Well Of Shiuan Part 8

"He is a great lord," she answered in a faint, breathless voice, with a touch of witlessness that for a moment seemed dangerous irony; but he knew her, and they did not. Bydarra looked on her a moment longer, distastefully, and Vanye inwardly blessed her subtlety.

"Stranger," said Hetharu suddenly, he in black brocade: Vanye looked toward him, realizing something that had troubled him-that this one's eyes were human-dark, despite the frost-white hair, but there was no gentleness in voice or look. "You mentioned a woman," Hetharu said, "on a gray horse or a black, or afoot, it might be. And who is she?"

His heart constricted; he sought an answer, cursing his rashness, and at last simply shrugged, refusing the question, hoping that Jhirun too would refuse it; but she did not owe them the courage it would take to keep up her pretense of ignorance. There would come a tune, and quickly, when they would not ask with words. And Jhirun-Jhirun knew enough to ruin them.

"Why are you here?" asked Hetharu.

For shelter from the rain, he almost answered, insolent and unwise; but that might advise them how Jhirun had subtly mocked them. He held his peace.

"You are not khal," said Kithan from the other side, his dreaming eyes half-lidded, his voice soft as a woman's. "You are not even halfling. You style yourself like the southern kings. This is a charade. Some find it impressive. But if you are expert with the Wells, o traveller-then why are you at our gate, begging charity? Power-ought to be better fed and better clothed."

"My lord," the priest objected.

"Out," said Kithan, in that same soft tone. "Go impress the rabble in the courtyard,... man."

Bydarra stirred, rose stiffly to his feet, leaning on one arm of the chair. He looked at the priest, pursed his lips as if he would speak, and refrained. His gaze swept the other lords, and the guards, and lastly returned to Kithan and Hetharu.

Hetharu glowered; Kithan leaned back, eyes distant, moved a languid hand in a gesture of inconsequence.

The priest remained, silent and unhappy, and slowly Bydarra turned to Vanye, an old man in his movements, the seams of years and bitterness outlining his pale eyes and making hard his mouth. "Nhi Vanye," he said quietly. "Do you wish to answer any of the questions my sons have posed you?"

"No," said Vanye, conscious of the men at his back, the demon-helms that doubtless masked more of their folk. In Andur-Kursh, qujal had been fugitives, fearing to be known; but here qujal ruled. He recalled the courtyard where men lived, true men, who had cried out and reached for them, and instead they had trusted to qujal.

"If it is shelter you seek," said Bydarra, "you shall have it. Food, clothing-whatever your needs be. Ohtij-in will give you your night's hospitality."

"And an open gate in the morning?"

Bydarra's lined face was impa.s.sive, neither appreciating the barb nor angered by it. "We are perplexed," said Bydarra. "While we are thus perplexed, our gates remain closed. Doubtless these matters can be quickly resolved. We will watch the roads for the lady you mention, and for you-a night's hospitality."

Vanye bowed the least degree. "My lord Bydarra," he said, the words almost soundless.

They walked the winding corridor again, still ascending. Vanye kept Jhirun against his side, lest the guards think to separate them without resistance; and Jhirun hung her head dispiritedly, seeming undone, hardly caring where they were taken. About them a flurry of brown-clad servants bore trays and linens, some racing ahead, others rushing back again, shrinking against the walls motionless as they and their armored escort pa.s.sed, averting their faces in terror unheard of in the worst bandit holds of Andur-Kursh.

Each bore a dark scar on the right cheek; Vanye noticed it on servant after servant they pa.s.sed in the dim light, realized at last that it was a mark burned into the flesh, distinguishing the house servants from the horde outside. Outrage struck him, that the lords of Ohtij-in should mark men, to know their faces, as if this were the sole distinguishing of those who served them in their own hall.

And that men accepted this-to escape, perhaps, the misery outside-frightened him, as nothing human in this land had yet done.

The spiral branched, and they turned down that corridor, entered yet another spiral that wound upward yet a little distance, so that they seemed to have entered one of the outer towers. An open door welcomed them, and they were together admitted to a modest hall that was cheerful with a fire in the hearth, carpeted, with food and linens set on the long table in the midst of the room.

The servants who yet remained in the room bowed their heads and fled on slippered feet, pursued by the harsh commands of the chief of the escort. The guards who had entered withdrew; the door was closed.

A bar dropped down outside, echoing, the truth of qujalin hospitality. Vanye stared at the strength of that wooden door, anger and fear moiling within him, and forebore the oath that rose in him; instead he hugged Jhirun's frail shoulders, and brought her to the hearth, where it was wannest in the room, that still bore a chill-settled her where she might rest against the stones. She held her shawl tightly about her, head bowed, shivering.

