Fires of Azeroth

Chapter Seven

The harilimmoved about them still, shadows in the first fading of the stars. They rode as quickly as they could in the tangled wood, and the harilimdid not hinder, but neither did they help; while Lellin and Sezar, beyond the woods that they knew, could only guess at the quickest way.

Then at the very last of the night the forest gave way before them, and dark waters glistened between the trees.

"The Narn," Lellin said as they drew rein within that last fringe of trees. "Nehmin lies beyond it."

Morgaine stood in the stirrups and leaned on the saddlebow, stretching. "Where can we cross?"

"There is supposedly a ford," Sezar said, "halfway between the Marrhan and the plain."

"An island," said Lellin. "We have never ridden this far east, but we have heard so. It should be only a little distance north."

"Day is coming on us," Morgaine said. "The riverside is exposed. Our enemies are likely near at hand. We cannot afford errors in judgment, Lellin… nor can we linger over-long and risk being cut off from Nehmin."

"If they have hit Mirrind and Carrhend," Vanye reasoned, "they will have learned which way we rode, and some of them would not be long at all in understanding the meaning of that." He saw Sezar's stricken face as he said it; the khemeisknew well his meaning and understood the danger his people were in. "Can we find an answer of the harilim,whether the strangers have crossed the Narn?"

Lellin looked about; there was nothing behind them, not a breath, not a whisper of leaves… no sign, suddenly, of their shadowy companions.

Morgaine swore softly. "Perhaps they do not like the coming daylight; or perhaps they know something we do not. You lead, Lellin. Let us come to this crossing as quickly as we can, and if there is night enough left, we will try it."

Lellin eased his horse into the lead northward, trying to keep within the trees as they rode, but there were washes and flood-felled trees that made their progress slow. At times they must go down onto the bank, exposing themselves to view of any watchers on the far side. At others they must withdraw far into the forest, almost losing sight of the river.

And they were tired, the better part of the night without sleep, constantly tried by obstacles, the branches cf the trees tearing at them, the horses stumbling often over impossible ground, or exhausting themselves in climbs up and down tributary washes. Dawn began, almost enough that they could see color on the forest's edge.

Yet in that first coloring they came to their islet, a long bar, bearing a crown of brush, with logs piled up at the upstream end.

They hesitated. Morgaine sent Siptah forward, down that slope toward the crossing. Vanye put the spurs to Mai and followed, little caring whether Lellin and Sezar stayed with them or no; but he heard them coming. Morgaine hastened: the fever was on her now… enemies behind, the thing which they sought ahead of them; in any doubt, he knew what she would choose, and that was to go, to make ground while they could, nothing hesitating.

The horses slowed as they hit the water, fighting current which rose about their knees. Siptah hit a hole, struggled out of it; Vanye rode around it, with the arrhendimin his wake. The horses waded breast-deep now, the water dark and strong. Mai slipped often, struggling after Siptah… shouldered into Sezar's horse. Almost Vanye dismounted then, but she found firmer footing, and the water fell briefly as they passed the halfway mark, the point of the isle. Siptah kept going, strongest of their mounts, and in anxiety Vanye used the spurs to force the mare into the second half of the crossing, cursing Morgaine's stubbornness. Soon the gray horse began to rise from the water a second time, coming out on the bank. Morgaine reined about to look back at them.

Something flew, hissing, and hit; she went over, flung nearly out of the saddle. Siptah shied wildly, and Vanye cried out and rammed spurs into the mare. Somehow, by desperate strength, Morgaine was still ahorse, clinging by the mane and by one heel across the saddle, her pale hair a wild banner against the shadow, a white-feathered arrow driven somewhere the armor was not. Siptah spun once, confused, then ran, arrows hailing faster. Vanye bent low and drove the mare in desperate flight down the bank after her… somehow Morgaine pulled herself back into the saddle,enough to hold on.

"Riders!" Sezar shouted behind him.

He did not turn to look. His eyes were only for Morgaine, who slumped now across Siptah's neck, and the sand over which the mare's hooves flew was spotted with dark drops.

The mare slowed, faltered, froth spattering her and him. Sezar and Lellin overtook him-passed him now as the mare broke stride. Sezar started to draw back for him. "No!" Lellin cried, and Sezar whipped the horse on to stay with Lellin. Further and further the distance widened between him and arrhendim.

"Get her to safety!" Vanye screamed after them. To do that, they had come within reach, he would have cast one of them from the saddle and thrown him to the enemy. Perhaps Lellin sensed it, and would not delay in his reach. "Help her!"

Mai was done, staggering badly. In desperation he turned for the trees up the incline of the bank, drove her for that, to dismount and run for cover afoot.

But she betrayed him at the last. Her strength failed in the loose sand and she went down nose-first while they were still on the flat. He sprawled, and she heaved down on him before he cleared the saddle, rolled as dead weight, neck broken, limp.

