left in his legs. He had found a few positions that hurt less, and kept shifting between them. But the approach to this place meant different necessities, meant—Heaven knew what. If they must fight here, he could do that, he thought, as long as they stayed mounted.
'How is thee faring?' Morgaine asked him.
'I will manage,' he said.
She looked at him, long, as they rode. 'On thy oath, Nhi Vanye.'
That shook him. He was much too close to judgment to trifle with damnation. It was unfairly she dealt with him—but she had no conscience in such matters, he had long known it.
'Vanye, does thee leave me to guess?'
'I will stay ahorse,' he said, half the truth. 'I can defend myself.' But he could imagine her relying on him in some rush to cover, or doing something foolish to rescue him if he should fall. He sweated, feeling a coldness in the pit of his stomach. He had not used the qhalur medicines. He abhorred such things. More, he did not think they could deal with a numbness that had his right leg all but useless, prickling like needles all up the inside. 'It is walking I am not sure of. But my head is clear.'
She said nothing then. She was thinking, he decided—thinking through things he did not know, thinking what to do, how far to believe him, and what of her plans she must now change—all these things, because he had been a fool and brought them to this pass, and now began to be a burden on her.
He let Arrhan fall a little back then—the horses fretted and snorted, having the scent of strangeness in the wind, the prospect of a fight—always, always, the prospect of war wherever they came to habitations of any kind. The qhal cared little what he did. And Morgaine had her eyes set on the thing in front of them.
He slipped the red paper from its place and carefully, with fingers which trembled, managed to get one of the tiny pellets beneath a fingernail, and then, losing his resolve and his trust of the gift, dislodged it and let it roll back into the paper. He folded it up again, and put it back.
Fool, he thought again. Coward.
But he knew that
He gained leverage as he could, took his weight mostly on his arms, hands on the saddlebow, and let the pain run as it would, while he made the right leg move, and bend, and the feeling come back in tingling misery. Sweat fell from his face and spattered his hands, white-knuckled on the horn.
He watched Chei ride up to the very doors, draw the red roan alongside that door-rim and pound with a frail human fist against that towering mass of metal, which hardly resounded to his blows.
'I am Chei ep Kantory,' he shouted, in a voice that seemed far too small. 'I am Chei lord of Morund, Warden of the South! I have brought visitors to the Overlord! Open the doors!'
But metal boomed and clanked and hinges groaned with a sound that hurt the ears and shied the horses: Arrhan came up on her hind legs and down again, braced in an instant's confusion. He caught his balance, steadied her, colliding with the panicked bay at lead, at Siptah's left.
The iron doors groaned and squealed outward, opening on a shadowed hall of scale to match them, pillars greater in girth than all but the greatest trees of Shathan.
He slipped the ring that held his sword at his back, and let it fall ready to his side.
'Not yet,' Morgaine said, as Chei and his companions started forward and rode into that hall. She began to ride after, calmly, slowly as the men in front of them.
He touched Arrhan with his heels and curbed the mare's nervousness with a pat on her sweating neck. His hand was shaking.
There was a second set of doors before them, far down that forest of stone.
They were closed.
And the ribbon of daylight which lay wide about them, narrowed and vanished with the meeting and sealing of the doors at their backs.
The horses settled, slowly, in a profound silence.
Footsteps sounded within the forest of pillars. A qhal in black armor, his silver hair loose around his shoulders, walked out into their path, into a shaft of light.
It was not the only footfall in the place. But the pillars hid what else moved about them.
'My lord Warden,' Chei said, as the roan fought the rein.
'South-warden?' Seiyyin's Warden asked. He was not young nor old. The face might have been carved of bone, the eyes of cold glass.
'Yes, my lord,' Chei answered him—youth's form and youth's face; but that was not what sat his horse facing this grim lord. 'I was Qhiverin Asfelles.'
'With?'
'Rhanin ep Eorund, once Taullyn Daras, and Hesiyyn Aeisyryn, under my orders, in the performance of my office, with persons traveling under my seal. We are escorting this lady and her companion to Mante.'
The lord Warden's eyes traveled past the others to Vanye and to Morgaine, and lingered, unreadable and cold. 'These are the Outsiders.'
'They are, my lord. I urge you speak civilly to them. It was a mistake they ever came through Morund-gate, and due to their falling in with humans, and due to lies humans have told them, there have been costly misunderstandings. This lady is a warden herself, and she is not well-pleased with the things she has met on her way.'
And, O Heaven, the Warden's cold eyes shifted toward them with the least small fracture in his command of the affair.
Not a stupid man either. Nor one incapable of shifting footing. 'Where are you warden, lady?'
Morgaine rode a little forward; Vanye moved instantly to stay beside her.
'Where I am warden,' Morgaine said, 'and more than warden—is something between your Overlord and myself. But I thank you, my lord, if I am about to meet more courtesy than has been my experience on this journey. It will do a great deal to mend matters.'
For a long moment the Warden was silent. Then: 'We will advise the authorities in Mante,' the Warden said.
'I would suggest—my lord—you advise Skarrin himself, and do not waste my time with 'authorities' and deputies. He is the one who
It was very still in the vast hall.
Then: 'I pray you,' the Warden said, 'leave your horses to my deputies and accept my hospitality. Advise me