“I am falling behind, Roh. Let go my rein.”
“Ilin-oath is more than blood,” said Roh. “But, Chya Vanye, they were kin to you.”
“Let go, I say.”
Roh’s face drew taut with some weight of thought. Then he held the rein yet tightly, a hand within the bridle. “Take me up,” he said. “I will see you to the edge of my lands, and I know you will not stay for a man afoot. I want no more mischances with Morgaine. You stirred us up Leth, and they are still aprowl; you brought us Nhi and Myya, and Hjemur at once; and now all Baien is astir. This woman brings wars like winter brings storms. I will see you safely through. My presence with you will be enough for any men of Chya you meet, and I will not have their lives taken as she took those of Nhi.”
“Up, then,” said Vanye, moving his foot from the stirrup. Roh was a slender man; his weight was still cruelty to the hard-ridden horse, but it was all that could be done. He feared to lose Morgaine if he were delayed more.
Roh landed behind him, caught hold, and Vanye set heels to the black. The horse tried a quick gait, could not hold it, settled at once to a slower pace when Vanye reined back in mercy.
Morgaine would not kill Siptah. He knew that when her fury had passed, she would slow. And after a time of riding he saw her, where the road became a mere trail through an arch of trees, a pale glimmering of Siptah’s rump and her white cloak in the dark.
Then he put the black to a quicker pace, and she paused and waited when she heard his coming. The black weapon was in her hand as they rode up, but she put it away.
“Roh,” she said.
There was moisture on her cheeks. Vanye saw it and was glad. He nodded courtesy to her, which she returned, and then she bit her lip and leaned both hands upon the saddlebow.
“We will camp,” she said, sensible and calm, the manner Vanye knew in her, “in whatever place you can find secure.”
CHAPTER 9
Ivrel was all the horizon now, snow-crowned and perfect amid the jagged rubble of the Kath Vrej range, anomaly among mountains. The sky was blue and still stained with sunrise in the east, as much as they could see of the sky in that direction. A single star still remained high and to the left of Ivrel’s cone.
It was beautiful, this place upon the north rim of Irien. It was hard to remember the evil of it.
“Another day,” said Morgaine, “perhaps yet one more camp, will set us there.” And when Vanye looked at her he saw no yearning in her eyes such as he had thought to see, only weariness and misery.
“Is it then Ivrel you seek?” Roh asked.
“Yes,” she said. “As it always was.” And she looked at him. “Chya Roh, this is the limit of Koris. We will bid you goodbye here. There is no need that you take us farther.”
Roh frowned, looking up at her. “What is there that you have to gain at Ivrel?” he said. “What is it you are looking for?”
“I do not think that is here or there with us, Roh. Good-bye.”
“No,” he said harshly, and when she would have urged Sip-tah past, ignoring him: “I ask you, Morgaine kri Chya, by the welcome we gave you, I ask you. And if you ride past me I will follow you until I know what manner of thing I have helped, whether good or evil.”
“I cannot tell you,” she said. “Except that I will do no harm to Koris. I will close a Gate, and you will have seen the last of me. I have told you everything in that, but you still do not understand. If I wished to leave you the means to raise another Thiye, I might pause to explain, but it would take too long and I should hate to leave that knowledge behind me.”
Roh gazed up at her, no better comforted than before, and