanye," Morgaine's voice
called him gently.

  "Aye, liyo." He opened his eyes, trying to bring her face out of the dusk. He could not, quite.

  "Vanye, will you trust me?"

  "Aye, liyo."

  "I am going to go over there and rest, the night. Listen to me. I have not the strength to take care of thee—" Her fingers brushed his cheek. Her voice shook. "Chei will help thee, he will do everything he can for thee—he has agreed, at peril of his life. Does thee understand, Vanye? I do not want thee waking and not knowing where I am. And if he hurts thee I will shoot him. And if thee does not mend I will shoot him. And he knows it."

  He blinked at her. When she took that tone it was her intention beyond a doubt, even if it made no sense at all.

  "Thee understands?"

  "Aye," he said.

  The dark swallowed him up a time, and there was movement about him—firelit faces between him and the night sky.

  One was Chei's.

  He forgot, then, where he was.

  "Ah," he cried, and tried desperately to fight them.

  "Be still," Chei said, and put his hand over his mouth. "Be still, man. Vanye. Vanye—listen to me."

  He recalled then, some insanity that Morgaine was with him. Or would come. He could not remember which.

  "Look." Chei lifted his head, carefully, gently, and showed him a strange sight: showed him Siptah, and at Siptah's feet a stump, or some object, and Morgaine sitting with her hands between her knees. He was afraid, until he saw Changeling across her lap

  "You are safe," Chei said. "You are quite safe with us."

  "She has promised to shoot one of us." Hesiyyn gently unfastened a buckle at his side as Chei let his head back. "I have no doubt which one of us. My lord Chei is necessary, Rhanin wins everyone, and I am told I make enemies. I pray you know I shall be careful."

  He blinked dazedly. He recalled some such thing, mad as it was, and lay still, until they needed to work the mail shirt off. But that they did gently, easing his arms as they worked it free.

  It was all one with the dark, the fever, the nightmare that began to become ease of pain. They put warm compresses on his hurts, renewing them constantly; they put hot cloths over him, soaked in herbals; they made him drink something complex and musky, and breathe something that gave his throat ease. He became comfortable, finally.