And if Roh had already passed, and if it were Hetharu who must approve his passage: Vanye drove that thought from his mind.
A turning of the road brought them suddenly into sight of a round hill, ringed about by throngs of halfling folk: the horses slowed of their own accord, snorting, walking skittishly, weary as they were.
It grew upon the senses, that oppression that Vanye knew of Gates, that nerve-prickling unease that made the skin feel raw and the senses over-weighted. It was almost sound, and not. It was almost touch, and not.
He saw the place to which they went, in a day that yet had a murkiness in its pastel clouds: there were tents; there were horses; and the road came to an end in a place shadowed by slanted spires.
And the Well.
It was a circle of Standing Stones, like that of Hiuaj: not a single Gate, but a gathering of them, and they were alive. Opal colors streamed within them, like illusion in the daylight, a constant interplay of powers that filled the air with uneasiness; but one Gate held the azure blue of sky, that was terrible with depth, that made the eyes ache with beholding it.
Kithan swore.
They are real, the qujal said. They are real.
Vanye forced the reluctant gelding to a steady walk, shouldered into Jhiruns mare by a sudden rebellion of the horse, and saw Jhiruns eyes, dazed, still fixed upon the horror of the Gates; her hand was at her throat, where bits of metal and a white feather and a stone cross offered her what belief she knew. He spoke her name, sharply, and she tore her gaze from the hillside and kept by his side.
The camp at the base of the hill was already astir. Shouts attended their arrival, voices thin and lost in that heaviness of the air. Men fair-haired and armored gathered to stare at them: Kithan Roktija. Vanye heard whispered: he unhooked his sword and rode with it across the saddle as they rode slowly past pale, gray-eyed faces, forcing a way until the press grew too thick to do so without violence.
Kithan asked a question of them. It received quick answer; and Kithan raised his eyes toward the edge of the hill and reined in that direction. Vanye stayed beside him, Jhiruns mare at his flank as the hedge of weapons slowly parted, letting them pass. He heard his own name spoken, and Bydarras; he saw the sullen, wondering faces, the hateful looks, the hands that gripped weapons: Bydarras accused murdererhe kept his face impassive and kept the horse moving steadily in Kithans wake.
Riders came through the crowd, demon-helmed and armored, spreading out, shouldering the crowd aside, spreading out athwart their path. An order was shouted: and among them, central amid a hedge of pikemen, rode an all-too-familiar figure, silver-haired, with the beauty of the qujal and the eyes of a man.
Hetharu.
Vanye shouted, ripped the sword free and spurred for him, into a shielding wall of pikes that shied his horse back, wounded. One of the pikemen fell; Vanye slashed at another, reined back and back, and whirled on those threatening his flank. He broke free; Hetharus folk scattered back, forgetful of dignity, scale-armored house guards massing in a protective arc before their lord.
Vanye drew breath, flexed his hand on the sword, measured the weakest manand heard other riders come in on his flank. Jhirun cried out; he reined back, risked a glance in that quarter, beyond Jhirun, beyond Kithanand saw him he hoped desperately to see.
Roh. Bow slung across his shoulders, sword across his saddlebow, Roh had reined to a halt. Ohtija and Sotharra gave back from him, and slowly he rode the black mare into what had become a vacant space.
Vanye sat the sweating gelding, tight-reining him, who turned fretfully this way and that, hurt, and trembling when he stood still.
Another rider moved in; he cast a panicked glance in that direction: Hetharu, who sat his horse sword in hand.
Where, Roh asked him, drawing his attention back, is Morgaine?
Vanye shrugged, a listless gesture, though he felt the tension in every muscle.
Come down from your horse, said Roh.
He wiped the length of the sword on the geldings black mane, then climbed down, sword still in hand, and gave the reins of the horse to Jhirun. He sheathed the sword then, and waited.
Roh watched him from horseback; and when he had put away the weapon, Roh likewise dismounted and tossed the reins to a companion, hung his sword at his hip and walked forward until they could speak without raising voices.
Where is she? Roh asked again.
I do not know, Vanye said. I have come for shelter, like these others.
Ohtij-in is gone, Kithan said suddenly from behind him. The quake took it, and all inside. The marshlands are on the move; and some of us they hanged. The man Vanye and the Barrows-girl were with me on the road, else I might have died; my own men deserted me.
There was silence. There should have been shock, outcrysome emotion on the faces of the Ohtija qujal who surrounded them.
Arrest, Hetharus voice said suddenly; riders moved up, and Vanye turned in alarm.
Two helmless men were beside Hetharu: scale-armored, white-haired, and alike as brothersshameless in their change of lords.
Yours, Kithan murmured, and managed an ironical bow. The accustomed drugged distance crept into his voice.
To protect my brother, Hetharu answered softly, from his own naturewhich is well-known and transparent. You are quite sober, Kithan.
The news, said Roh, from the other side, outran you, Nhi Vanye. Now tell me the truth. Where is she?
He turned and faced Roh, for one terrible moment bereft of all subtleties: he could think of nothing.
My lord Hetharu, Roh said. The camp is on the move. Uncomfortable as it is, I think it time to move your forces into position; and yours as well, my lords of Sotharra and Domen, Marom and Arisith. We will make an orderly passage.
There was a stir within the ranks; orders were passed, and a great part of the gathering began to withdrawthe Sotharra, who were prepared already to move, began to ascend the hill.
But Hetharu did not, not he nor his men.
Roh looked up at him, and at the men that delayed about them. My lord Hetharu, Roh said, lord Kithan will go with you, if you have use for him.
Hetharu gave an order. The two house guards rode forward and set themselves on either side of Kithan, whose pale face was set in helpless rage.
Vanye, Roh said.
Vanye looked at him.
Once again, Roh said, I ask you.
I have been dismissed, Vanye said slowly, the words difficult to speak. I ask fire and shelter, Chya Roh i Chya.
On your oath?
Yes, he said. His voice trembled. He knelt down, reminding himself that this must be, that his lieges direct order absolved him of the lie and the shame; but it was bitter to do so in the sight of both allies and enemies. He bowed himself to the earth, forehead against the trampled grass. He heard the voices, numb in the Well-cursed air, and was glad in this moment that he could not understand their words of him.
Roh did not bid him rise. Vanye sat back after a moment, staring at the ground, shame burning his face, both for the humiliation and for the lie.
She has sent you, Roh said, to kill me.
He looked up.
I think she has made a mistake, said Roh. Cousin, I will give you the sheltering you ask, taking your word that you have been dismissed from your service to her. By this evenings fire, elsewherea Claiming. I think you are too much Nhi to forswear yourself. But she would not understand that. There is no pity in her, Nhi Vanye.