Gladly enough he would have cast himself down there to rest, but the urge of hunger was by a small degree greater, the sight of food and drink too much to resist.

He brought the platter of meat and cheese to the hearth and set it by Jhirun; he gathered up the bottle of drink, and cups, his hands shaking with exhaustion and reaction, and set them on the stones between them as he knelt down. He poured two foaming cups and urged one into Jhirun's pa.s.sive hand.

"Drink," he said bitterly. "We have paid enough for it, and of all things else, they have no need to poison us."

She lifted it in her two hands and swallowed a great draught of it; he sipped the brew and grimaced, loathing the sour taste, but it was wet and eased his throat. Jhirun emptied hers, and he gave her more.

"O lord Vanye," she said at last, her voice almost as hoa.r.s.e as his. "It is ugly, it is ugly; it is worse than Barrows-hold ever was. The ones that came here would have been better dead."

The refuge toward which the Hiua had fled ... he recalled all her hopes of sanctuary, the bright land in which they would escape the dying of Hiuaj. It was a cruel end for her, no less than for him.

"If you find the chance," he said, "go, make yourself one of those in the yard outside." "No," she said in horror.

"Outside, there is some hope left. Look at the ones that serve here-did you not see? Better the courtyard: listen to me-the gates may be opened during the day; they must open sometime. You came by the road; you can return by it. Go back to Hiuaj, go back to your own folk. You have no place among qujal."

"Halflings," she said, and spat dryly. She tossed her tangled hair and set her jaw, that tended to quiver. "They are half-blood or less, and doubtless I can say the same, if the gossip about my grandmother is true. We were the Barrow-kings, and halflings were the beggars then; they were no better than the lowlanders. Now, now we rob our ancestors for gold and sell it to halflings. But I will not crawl in the mud outside. These lords-only the high lords, like Bydarra-they are- they are of the Old Ones, Bydarra and his one son-" She shivered. "They have the blood-like her. But the priest-" The shiver became a sniff, a shrug of disdain. "The priest's eyes are dark. The hair is bleached. So with many of the others. They are no more than I am. I am not afraid of them. I am not going back."

All that she said he absorbed in silence, cold to the heart; that even a Myya could prize a claim to qujalin blood-he did not comprehend. He swore suddenly, half a prayer, and leaned against the lintel of the fireplace, forehead against his arm, staring into the fire and tried to think what he could do for himself.

Her hand touched his shoulder, gently, timidly; he turned his head and looked at her, finding only a frightened girl. The heat at his side became painful; he suffered it deliberately, not willing to think clearly in the directions that opened before him.

"I am not going back," she repeated.

"We shall leave here," he said, which he knew for a lie, but he thought that she wanted some promise, something on which to build her courage. He said it out of his own fear, knowing how easily she could tell the lords of Ohtij-in all that she knew: with this promise he meant to purchase her silence. "Only continue to say nothing, and we shall find a way to leave this foul place."

"For Abarais," she said. Her voice, hoa.r.s.e as it was, came alive. The light danced in her eyes. "For the Well, for your land, and the mountains."

He lied this time by keeping silent. They were the greatest lies he had ever told, he who had once been a dai-uyo of Morija, who had fought to possess honor. He felt unclean, remembering her courage in the hall, and swore to himself that she would not come to hurt for it, not that he could prevent. But the true likelihood was that she would come to hurt, and that he could do nothing.

He was ilin, bound to a service; and this one essential truth he did not think she understood, else she would not trust her life to him. This also he did not say, and was ashamed and miserable.

She offered him food, and a second cup of the drink, attacking the food herself with an appet.i.te he lacked. He ate because he knew that he must, that if there was hope in strength, it must be his; he forced each mouthful down, hardly tasting it, and followed it with a heavy draught of the sour drink.

Then he rested his back against the fireplace, his shoulders over-warm and his legs numb from the stones, and began to take account of himself, his water-soaked armor and ruined boots. He began to work at the laces at his throat, having to break some of them, then at the buckles at his side and shoulder, working sodden leather through.

Jhirun moved to help him, tugging to free the straps, helping him as he slipped off first the leather surcoat and then the agonizing weight of the mail. Freed of it, he groaned with relief, content only to breathe for a moment. Then came the sleeveless linen haqueton, and that sodden and soiled, and b.l.o.o.d.y in patches.

"O my lord," Jhirun murmured in pity, and numbly he looked at himself and saw how the armor had galled his water-soaked skin, his linen shirt a soaked rag, rubbing raw sores where there had been folds. He rose, wincing, stripped it off and dropped it to the floor, shivering in the cold air.

