Gate of Ivrel

lordlings sitting about them flushed with wine, looking like beasts thirsting for the kill, and reckoned uneasily how long their patience would last.

“We would be honored,” replied Kasedre. It was probably the first time in years that anyone had bothered with the musty tome of Leth, replete as it must be with murderings and incest. The rumors were dark enough, though little news came out of Leth.

“Here,” said Morgaine, and took into her lap the moldering book of the scribe, while the poor old scholar—a most wretched old man and reeking of drink—sat at her brocaded knee and looked up at her, wrinkle browed and squinting. His eyes and nose ran. He blotted at both with his sleeve. She cracked the book, disturbing pages moldered together, handling the old pages reverently, separating them with her nail, folding them down properly as she sought the years she wanted.

Somewhere at the back of the hall some of the less erudite members of the banquet were engaged in riotous conversation. It sounded as if a gambling game were in progress. She ignored it entirely, although Kasedre seemed irritated by it; the lord Leth himself squatted down to hear her, hanging upon her long silence in awe. Her forefinger traced words. Vanye’s view over her shoulder showed yellowed parchment and ink that had turned red-brown and faint. It was a wonder that one who lisped the language as uncertainly as she did could manage that ancient scrawl, but her lips moved as she thought the words.

“My dear old friend Edjnel,” she said softly. “Here is his death—what, murdered?” Kasedre craned his neck to see the word. “And his daughter—ah, little Linna—drowned upon the lakeshore. This is sad news. But Tohme did rule, surely—”

“My father,” interjected Kasedre, “was Tohme’s son.” His eyes kept darting to her face anxiously, as if he found fear of her condemnation.

“When I remember Tohme,” she said, “he was playing at his mother’s knee: the lady Aromwel, a most gracious, most lovely person. She was Chya. I rode to this hall upon a night... ” She eased the fragile pages backward. “Yes, here, you see:

“... came She even to Halle, bearing sad Tidings from the Road. Lorde Aralde— brother to Edjnel and to my friend Lrie, who went with me to Irien, and died there– Lorde Aralde had met with Mischance upon his faring in her Companie that attempted the Saving of Leth against the Darke, which advanceth out of... Well, well, this was another sad business, that of lord Arald. He was a good man. Unlucky. An arrow out of the forest had him; and the wolves were on my trail by then.... herein she feared the Border were lost, that there would none rallye to the Saving of the Middle Realms, save only Chya and Leth, and they strippt of Men and sorely hurt. So gave she Farewell to Leth and left the Halle, much mourned... Well, that is neither here nor there. It touches me to think that I am missed at least in Leth.” Her fingers sought further pages. “Ah, here is news. My old friend Zri—he was counselor to Tiffwy, you know. Or do you not? Well.... Chya Zri has come to Leth, he being friend to the Kings of Koris.” A feral grin was on her face, as if that mightily amused her. “Friend”—she laughed softly —“aye, friend to Tiffwy’s wife, and thereon hung a tale.”

Kasedre twisted with both hands at his sleeve, his poor fevered eyes shifting nervously from her to the book and back again. “Zri was highly honored here,” he said. “But he died.”

“Zri was a fox,” said Morgaine. “Ah, clever, that man. It was surely like him not to have been at Irien after all, although he rode out with us. Zri had an ear to the ground constantly: he could smell disaster, Tiffwy always said. And Edjnel never trusted him. But unfortunately Tiffwy did. And I wonder indeed that Edjnel took him in when he appeared at the gates of Leth.... he has honored us by his Presence, tutor... to the younge Prince Leth Tohme ... to guide in all divers manner of Statecraft and Publick Affaires, being Guardian also of the Lady Chya Aromwel and her daughter Linna, at the lamented Decease of Leth Edjnel... ”

“Zri taught my grandfather,” said Kasedre when Morgaine remained sunk in thought He prattled on, nervous, eager to please. “And my father for a time too. He was old, but he had many children—”

One of the uyin tittered behind his hand. It was injudicious. Leth Kasedre turned and glared, and that uyo bowed himself to his face and begged pardon quickly, claiming some action in the back of the hall as the source of his amusement

“What sort was Tohme?” asked Morgaine.

“I do not know,” said Kasedre. “He drowned. Like aunt Linna.”

“Who was your father?”

“Leth Hes.” Kasedre puffed a bit with pride, insisted to turn the pages of the book himself, to show her. “He was a great lord.”

“Tutored by Zri.”

“And he had a great deal of gold.” Kasedre refused to be distracted. But then his face fell. “But I never saw him. He died. He drowned too.”

“Most unfortunate. I should stay clear of water, my lord Leth. Where did it happen? The lake?”

“They think—”Kasedre lowered his voice—“that my father was a suicide. He was always morose. He brooded about the lake. Especially after Zri was gone. Zri—”

“—drowned?”

“No. He rode out and never came back. It was a bad night. He was an old man anyway.” His face assumed a pout. “I have answered every one of your questions, and you promised my answer and you have not answered it. Where were you, all these years? What became of you, if you did not die?”

“If a man,” she said, continuing to read while she answered him, “rode into the Witchfires of Aenor-Pyven, then he would know. It is possible for anyone. However, it has certain—costs.”

“The Witchfires of Leth,” he said, licking moisture from the corners of his mouth. “Would they suffice?”

“Most probably,” she said. “However, it is chancy. The fires have certain potential for harm. I know the safety of Aenor-Pyven. It could do no bodily harm. But I should not chance Leth’s fires unless I had seen them. They are by the lake, which seems to take so much toll of Leth. I should rather other aid than that, lord Leth. Seek Aenor- Pyven.” She still gave him only a part of her attention, continuing to push the great moldering pages back one after another. Then her eyes darted to the aged scholar. “Thee looks almost old enough to remember me.”

The poor old man, trembling, tried the major obeisance at being directly noticed by Morgaine, and could not make it gracefully. “Lady, I was not yet born.”

She looked at him curiously, and then laughed softly. “Ah, then I have no friends left in Leth at all. There are none so old.” She thumbed more pages, more and more rapidly. “... This sad day was funeral for Leth Tohme, aged seventeen yeares, and his Consort... lady Leth Jeme... Indeed, indeed—at one burying.”

“My grandmother hanged herself for grief,” said Kasedre.

“Ah, then your father must have become the Leth when he was very young. And Zri must have had much power.”

“Zri. Zri. Zri. Tutors are boring.”

“Had you one?”

“Liell. Chya Liell. He is my counselor now.”

“I have not met Liell,” she said.

Kasedre bit at his lips. “He would not come tonight. He said he was indisposed. I”—he lowered his voice —“have never known Liell indisposed before.”

“... Liell of the Chya... has given splendid entertainments... on the occasion of the birthday of the Leth, Kasedre, most honorable of lords... two maidens of the... Indeed.” Morgaine blinked, scanned the page. “Most unique. And I have seen a great many entertainments.”

“Liell is very clever,” said Kasedre. “He devises ways to amuse us. He would not come tonight. That is why things are so quiet. He will think of something for tomorrow.”

Morgaine continued to scan the pages. “This is interesting,” she assured Kasedre. “I must apologize. I am surely wearying you and interfering with your scribe’s recording of my visit, but this does intrigue me. I shall try to repay your hospitality and your patience.”

Kasedre bowed very low, thoughtlessly necessitating obeisance by all at the immediate table. “We have kept in every detail the records of your dealings with us in this visit. It is a great honor to our hall.”