“I will tell you,” he said, “though I myself do not understand it. She says that she came to destroy the Witchfires. I do not know why. Perhaps it is some matter of her honor. But they never were anything but harm to Andur-Kursh; so she is no harm to Morija.”
“And you do not know what gain that would be to her.”
“No. She only says—somehow—she means to kill Thiye, and that is not…” He moved his arm. The blade sliced skin and he decided against it. “Erij, she is not the enemy.”
Erij’s mouth twisted into a sour smile. “There have been
more than Thiye that aspired to what Thiye holds. And none of those have meant us good.”
“Not to possess what he holds. To destroy it.”
The blade lifted. Vanye struggled to his knees, aching in head and belly, where he had been kicked. He met Erij’s cynicism with absolute earnestness.
“Little brother,” said Erij, “I think you actually believe the witch. And you have gone soft in the wits if that is so. Look at me. Look at me. I swear to you—and you know that I keep my word—that if you forsake that allegiance in truth, I will not collect the price you owe me.” The longsword flicked at his wrist. Vanye snatched it back, horrified. The blade instead leveled at his eyes, holding him like the eyes of a serpent.
“Bastard brother,” said Erij, “it has taken me these two years to learn some skill with my left hand. All for a careless, useless gesture. Romen’s efforts notwithstanding, I lost the -fingers. They went before the hand. Need I tell you how I have sworn I would do if ever I had you in reach, bastard brother? Kandrys may have deserved what he had of you; but I only tried to shield him at that moment—only to keep you from striking him again, I not even in armor. There was no honor for you in what you did, little brother. And I have not forgiven you.”
“That is a lie,” said Vanye. “You would as gladly have killed me, and I was less skilled than either of you: I always was.”
Erij laughed. “There is the Vanye I know. Kandrys would have cursed me to my face and gone for my throat if I threatened him. But you know I will do it, and you are afraid. You think too much, Chya bastard. You always had too keen an imagination. It made you coward, because you never learned to put that wit of yours to good advantage. But I will own you were outmatched then. The years have put weight on you, and half a hand to your stature. I am not sure I should like to take you on now, left-handed as I am.”
“Erij.” He cast everything upon an appeal to reason, put utmost heart into his tone. “Erij, will you have this hall reputed like that of Leth? Let me pass from here. I am outlawed. I admit I deserve it, and I was mad to come here asking charity of Father. I would never have dared come if I had known I would have to ask any grace of you. That was my mistake. But Nhi will lose honor for you. You know that Nhi will have
no part of it, or else you would not have to use Myya guards with me.”
“For what are you asking me?”
“To treat me as Nhi, as your brother.”
Erij smiled faintly, drew from his belt the shorts word, the Honor blade, and cast it ringing onto the stones of the hearth. Then he walked out.
Vanye stared after him, shuddered as the door slammed and the heavy bolt went across. Fear settled into him like an old friend, close and familiar. He did not even look at the sword for a moment. He had not asked for this, but for his release; and yet it honorably answered, more than honorably answered, all that he had asked of Erij.
At last he turned upon his knees and sought the hilt of the blade, picked it up and could not find it comfortable in his hand, even less could find the courage to do with it what was required of him to do.