Among the clothes on the table he found several shirts, soft and thin, that came of no fabric he knew; he disliked the feel of the too-soft weaving, but when he drew one on, it lay easily upon his galled shoulders, and he was grateful for the touch of something clean and dry.

Jhirun came, timidly searching among the qujalin gifts for her own sake. She found the proper stack, unfolded the brown garment uppermost, stood staring at it as if it were alive and hostile-a brown smock such as the servants wore.

He saw, and swore-s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hands and hurled it to the floor. She looked frightened, and small and miserable in her wet garments.

He picked up one of the shirts and a pair of breeches. "Wear these," he said. "Yours will dry."

"Lord," she said, a tremor in her voice. She hugged the offered clothing to her breast. "Please do not leave me in this place."

"Go dress," he said, and looked away from her deliberately, hating the appeal and the distress of her-who looked to him, who doubtless would concede to anything to be rea.s.sured of his lies.

Who might the more believe him if she were thus rea.s.sured.

Unwed girls of the countryside of Andur and of Kursh were a casual matter for the uyin of the high clans-peasant girls hoping to bear an uyo's b.a.s.t.a.r.d, to be kept in comfort thereafter: an obligation to the uyo, a matter of honor. But therein both parties knew the way of things. Such a thing was not founded in lies or in fear.

"Lord," she said, across the room.

He turned and looked at her, who still stood in her coa.r.s.e peasant skirts, the garments held against her.

The tread of men approached the door outside, an ominous and warlike sound. Vanye heard it, and heard them pause. Jhirun started to hurry to his side.

The bar of the door crashed back. Vanye looked about as it opened, whirling a chill draft into the room and fluttering the fire; and there in the doorway stood a man in green and brown, who leaned on a sheathed longsword-fronted him with a look of sincere bewilderment.

"Cousin," said Roh.

Chapter Eight.

"Roh," Vanye answered, and heard a rustle of cloth at his left; Jhirun, who drew closer to him. He did not turn his head to see, only hoping that she would stay neutral. He himself stood in shirt and breeches; and Roh was armored. He was weaponless, and Roh carried a longsword, sheathed, in his hand.

There had been no weapons in the room, neither knife with the food nor iron by the fire. In desperation Vanye reckoned what his own skill could avail, a weaponless swordsman against a swordsman whose primary weapon had been the bow.

Roh leaned more heavily on the sword's pommel and shouted over his shoulder a casual dismissal of the guards in the corridor, then stood upright, cast wide his arm in a gesture of peace.

Vanye did not move. Roh tossed his sword and caught it midsheath in one hand; and with a mocking flourish discarded it on the table by the door. Then he came forward several paces, limping slightly, bearing that sober, slightly worried expression that was Roh's very self.

And his glance swept from Vanye to Jhirun, utterly puzzled.

"Girl," he said wonderingly, and then shook his head and walked to a chair and sat down, elbows upon the chair's arms. He gave a silent and humorless laugh. "I thought it would be Morgaine. Where is she?"

The plain question shot through other confusions, making sense-Roh's presence making sense of many matters in Ohtij-in. Vanye set his face against him, grateful to understand at least one enemy, and wished Jhirun to silence.

"She is," Roh said, "hereabouts."

It was bait he was desired to take: he burned to ask what Roh knew, and yet he knew better-shifted his weight and let go his breath, realizing that he had been holding it. "You seem to have found welcome enough here," he answered Roh coldly, "among your own kind."

"I have found them agreeable," said Roh. "So might you, if you are willing to listen to reason."

Vanye thrust Jhirun away, toward the far corner of the room. "Get back," he told her. "Whatever happens here, you do not want to be part of it."

But she did not go, only retreated from his roughness, and stood watching, rubbing her arm.

Vanye ignored her, walked to the table where the sword lay, wondering when Roh would move to stop him; he did not. He gathered it into his hands, watching Roh the while. He drew it part of the way from the sheath, waiting still for Roh to react; Roh did not move. There was only a flicker of apprehension in his brown eyes.

"You are a lie," Vanye said. "An illusion." "You do not know what I am," Roh answered him. "Zri . . . Liell . . . Roh . . . How many names have you worn before that?"

Liell, sardonic master of Leth, whose mocking humor and soft lies he well knew: he watched sharply for that, waited for the arrogant and incalculably ancient self to look out at him through Roh's human eyes-for that familiar and grandiose movement of the hands, some gesture that would betray the alien resident within his cousin's body.

