Wall of Shiuan

“I thought that was a matter of no concern to you.”

“She is a chance meeting,” he said. “And no more than that. She set out looking for you, hoping better from you than she had where she was: the measure of that, you may know better than I. You were kind to her, she said.”

“She will be safe,” said Roh. “I also keep my word.”

Vanye frowned, glanced away. Roh said nothing further. They entered a third corridor, that came to an end in a blind wall; and in a narrow place on the right was a deeply recessed doorway. Shadows ran the walls as the guards overtook them, while Roh opened the door.

It was a plain room, with a fire blaring in the hearth, a wooden bench by the fire, table, chairs. And Hetharu waited there, Bydarra’s dark-eyed son, seated, with a handful of others likewise seated about him—pale-haired men, although only Hetharu seemed so by nature, his long locks white and silken about his shoulders. He leaned elbows upon his knees, wanning his hands at the fire; and by the fire stood a priest, whose brittle, bleached hair described a nimbus about his balding head.

Vanye stopped in the doorway, confused by the situation of things, so important a man, so strangely assorted the company. Roh set his hand on his shoulder and urged him gently forward. The guards took up stations inside and out as the doors were closed and the gathering became a private one. Helms were removed, revealing faces thin and pale as those of the higher lords, eyes as dark as Hetharu’s: young men, all that were gathered here, save the priest, furtive in their quiet. There was the brocaded finery of the lords, the martial plate-and-scale of the men-at-arms, the plainness of the furnishings. Guards had been posted outside as well as within the room. These things touched uneasily at Vanye’s mind, warning of something other than mere games of terror with him. The gathering breathed of something ugly, that concerned the qujal themselves, powers and alliances within their ranks.

And he was seized into the midst of it.

“You won nothing of him?” Hetharu asked of Roh. Roh left Vanye’s side and took the vacant bench beside the fire, one booted foot tucked up, disposing himself comfortably and at his ease, leaving Vanye as if he were harmless.

In peevish insolence Vanye shifted his weight suddenly, and hands reached for daggers and swords all about the room; he tautened his lips, a smile that rage made slight and mocking, and slowly, amid their indecision, moved to take his place beside Roh on the bench, near the fire’s warmth. Roh straightened slightly, both feet on the floor; and the look in Hetharu’s eyes was angry. Vanye met that stare with a stubborn frown, though within, he felt less than easy: here was, he thought, a man who would gladly resort to force, who would enjoy it.

“My cousin,” said Roh, “is a man of his word, and reckons that word otherwise bestowed... although this may change. As matters stand now, he does not recognize reason, only the orders of his liege: that is the kind of man he is.”

“A dangerous man,” said Hetharu, and his dark, startling eyes rested full on Vanye’s. “Are you dangerous, Man?”

“I thought,” said Vanye slowly, with deliberation, “that Bydarra was lord in Ohtij-in. What is this?”

“You see how he is,” said Roh. And on faces round about there was consternation: guilt, fear. Hetharu glowered. Vanye read the tale writ therein and liked it less and less.

“And his liege?” asked Hetharu. “What has he to say of her?”

“Nothing,” said Roh. And in their long silence, Vanye’s heart beat rapidly. “It is of little profit,” said Roh, “to question him on that account. I will not have him harmed, my lord.”

Vanye heard, not understanding, not believing Roh’s defense of him; but he saw in that moment that a hint of caution appeared in Hetharu’s manner—uncertainty that held him from commanding Roh.

“You,” said Hetharu suddenly, looking at Vanye, “do you claim to have come by the Wells?”

“Yes,” Vanye answered, for he knew that there was no denying it.

“And can you manage them?” the priest asked, a husky, quiet voice. Vanye looked up into the priest’s face, reading desire there, not knowing how to deal with the desires that gathered thickly in this room, centered upon him and upon Roh. He did not want to die; abundantly, he did not want to die, butchered by qujal, for causes he did not understand, that had nothing to do with him.

He did not answer.

“You are a Man,” said the priest.

“Yes,” he said, and noticed that the priest carried a knife at his belt, curious accoutrement for a priest; and that all the others were armed. The priest wore a chain of objects about his neck, stone and shell and bone— familiar—Vanye realized all at once where he had seen such, daily, along with a small stone cross, profaned by nearness to such things. He stared at the priest, the rage that he could maintain against armed threat ebbing coldly in the consideration of devils, and those that served them—and the state of his soul, who served Morgaine, and who companied with a human girl who wore such objects about her neck.

Only let them keep the priest from him. He tore his gaze away from that one, lest the fear show, lest he give them a weapon.

“Man,” said Hetharu, looking on him with that same fixed stare, “is this truly your cousin?”

“Half of him was my cousin,” Vanye said, to confound them all.

“You see how he tells the truth,” Roh said softly, silk-over-metal. “It does not always profit him, but he is forward with it: an honest man, my cousin Vanye. He confuses many people with that trait, but he is Nhi; you would not understand that, but he is Nhi, and he cannot help this over-nice devotion to honor. He tells the truth. He makes himself enemies with it. But in your honesty, cousin, tell them why your liege has come to this land. What has she come to do?”

He saw the reason for his presence among them now, how he had been, in his cleverness, guided to this. He knew that he should have held his peace from the beginning. Now silence itself would accuse, persuasive as admission. His muscles tautened, mind numbed when he most needed it. He had no answer.

“To seal the Wells forever,” Roh said. ‘Tell me, my honest, my honorable cousin—is that or is that not the truth?”

Still he held his peace, searching desperately for a lie, not practiced in the art. There was none he could shape that could not be at once unravelled.

“Deny it, then,” said Roh. “Can you do that?”

“I deny it,” he said, reacting as Roh thrust at him what he most wanted; and even as it slipped his lips he knew he had been maneuvered.

“Swear to it,” Roh said; and as he began to say that also: “On your oath to her,” Roh said.

By your soul: that was the oath; and their eyes were all on him, like wolves in a circle. His lips shaped the words, knowing the effort for useless, utterly useless; on his soul too was his duty to Morgaine, that bade him try.

But Roh set his hand on his arm, mercifully stopping him, leaving him trembling with sickness. “No,” Roh said. “Spare yourself the guilt, Vanye; you do not wear it well. You see how it is, lord Hetharu. I have shown you the truth. My cousin is an honest man. And you, my lord, will swear to me that you will set no hand on him. I bear him some affection, this cousin of mine.”

Heat mounted steadily to Vanye’s face. There seemed no profit in protesting this baiting defense. He met Hetharu’s dark and resentful eyes. “Granted,” Hetharu said after a moment, and glanced at Roh. “He is yours. But I cannot answer for my father.”

“No one,” said Roh, “will set hand on him.”

Hetharu glanced down, and aside, and frowned and rose. “No one,” he echoed sullenly.

“My lords,” said Roh, likewise rising. “A safe sleep to you.”

There was a moment of silence, of seething anger on the part of the young lord. Surely it was not accustomed that Bydarra’s son receive his dismissal from a dark-haired guest. But fear hovered thickly in the room when Roh looked at them all in their turn: eyes averted from his, to one side and the other, pretending to find interest in the stones of the floor or the guarded door.

Hetharu shrugged, a false insouciance. “My lords,” he said to his companions. “Priest.”

They filed out with rustling brocade and the clash of metal, those slim fair lords with their attendant guard, half-human—until there was only Roh, who quietly closed the door, making the room again private.

“Give me the sword again,” Vanye said, “cousin.”