Or she might, instead, be far on her way to Mante.
"That is not enough," Chei said, and called to the men at the fire in rising. "You can," he said then, looking down, "give her far more reason."
He was not going to put them off, then. He might shout, make a useless appeaclass="underline" he spared himself that indignity and drew several quick, deep breaths before they got to him.
When the iron touched him he did not even try to hold it back.
It went on, and on. There was laughter. A human spat in his face, and some thought that amusing. Others, elegant qhal, simply watched.
She has gotten clear, he kept thinking, he insisted to think, like a litany, imagining gray horse, silver-haired rider, far and far across the hills. She is far too wise for them to catch.
And that is well. That is very well.
"O God—!"
Then: "M'lord!" someone said sharply, and a hand gripped his hair and a knife pricked his throat.
Itis over, he thought.
But something pale appeared and drifted like a cloud in the dark across the stream. He blinked and haze cleared momentarily on a glimmer of silver hair in the dark, black figure in the starlight, the dragon sword, sheathed, set point down in front of her.
"Liyo, " he cried from a raw throat. "Archers!"
The knife pierced his skin; Chei struck it aside.
"We have a man of yours!" Chei shouted out.
"Liyo, they know—"
A blow smashed into his skull, jolting everything into dark, his sense of place, of whether he had warned her or only meant to—
"Do you want me or do you want to talk?" Morgaine's clear voice rang out of the dark.
Vanye slid his eyes to the open box, the gate-jewel. She could not draw, with that unshielded, without taking him as Bron had gone. He struggled against those who held him, only to bring his legs around, tears of pain running through the sweat on his face.
"Do you want your lover back?" Chei taunted her. "Come in and bargain for him."
Vanye gave a sudden heave, swung his left leg over and brought it down on the lid. The light went out. He was blind.
Then Changeling's light flared out, a bar of opal which grew to a white blaze, a shimmering into colors the eye did not want to see. Qhal who had faced that thing before scrambled to escape.
But Chei snatched the box and rolled to cover at Vanye's back, beside the tree.
"I have the stone in my hand," Chei yelled. "Come near my men and I uncover it!"
"Vanye?" her voice rang out. He saw her and all the brush and hill about her lit in Changeling's fire. He saw her hesitate, stopped still. But the winds still blew, howling and blowing the grass. No arrow could fly true in that.
"Liyo, he is telling the truth. Do what you have to. They will not keep me in any comfort."
"In perfect comfort," Chei called out, "if you are reasonable."
"What do you want?"
"Liyo, it is Chei!"
There was silence then, and he lay back against the tree, satisfied, then, he had gotten out what would tell her everything. It was all she needed know.
Perhaps there would be a miracle. He thought not. The only thing he hoped now was that she would not try further, understanding now there was no bargain to be made—not with Chei, who knew far too much about her intentions.
"Curse you for that," Chei said at his shoulder, and surprised him into a painful laugh. It was altogether Chei's expression, plaintive and indignant.
"Let me free," he said to Chei. "It is the only bargain you can make. At the least you will have to keep me in better state than this."
"We have him," Chei shouted out into the dark. "Come near us and he will suffer for it, all the way to Mante—he will wear that stone about his neck, lest you have notions otherwise!"
"Let me tell you, I will take your men one by one, and you will not kill him—you will not dare harm him, else your men die faster, my lord, you will see how fast. And you will not kill him, for your own life's sake, because he is the only thing keeping you alive. Lest you doubt me—"
A man cried out and fell, and Chei whirled half about and clenched his hand on Vanye's shoulder.
"Now what will you do?" Vanye taunted him.
"Damn you—"
Vanye grinned, for all the pain it cost him.
On the slope, Changeling's fire went out, leaving them blind to the dark.
And Chei's men murmured in indignation and fear.
They gave him food at the dawn—not much, but a piece of waybread and a kind of porridge that was tolerable to his stomach; they let him eat with his hands free, and drink from the stream and wash, with two score men watching him and most of them close enough to fall on him and weigh him down if nothing else. The humor of it was salve for the pain which rode every breath and slightest movement. He would, he hoped, grow more limber the longer he did move, and he refused to show them the pain that he was in or to ask any consideration they dared refuse. The burns on his chest and stomach bid fair to be the worst, the more so that they intended to set him in armor again—lest, Chei argued loudly with a captain who objected, some accident take him on the road.
Chei prevailed, by shouting, and the forty-odd men watched him sullenly as he pulled on his breeches and his shirt and padding, and the mail, which weight felt ten times what it was wont; but it made his bruised and burned ribs and stomach feel the safer from chance blows. He fumbled about with the straps of the leather, and Chei cursed him, whereat he hurried no more than before, having judged Chei had no wish to try his fortunes and discommode his men before the day was even begun.
Then Chei ordered him tied. He had known that they were going nowhere until they had done it; he had known they would take what revenge they dared in the doing of it, and he resolutely disappointed them by standing quietly and yielding his hands behind him, using his strength only when they put pressure on his arms, intentionally to cause him pain.
And the stone, which had been unshielded the night long, pouring its evil into the air, Chei brought him and hung about his neck as he had said, eye to eye with him for that moment.
"There will be ways," Chei said to him.
"You can save your men, Chei. Give me my horse and let me go. That is all you have to do. You have fifty good years as you are, whether we win or lose. Otherwise you have only a handful of days—if you have that. Do you think you will be the last my lady leaves alive with me?"
There was fear in Chei's eyes. And hate. Chei drew his hand away, and smashed it across his face before he could entirely evade the blow.
There was fear, when he shook the hair back and looked past Chei at his men. There was outright resentment.
"Threats," Chei scoffed, and went to his horse. He waved his hand at the others. "Move! Mount up! We have ground to cover."
There was a small, dull sound. The man holding the red roan for him fell without an outcry, only a puff of foul smoke hanging in the air. The camp broke into chaos, the horse shied. A second man fell, further away.
Chei whirled and flung himself at Vanye, arms about his waist, and came down on top of him with an impact that drove the breath out of him and half stunned him with the blow to the back of his head. He came to himself in pain, being dragged to a sitting position with Chei's arm about him and Chei shouting orders at his men to find Morgaine.
Not likely, he thought. He did not resist being used as a shield. He sat there with his eyes shut and drew small breaths that did not hurt. "If she wants you," he murmured to Chei, "she will surely take you."