He climbed back into the saddle and they kept moving.
Overhead the clouds had begun to show ragged rents, and one of the moons shone through in daylight, wan and white, a piece of the Broken Moon, that passed more quickly than the others; the vast terror that was Li had yet to come.
The hills cut them off from view of what lay behind, gray-green hills that opened constantly before them and closed behind; and gradually their steady pace brought them to the head of the long line of weary folk. They rode slowly there, for there was nowhere to go but where the column went, and no profit in opening a wide lead.
They were first to reach the hillside that overlooked the lately flooded plain, the rift of the Suvoj, where still great pools showed pewter faces to the clouded sky, small lakes, rocks that upthrust strange shapes, stone more solid than the water had yet availed to wear away; it was a bleak and dead place, stretching far to the other hills, but the road went through it until the river, and there the stones made only a ripple under the surface of the flood.
A stench went up from the rotting land, the smell of the sea mingled with dying things. Vanye swore in disgust when the wind carried it to them, and when he looked toward the horizon he saw that the hills ended and melted into gray, that was the edge of the world.
The tide comes in here, murmured Jhirun. It overcomes the river, as it does the Aj.
And goes out again, said Morgaine, tonight.
It may be, said Jhirun, it may be. Already it is on the ebb.
The noise of others intruded on them, the advance of the column that came blindly in their wake. Morgaine glanced over her shoulder, reined Siptah about, yet holding him.
This hill is ours, she said fiercely. And company will not be comfortable for us. Vanyecome, let us stop them.
She led Siptah forward, toward the van of the column, that were strong men, Aren-folk, who had fled early and marched most strongly: and Vanye slung his sword across the saddlebow and kept pace with her, a shadow by her side as she gave orders, directed sullen, confused men to one side and the other of the road, bidding them set up shelters and make a camp.
Two of the Barrows-men were there, grim, tall men: Vanye noticed them standing together and cast them a second, anxious look, wondering had they been two of the number with Fwaror whether they were innocent of that ambush and did not yet know the bloodfeud that was between them. They gave no evidence of it.
But there was yet another matter astir among them, sullen looks toward the hill where Jhirun waited, standing by the bay mare, her shawl clutched about her in the cold, damp wind.
She is ours, one of the two Barrowers said to Morgaine.
Morgaine said nothing, only looked at him from the height of Siptahs back, and that man fell silent.
Only Vanye, who rode at her back, heard the murmuring that followed when Morgaine turned away; and it was ugly. He turned his horse again and faced them, the two Barrows-men, and a handful of marshlanders.
Say it louder, he challenged them.
The girl is fey, said one of the marshlanders. Elas-daughter. She cursed Chadrih, and it fell. The quake and the flood took it.
And Barrows-hold, said one of the Barrows-men. Now Ohtij-in.
She brought the enemy into Barrows-hold, said the other of the Barrowers. She is fey. She cursed the hold, killed all that were in it, the old, the women and the children, her own sister. Give her to us.
Vanye hesitated, the gelding restless under him, misgivings gathering in him, remembering the dream upon the road, the mad-eyed vagaries, the tense body pressed against his.
Oh, the dreams, the dreams, my lord, I dreamed...
He jerked the geldings head about, spurred him past their reaching hands, sought Morgaine, who moved alone among the crowds, giving orders. He joined her, saying nothing; she asked nothing.
A camp began to take shape, makeshift huddles of stitched skins and brush and sodden blankets tied between trees or supported on hewn saplings. Some had brought fire, and one borrowed to the next, wet wood smoking and hissing in the mist, but sufficient to stay alight.
The column was still straggling in at dusk, finding a camp, finding their places in it, seeking relatives.
Morgaine turned back to the hill that she had chosen, where she had permitted no intrusion; and there Jhirun waited, shivering, with wood she had gathered for a fire. Vanye dismounted, already searching out with his eye this and that tree that might be cut for shelter. But Morgaine slid down from Siptahs back and stared balefully at the flood that raged between them and the other side, dark waters streaked with white in the dusk.
It is lower, she said, pointing to the place where the road made a white-frothing ridge in the flood. We might try it after we have rested a bit.
The thought chilled him. The horses cannot force that. Wait. Wait. It cannot be much longer.
She stood looking at it still, as if she would disregard all his advice, staring toward that far bank, where mountains rose, where was Roh, and Abarais, and a halfling army.
The flood would not be sufficient to have delayed Roh this long; Vanye reckoned that for himself, and did not torment her with asking or saying it. She was desperate, exhausted; she had spent herself in answering questions among the frightened folk behind them, in providing advice, in settling disputes for space and wood. She had distracted herself with these things, gentle when he sensed in her a dark and furious violence, that loathed the clinging, terrified appeals to her, the faces that looked to her with desperate hope.
Take us with you, they wept, surrounding her.
Where is my child? a mother kept asking her, clinging to the rein until the nervous, war-trained gray came near to breaking control.
I do not know, she had said. But it had not stopped the questions.
Will my daughter be there? asked a father, and she had looked at him, distracted, and murmured yes, and spurred the gray roughly through the press.
Now she stood holding her cloak about her against the chill and staring at the river as at a living enemy. Vanye watched her, not moving, dreading that mood of hers that slipped nearer and nearer to irrationality.
We camp, she said after a time.
Chapter Fourteen
There was one mercy shown them that evening. The rain stopped. The sky tore to rags and cleared, though it remained damp everywhere, and the smoke of hundreds of fires rolled up and hung like an ugly mist over the camp. Scarred Li rose, vast and horrid, companionless now. The other moons had fled; and Anli and demon Sith lagged behind.
They rested, filled with food that Morgaine had put in her saddlebags. They sat in a shelter of saplings and brush, with a good fire before them; and Jhirun sat beside them, eating her share of the provisions with such evident hunger that Morgaine tapped her on the arm and put another bit of bread into her lap, charity that amazed Jhirun and Vanye alike.
I have not lacked, Morgaine said with a shrugfor it must come from someones share.
She hid in the stable, Vanye said quietly, for Morgaine had never asked: and that lack of questions worried at him, implying anger, a mood in which Morgaine herself was unwilling to discuss the matter. That was why your searchers could not find her.
Morgaine only looked at him, with that impenetrable stare, so that he wondered for a moment had there been searchers at all, or only inquiry.
But Morgaine had promised him; he thrust the doubt from his mind, effort though it needed.
Jhirun, Morgaine said suddenly. Jhirun swallowed a bit of bread as if it had gone dry, and only slightly turned her head, responding to her. Jhirun, there are kinsmen of yours here.