"They will have known something went amiss from the time you sealed off the stone," Chei said in a low voice. "There is rumor Skarrin's gate can tell one stone from the other, given sure position. I do not know. I only know there are two more such stones out there. I saw them, clear as I could see Tejhos."
"In the stone."
"In the stone, my lady. There may be more than that by now. When yours stopped sending—It is myself they will be hunting, along with you. I am well known for treason."
"Did you think they would forgive," Vanye asked, "the small matter of killing your lord's deputy?"
Chei's eyes lifted to his, hard and level. "No. But, then, if I had won, I would have done what we are doing now. With your weapons. It is not Mante I want. It is the gate. . . . With your weapons. I told you my bargain. And, lady, you have convinced me: I will not follow a lord in the field who cannot beat me. I should be a fool, else. You won. So I take your orders."
There was a moment's silence, only the stamp and blowing of the horses.
"Let us," Morgaine said to Chei then, "see where your ability leads us."
And in the Kurshin tongue, when they struck a freer pace, tending toward the south, into rougher land.
"Do not be concerned for it. I will choose any camp we make, and he will not lay hands on the stone, to be telling them anything. —Thee is white, Vanye."
"I am well enough," he said again.
If he confessed otherwise, he thought, she might take alarm, might seek some place to rest, where they must not—must not go to hiding now, when Mante knew the vicinity to search, and might throw company after company into the field. Even Changeling had its limits—
—had them, more and more as they drew near the aching wound that was Mante
My fault, he kept thinking. All of this. O Heaven, what are we going to do?
And others, out of the muddle of heat and exhaustion, she has taken them because she knows I am near to falling; she needs help; she takes it where she can, against this stranger-lord in Mante—against this Skarrin—needs them in place of me—to guard her back—
O God, that I leave her to these bandits—
It is her own perverse way of managing them, putting them under my hand, forcing the bitter draught down their throats—lest they think they can leave me behind: it is her own stratagem, give them a captain like to spill from his horse, and let them vie for her favor, whereby she keeps Chei at bay, and in hope of succession, and he never dares strike at me, lest he lose what gratitude he might win of her later—If he has not betrayed us outright—if the ambush was not a trick, their own arrangement—
A man learned to think in circles, who companied with Morgaine kri Chya. A man learned craft, who had before thought a sword-edge the straightest way to a target.
She might manage Chei. Surely Rhanin. I should tell her to keep that man.
And: This weakness of mine may pass. It may well pass. She is winning time for me. Gaining ground.
And lastly: Why did she prevent me from Chei? Why strike my hand?
You care too much?
What did she mean by that?
Hills closed about them, brushy ravines and rock and scrub, steep heights on either side. He looked up and behind them, and never was there trace of any watcher.
Except in a fold between two hills, near a stand of scrub, where they came to a stream: there Hesiyyn drew up by the grassy margin and signaled Chei.
They were old tracks. It had surely been yesterday that some rider had paused to water his horse, and ridden along the hillside, in this place of tough, clumped grass which showed very little trace otherwise. The track there went out onto that ground on their own side, not, Vanye reckoned, hard to follow, if one had to wonder where that rider had gone, or if one were interested in finding him.
As it was: "What is this place?" he asked angrily. "A highway their riders use? A known trail?"
"Doubtless," Hesiyyn said, "my lord human. We are all anxious to die."
He sent Hesiyyn a dark look.
"We are no more anxious for a meeting than you are," Chei said. "They are out here, that is all. I told you. Skarrin is no longer taking the matter lightly.—I ask you again, lady, in all earnestness: lend me the stone."
Morgaine leaned her hands against the saddlebow and quickly restrained Siptah from edging toward the roan. It was warfare, now. The red roan's ears were flat, his eyes—red-rimmed, his least lovely feature—constantly one or the other toward the gray stud.
"No," she said shortly, and reining Siptah sharply aside to gain room, dismounted and threw her hand up to shy the roan. "Move him off! We will rest here a little. At least they have passed here. And it is at least some cover."
"My lady," Chei said with heavy resentment, and drew the wild-eyed roan aside, along the stream.
So the rest of them. Vanye glared a warning in their direction, threw his leg over the horn and slid down. He dropped Arrhan's reins to let her drink, and let the two horses he led move up to the water, then sank down on his knees and bathed his face and the back of his shorn neck, discovering that insult again, where it had passed in shock when Chei had done it. For this one unjustified thing he was more and more angry, an unreasoning, killing anger, of the sort he had not felt—
—since the day his brother died.
"We will rest here an hour," Morgaine said, sinking down to wash beside him, letting Siptah drink.
"Aye." He dipped up another double handful. It was spring-fed, this stream, and like ice, taking the breath. He stood up with a sudden effort.
The daylight went to gray and to dark.
"Vanye—" Morgaine said.
"Watch them!" he said to her in the Kurshin tongue, and sat down hard where he stood, his balance simply gone, his foot off the edge into the chill water, his wounds jolted so he thought he would not get the next breath at all.
"Vanye!"
"Watch them," he said again, calmly, fighting panic. He drew his foot out of the water. "Liyo, I will rest here a little. I am tired. That is all."
He heard her bend near him, felt her shadow take the heat of the sun from his face. He heard footsteps in the grass nearby and that frightened him.
"Liyo, do not turn your back on them."
She laid her hand on his brow. "Thee is fevered," she said.
"Liyo, in the name of Heaven—"
"We will rest here," she said. The daylight began to come back, but it was still brass and full of illusion, with her as a darkness in the center of it.
"We have no time—"
"Vanye, lie down."
He did as she asked, reckoning if they must stop an hour for his sake, he had as well not waste the time it cost them in argument. He let himself back on the grass and rested his head on his arm, and shut his eyes against the giddiness of the sky. The ground seemed to pitch and spin under him. He had not felt that dizzy when he was riding, and now that he let go it was hard not to lose all his senses. His stomach tried to heave and he refused to let it, refused the panic that lay at the bottom of his thoughts.
A little time, he told himself. They had been pushing too long to keep moving; and a battle and a ride with enemies-turned-comrades did not count for rest. An hour on his back, and he would be good for another ten.
Only, O God, he was weak. And his head spun.
And Morgaine was alone with these men.
She came back to him, knelt down by him, dampened a cloth in the cold stream and laid it on his brow.
"You are watching them," he murmured in his own tongue.
"I am watching them."