There was nothing of the like. Roh sat still, watching him, his quick eyes following each move: afraid, that was evident. Reckless: that was like Roh, utterly.

He drew the sword entirely. Now, he thought. Now, if ever-before conscience, before pity. His arm tensed. But Roh simply stared at him, a little flinching when he moved.

"No!" Jhirun cried from across the room. It came near loosing his arm before he had consciously willed it; he stayed the blow-jolted to remember a courtyard in Morija, and blood, and sickness that knotted in him, robbing him suddenly of strength.

With a curse he rammed the sword into sheath, knowing himself, as Roh had known him.

Coward, his shorn hair marked him. He saw the narrow satisfaction in Roh's eyes.

"It is good to see you," Roh said in a hollow, careful voice. "Nhi Vanye, it is good to see any kindred soul in this forsaken land. But I am sorry for your sake. I had thought that you would have used good sense and ridden home. I never thought that you would have come with her, even if she ordered it. Nhi honor: it is a compulsion. I am sorry for it. But the sight of you is very welcome."

"Liar," Vanye said between his teeth; but the words, like a Chya shaft, flew accurately to the mark. He felt the wound, the desperation of exile, in which Roh-anyone who could prove that the things he remembered had ever existed-was a presence infinitely precious. The accents of home even on an enemy's lips were beautiful.

"There is no point in quarreling before witnesses," said Roh.

"There is no point in talking to you."

"Nhi Vanye," said Roh softly, "come with me. Outside. I have sent the guards elsewhere. Come." He rose from the chair, moved carefully to the door, looking back at him. "Alone."

Vanye hesitated. That door was what he most earnestly desired, but he knew no reason that Roh should wish him well. He tried to think what entrapment Roh needed use, and that was none at all.

"Come," Roh urged him.

Vanye shrugged, went to the fireside, where his armor lay discarded-slung his swordbelt over his shoulder and hung the sword from it, ready to his hand: thus he challenged Roh.

"As you will," Roh said. "But it is mine; and I will ask it back eventually."

Jhirun came to the fireside, her eyes frightened, looking from one to the other of them: many, many things she had not said; Vanye felt the reminder in her glance.

"I would not leave her alone," he said to Roh.

"She is safe," Roh said. He looked directly at Jhirun, took her unresisting hand, and gone in him was every guardedness and ungentle tone. "Do not fear anything in Ohtij-in. I remember a kindness and return it doubled if I can, as I return other things. No harm will come to you. None."

She stayed still, seeming to trust nothing. Vanye delayed, fearing to leave her, fearing that might be Roh's purpose: to separate them; and in another mind, fearing what evil he might do her by holding to her, linking her with him, when he had only enemies in Ohtij-in.

"I do not think I have a choice," he said to her, and did not know whether she understood. He turned his back on her, feeling her stare as he walked to the door. Roh opened it, brought him out into the dim corridor, where a cold wind hit his light clothing and set him shivering.

There were no guards in sight, not a stir anywhere in the corridor.

Roh closed the door and dropped the bar. "Come," he said then, motioned to the left, toward the ascent of the spiral ramp.

Turn after turn they climbed, Roh slightly in the lead; and Vanye found his exhaustion such that he must put a hand on the core wall to steady his step. Roh climbed, limping only slightly, and Vanye glared at his back, his hand on the sword, waiting for Roh to show sensible fear of him and glance back only once; but Roh did not. Arrogant, Vanye thought, raging in his heart; but it was very like Roh.

At last they arrived at a level floor, and a doorway, up low steps. Roh opened that door, admitting a gust of wind that skirled violently into the tower, chilling the very bones. Outside was night, and the scent of recent rain.

He followed Roh outside, atop the very crest of the outermost tower of Ohtij-in, where the moons' wan light streamed through the ragged clouds: Anli and Sith were overhead, and hard behind them hurtled the fragments of the Broken Moon, while on the horizon was the vast white face of Li, pocked and scarred. The wind swept freely across the open s.p.a.ce. Vanye hung back, in the shelter of the tower core, but Roh walked to the edge, his cloak held closely about him in the blast of the wind.

"Come," Roh urged him, and Vanye came, knowing himself mad even to have come this far, alone with this qujal in man's guise. He reached the edge and looked down, dizzied at the view down the tower walls to the stones below; he caught at the solidity of the battlement with one hand and at the sword's hilt with the other.

If Roh meant to destroy him, he thought, there was ample means for that. He ignored Roh for an instant, cast a look at all the country round about, the glint of moonlight on black floodwaters that wove a spider's web about the drowning hills. Through those hills lanced the road that he could not reach, subtle torment.