Gate of Ivrel

“Leth has always been very kind to me.”

Kasedre reached out his hand, altogether against propriety—it was the action of a child fascinated by glitter —and his trembling fingers touched the arm of Morgaine, and the hilt of Changeling.

She ceased to move, every muscle frozen for an instant; then gently she moved her arm and removed his fingers from the dragon blade’s hilt.

Vanye’s muscles were rock-hard, his left hand already feeling after the release of his nameless sword. They could perhaps reach the midpoint of the hall before fifty swords cut them down.

And he must guard her back.

Kasedre drew back his hand. “Draw the blade,” he urged her. “Draw it. I want to see it.”

“No,” she said. “Not in a friendly hall.”

“It was forged here in Leth,” said Kasedre, his dark eyes glittering. “They say that the magic of the Witchfires themselves went into its forging. A Leth smith aided in the making of its hilt. I want to see it.”

“I never part with it,” said Morgaine softly. “I treasure it greatly. It was made by Chan, who was the dearest of my own companions, and by Leth Omry, as you say. Chan carried it a time, but he gave it to me before he died in Irien. It never leaves me, but I think kindly of friends in Leth when I remember its making.”

“Let us see it,” he said.

“It brings disaster wherever it is drawn,” she said, “and I do not draw it.”

“We ask this.”

“I would not—” the painted smile resumed, adamant—“chance any misfortune to the house of Leth. Do believe me.”

A pout was on Leth Kasedre’s features, a flush upon his sweating cheeks. His breathing grew quick and there was a sudden hush in the hall.

“We ask this,” he repeated.

“No,” said Morgaine. “This I will not.”

He snatched at it, and when she avoided his grasp, he spitefully snatched the book instead, whirled to his feet and cast it into the hearth, scattering embers.

The old scholar scuttled crabwise and sobbing after the book, spilling ink that dyed his robes. He rescued it and sat there brushing the little charring fire from its edges. His old lips moved as if he were speaking to it.

And Kasedre shrieked, railing upon his guests until the froth gathered at the corners of his mouth and he turned a most alarming purple. Ingratitude seemed the main burden of his accusations. He wept He cursed.

“ Qujalin witch,” be began to cry then. “Witch! Witch! Witch!”

Vanye was on his feet, not yet drawing, but sure he must.

Morgaine took a final sip of wine and gathered herself up also. Kasedre was still shouting. He raised his hand to her, trembled as if he did not quite have the courage to strike. Morgaine did not flinch; and Vanye began to ease his blade from the sheath.

Tumult had risen in the hall again: it died a sudden death, beginning at the door. There had appeared there a tall, thin man of great dignity, perhaps forty, fifty years in age. The silence spread. Kasedre began instead to whimper, to utter his complaints under his breath and petulantly.

And incredibly this apparition, this new authority, walked forward to kneel and do Kasedre proper reverence.

“Liell,” said Kasedre in a trembling voice.

“Clear the hall,” said Liell. His voice was sane and still and terrible.

There was no noise at all, even from the bandits at the rear; the uyin began to slink away. Kasedre managed to put up an act of defiance for a moment Liell stared at him. Then Kasedre turned and fled, running, into the shadows behind the curtains.

Liell bowed a formal and slight courtesy to them both.

“The well-renowned Morgaine of the Chya,” he said softly. Here was sanity. Vanye breathed a soft sigh of relief and let his sword slip back. “You are not the most welcome visitor ever to come to this hall,” Liell was saying, “but I will warn you all the same, Morgaine: whatever brought you back will send you hence again if you bait Kasedre. He is a child, but he commands others.”

“I believe we share clan,” she said, cold rebuff to his discourtesy. “I am adopted, kri Chya; but of one clan, you and I.”

He bowed again, seemed then to offer true respect. “Your pardon. You are a surprise to me. When the rumor came to me, I did not believe it. I thought perhaps it was some charlatan with a game to play. But you are quite the real thing, I see that. And who is this, this fellow?”

“It is all family,” Vanye said, a touch of insolence, that Liell had not been courteous with Morgaine. “I am Chya on my mother’s side.”

Liell bowed to him. For a moment those strangely frank eyes rested directly upon him, draining him of anger. “Your name, sir?”

“Vanye,” he said, shaken by that sudden attention.

“Vanye,” said Liell softly. “Vanye. Aye, that is a Chya name. But I have little to do with clan Chya here. I have other work... Lady Morgaine, let me see you to your rooms. You have stirred up quite a nest of troubles. I heard the shouting. I descended—to your rescue, if you will pardon me.”

Morgaine nodded him thanks and began to walk with him. Vanye, ignored now, fell in a few paces behind them and kept watch on the doors and corridors.

“I truly did not believe it at first,” said Liell. “I thought Kasedre’s humors were at work again, or that someone was taking advantage of him. His fantasies are elaborate. May I ask why—?”

Morgaine used that dazzling and false smile on Liell. “No,” she said, “I discuss my business with no one I chance to leave behind me. I will be on my way soon. I wish no help. Therefore what I do is of no moment here.”

“Are you bound for the territory of Chya?”

“I am clan-welcome there,” she said, “but I doubt it would be the same warmth of welcome I knew if I were to go there now. Tell me of yourself, Chya Liell. How does Leth fare these days?”

Liell waved an elegant hand at their surroundings. He was a graceful man, handsome and silver-haired; his dress was modest, night-blue. His shoulders lifted in a sigh. “You see how things are, lady, I am well sure. I manage to keep Leth whole, against the tide of events. As long as Kasedre keeps to his entertainments, Leth thrives. But its thin blood will not breed another generation. The sons and grandsons of Chya Zri—who, I know, found no favor in your eyes—still are the bulwark of Leth in its old age. They serve me well. That in hall—that is the get of Leth, such as remains.”

Morgaine refrained from comment. They began to mount the stairs. A pinched little face peered at them from the turning, withdrew quickly.

“The twins,” said Vanye.

“Ah,” said Liell. “Hshi and Tlin. Nasty characters, those.”

“Clever with their hands,” said Vanye sourly.

“They are Leth. Hshi is the harpist in kail. Tlin sings. They also steal. Do not let them in your rooms. I suspect it was Tlin who is responsible for your being here. The report was very like her misbehaviors.”

“Hardly necessary that she trouble herself,” said Morgaine. “My path necessarily led to Ra-leth. I had the mood to come this way. The girl could prove a noisome pest.”

“Please,” said Liell. “Leave the twins to me. They will not trouble you... What set Kasedre off tonight?”

“He became overexcited,” said Morgaine. “I take it that he does not often meet outsiders.”

“Not of quality, and not under these circumstances.”

They wound up the remaining stairs and came into the hall where their apartments were. The servants were busy at their tasks, lighting the lamps. They made great bows as Liell and Morgaine swept past them.

“Did you eat well?” Liell asked.

“We had sufficient,” she said.

“Sleep soundly, lady. Nothing will trouble you.” He made a formal bow as Morgaine went inside her own door, but as Vanye would have followed her, Liell prevented him with an outthrust arm.

Vanye stopped, hand upon hilt, but Liell’s purpose seemed speech, not violence. He leaned closer set a hand upon Vanye’s shoulder, a familiarity a man might use with a servant, talking to him quickly in whispers.