The riders ringed them about on all sides now, and began to close inward.
“The horses are done,” Vanye said. “Lady, I think we shall die here.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” she said. “Stay clear of me, ilin. Do not cross in front of me or even ride even with me.”
And then he knew the spotted pony of one that was at the head of the others, ordering his riders to come inward; and near him there was the blaze-faced bay that he expected to see.
They were Morij riders, that ran the border by Alis Kaje, and sometimes harried even into this land when Hjemur’s forces or Chya’s grew restive.
He snatched at Morgaine’s arm, received at once an angry look, quick suspicion. Terror.
“They are Morij,” he pleaded with her. “My clan. Nhi. Llyo, take none of their lives. My father—he is their lord, and he is not a forgiving man, but he is honorable. Ilin’s law says my crimes cannot taint you: and whatever you have done, Morija has no bloodfeud with you. Please, lady. Do not take these men’s lives.”
She considered; but it was sense that he argued with her, and she must know it. The horses were likely to die under them if they must go on running. There would likely be more
Hjemurn forces to the north even if they should break clear now. Here was refuge, if no welcome. She lowered her weapon.
“On your soul,” she hissed at him. “On your soul, if you lie to me in this.”
“That is the condition of my oath,” he said, shaken, “and you have known that as long as I have been with you. I would not betray you. On my soul, liyo.”
The weapon went back into its place. “Speak to them,” she said then. “And if you have not a dozen arrows in you—I will be willing to go with them on your word.”
He put up his sword and lifted his hands wide, prodding the exhausted black a little forward, until he was within hailing distance of the advancing riders, whose circle had never ceased to narrow.
“I am ilin,” he cried to them, for it was no honor to kill ilin without reckoning of his lord. “I am Nhi Vanye. Nhi Paren, Paren, Lellen’s-son—you know my voice.”
“Whose service, ilin Nhi Vanye?” came back Paren’s voice, gruff and familiar and blessedly welcome.
“Nhi Paren—these hills are full of Hjemur-folk tonight, and Leth too, most likely. In Heaven’s mercy, take us into your protection and we will make our appeal at Ra-morij.”
“Then you serve some enemy of ours,” observed Nhi Paren, “or you would give us an honest name.”
“That is so,” said Vanye, “but none that threatens you now. We ask shelter, Nhi Paren, and that is the Nhi’s right to grant or refuse, not yours, so you must send to Ra-morij.”
There was a silence. Then: “Take them both,” came across the distance. The riders closed together. For a moment as they were closely surrounded, Vanye had the overwhelming fear that Morgaine might suddenly panic and bring death on both of them, the more so as Paren demanded the surrender of their weapons.
And then Paren had his first clear sight of Morgaine in the darkness, and exclaimed the beginning of an invocation to Heaven. The men about him made signs against evil.
“I do not think that it will be comfortable for you to handle my weapons, being that your religion forbids,” said Morgaine then. “Lend me a cloak and I will wrap them, so that you may know that I will not use them, but I will continue to carry
them. I think that we were well out of this area. Vanye spoke the truth about Hjemur.”
“We will go back to Alis Kaje,” Paren said. And he looked at her as if he thought long about the matter of the weapons. Then he bade Vanye give her his cloak, and watched carefully while she wrapped all her gear within the cloak and laid it across her saddlebow. “Form-up,” he bade his men then, and though they were surrounded by riders, he put no restraint on them.