Gate of Ivrel

He gathered the threads of his thoughts, scattered and snarled for a moment with the knowledge she had given him. He was strangely calm then, what he had known from the beginning settling into place as it ought to be.

“I will hold to it,” he said.

“He is coming,” said Vanye with relief. Snow crunched underfoot beyond the place where they had stopped to wait, around the bend of the trees and the hillside. It was dark. Snow lit by the stars was all about them, bright save in the shadow of the pines. They had lost sight of Roh for a time. “Let me ride back to him.”

“Hold where you are,” she said. “If it is Roh, he will arrive all the same.”

And eventually, a mere shadow among the barred shadows of the pines on the lower slope, there trudged Roh, stumbling with weariness.

“Ride down to him,” said Morgaine then, the only grace she had shown the bowman for his efforts.

Vanye did so gladly, met Roh halfway down the hill and drew his horse to a halt, offering stirrup and hand.

Roh’s face was drawn, his lips parted and the frosted air coming in great raw gasps. For a moment Vanye did not think that Roh would accept any kindness of him now: there was anger there. But he dismounted and helped his cousin up, and rose into the saddle after. Roh slumped against him. He urged the horse uphill at a walk, for the air grew thin here, and hurt the lungs.

“This is a proper place for a camp,” said Morgaine when they joined her. “It is defensible.” She indicated a place of rocks and brush, and it was true: however acquired, Morgaine had an eye to such things.

“Surely,” said Vanye, “we had better do without the fire tonight.”

“I think it would be wise,” she agreed. She slid down, shouldered the strap of Changeling, and began to undo her saddle. Siptah pawed disconsolately at the frozen earth. There was still grain left from the supply the Brothers had given them; there was food left too. It would not be a bitter camp, compared to others they had spent near Aenor-Pyven.

Vanye let Roh slide to the ground, and slid down after. The bowman fell, began at once to try to gather himself up, but Vanye knelt beside him and offered him drink, unfrozen, the flask carried next the horse’s warmth. Then he began to chafe warmth into the man. There was danger of freezing in his extremities, particularly in his feet. Roh was not dressed for this.

Morgaine silently bent and exchanged her cloak for Roh’s, and the bowman nodded gratitude, his eyes fixed on her with thanks and anger so mingled in him that it was hard to know which prevailed.

They fed the horses and ate, which warmed them. There was little spoken. Perhaps there would have been, had Roh not been there; but Morgaine was not in the mood for speech.

“Why?” Roh asked, his voice almost inaudible from cold. “Why do you insist to go to this place?”

“That is the same question you asked before,” she said.

“I have not yet had it answered.”

“Then I cannot answer it to your satisfaction,” she said.

And she held out Roh’s cloak to him, and took her own again, and went over to a rock where there was shelter from the wind. There she slept, Changeling in her arms as always.

“Sleep,” said Vanye then to Roh.

“I am too cold,” said Roh; which complaint Vanye felt with a pang of conscience, and looked at him apologetically. Roh was silent a time, his face drawn in misery and fatigue, his limbs huddled within his thin cloak. “I think”—Roh’s voice was hoarse, hardly audible—“ I think that I shall die on this road.”

“It is only another day more,” Vanye tried to encourage him. “Only one day, Roh. You can last that.”

“It may be.” Roh let his arms fall forward on his knees and bowed his head upon them, lifting his head after a moment, his eyes sunk in shadow. “Cousin. Vanye, for kinship’s sake answer me. What is it she is after, so terrible she cannot have me know it?”

“It is nothing that threatens Chya or Koris.”

“Are you sure enough to take oath on that?”

“Roh,” Vanye pleaded, “do not keep pressing me. I cannot keep answering question and question and question. I know what you would do, to have me defend my way step by step into answering you as you wish, and I will not, Roh. Enough. Leave the matter.”

“I think that you yourself do not know,” said Roh.

“Enough. Roh, if things go amiss at Ivrel, then I will tell you all that I do know. But until that time, I am bound to remain silent. Go to sleep, Roh. Go to sleep.”

Roh sat a time with his arms folded again about him and his knees drawn up, plunged in thought, and at last shook his head. “I cannot sleep. My bones are still frozen through. I will stay awake a little while. Go and sleep yourself. My oath I will see you take no harm.”

“I have an oath of my own,” said Vanye, though he was bone-weary and his eyes were heavy. “She did not give me leave to trade my watch to you.”

“Must she give you leave in everything, kinsman?” Roh’s eyes were kind, his voice gentle as a brother’s ought to be. It recalled a night in Ra-koris, when they had sat together at the hearth, and Roh had bidden him return someday to Chya.

“That is the way of the thing I swore to her.”

But after an hour or more, the forest still, the weight of the long ride and days of riding and sleeplessness before began to settle heavily upon him. He had a dark moment, jerked awake to find a shadow by him, Roh’s hand on his shoulder. He almost cried out, stifled that outcry as he realized in the same instant that it was only Roh, waking him.

“Cousin, you are spent. I tell you that I will take your watch.”

It was reasonable. It was sensible.

He heard in his mind what Morgaine would say to such a thing. “No,” he said wearily. “It is her time to watch. Rest. I will move about a while. If that will not wake me, then she will wake and take the watch. I have no leave to do otherwise.”

He rose, stumbled a little in the action, his legs that numb with exhaustion and cold. He thought Roh meant to help him.

Then pain crashed through his skull. He reached out hands to keep himself from falling, hit, lost most senses; then the weight hit his skull a second and third time, and he went down into dark.

Cords bound him. He was chilled and numb along his body, where he had been lying on his face. It was almost all that he could do to struggle to his knees, and he did so blindly, fearing another assault upon the instant. He turned upon one knee, saw a heap of white that was Morgaine—Roh, standing over her with Changeling, sheathed, in his hands.

“Roh!” Vanye called aloud, breaking the stillness. Morgaine did not stir at the sound, which sent a chill of fear through him, sent him stumbling to his feet. Roh held the sword as if he would draw it, threatening him.

“Roh,” Vanye pleaded hoarsely. “Roh, what have you done?”

“She?” Roh looked down, standing as he was above Morgaine’s prostrate form. “She is well enough, the same as you. An aching head when she wakes. But you will not treat me as you have, Chya Vanye—as she has. I have the right to know what I sheltered in my hall, and this time you will give me answer. If I am satisfied, I will let you both go and cast myself on your forgiveness, and if I am not, I do swear it, cousin, I will take these cursed things and cast them where they cannot be found, and leave you for Hjemur and the wolves to deal with.”

“Roh, you are vain and a madman. And honorless to do this thing.”

“If you are honest,” said Roh, “and if she is, then you have your right to outrage. I will admit it. But this is not for pride’s sake. Thiye is enough. I want no more Irien, no more wars of qujal, no more of the like of Hjemur. And I do think that we are safer with Thiye alone than with Thiye and an enemy let loose to our north. We are the ones who die in their wars. I gave her help, would have defended her at Kath Svejur had she needed it. I would have helped her, kinsman. But she has treated me as an enemy, as a cast-off servant. I think that is all we in Koris will ever be in her mind. She treats free men as she treats you, who have to be content; and maybe you are content with that, maybe you enjoy your station with her, but I do not.”

“You are mad,” Vanye said, came forward a step nearer than Roh wished: Roh’s hands drew Changeling partway from the sheath.