He twisted round as he heard the riders bearing down on him-grimaced, for his leg was pinned and he could not drag it free nor get leverage against Mai's heavy body.

He had no hope of anything further, even that all would give up the chase and delay for him; they did not. Most of them thundered past, spraying him with sand and gravel, but four reined back to deal with him. He had his sword still, and managed to get it into his hand, reckoning even so that it was futile, that they would put an arrow into him at safe distance and end it.

They were not halfling Shiua, but Men. He recognized them as they left their horses and came to him, and he cursed as they grinned in triumph, making a half-ring about him, out of his reach.

Myya Fihar i Myya… Mija Fwar, a Hiua accent made the name: there was no mistaking that face, scarred and twisted about the lips with a knife-mark. Fwar had been Morgaine's lieutenant once, before their ways parted in violence. The others were Fwar's kinfolk, all Myya, all with blood-debt against him.

They laughed at his plight, and he bided quietly, no longer anticipating the arrow, hoping that Fwar in particular would come within reach. "Bring that branch over here," Fwar ordered one of his cousins, Minur. The man brought it, a sandy length of still-sound wood, tall as a Hiua and thick as a man's wrist.

Not for levering, that; they were wiser. Vanye saw the intent in Fwar's eyes and tucked down as the blow came… clutched the sword against him, but blow after blow to his helmed skull stunned him, and finally they rammed the end of the branch at him and broke his grip on the sword. They were on him then; he tried for the dagger, and though he had it from sheath and put a wound on at least one of them, they pinned him and wrested it from him. Then they found cords and tried to bind his hands back; but he fought that wildly, and twice they had to daze him before that was done.

Then he was finished, and knew it… lay still with his face against the dry sand, gathering his forces for whatever came next. One kicked him in the belly for good measure, and he doubled reflexively, not even focusing his eyes to look at them. They were Myya, of a cold and vengeful clan, which had hated him in Kursh and sworn his death there. But these descendants of the proud Kurshin Myya, lost in Gates a thousand years and more… knew nothing of honor, despised it as they despised everything beyond themselves. Fwar hated him with a burning and personal hatred.

They levered Mai off him finally. He had thought that the leg might be broken where she had fallen on him, but the sand had saved him from that. He had some hope then; but the knee gave with a stab of blinding pain when they seized him up and expected him to stand, and not all their blows and curses could amend that. Then he gave up all hope of winning free of them.

"Put him on a horse," Fwar said. "There might be friends of his hereabouts… and we want time to pay you your due, Nhi Vanye i Chya, for all my brothers and our kinfolk that you killed."

Vanye spat at him. It was all the recourse he had left, and that too failed of the mark. Fwar's eyes raked him over and calculated… not stupid, this man: Morgaine would not have had a dull-witted man in her service. "He would like us to stay near here as long as possible, I suppose. But the khal-lords will see to her,and we can deal with them later. We had better take our prize downriver a ways."

One of them brought a horse near. Vanye kneed the hapless beast in the flank and sent it screaming and plunging away from him; but the Hiua had an answer for that took and bound his ankles and flung him over another saddle belly down, lashed him in place so that he could not further delay them. The helm fell; one of them gathered it up and set it mockingly on his own head.

Then they started off down the riverside, moving rapidly, and from that head-down jolting Vanye began to slip from consciousness… now wholly unaware, but there were long darknesses in which he found no refuge.

And worse than other pain was the thought of Morgaine, whether the Shiua riders had overtaken her or whether she had fallen to her wound… he recalled the blood on the sand, sick at heart. But he must live, then. If she were alive, she needed him. If she were dead, he still must contrive to live; he had sworn so.

He had not been reckoning of that when he had fought the Hiua, trying to win of them a quick death and honest; but when he had had time to think of what she had set on him by oath, he gave up fighting his enemies and gathered his strength for another and longer fight, in which there was no honor at all.

The Hiua stopped at mid-morning. Vanye was aware of the horse slowing, but of little else until they freed him of the saddle and flung him roughly to the sand. There he lay still and ignored them, staring at the dark waters of the Narn which flowed a stone's throw away… a black thread that still bound this place to that where she was: the sight of it comforted him, that they were not yet lost, one from the other.

One of the Hiua seized hold of him and lifted his head, put a flask to his lips: water. He drank what they would give him; they poured more of it on his face and struck him, trying to restore him. He reacted little to either, although he was aware enough.

Fwar came, seized him by the hair, shook at him until his eyes fixed on him. "Ger, Awan," he named his dead brothers, "and Efwy. And Terrin and Ejan and Prafwy and Ras, Minor's kin here; and Eran, that was Hul's brother; and Sithan and Ulwy that were Trin's…"

"And our wives and our children and all those that died before that," said Eran. Vanye looked at him, reading there a hate which equalled Fwar's. He had killed Fwar's brothers with his own hand. Perhaps he had killed the others they named too: many had died in pursuit of them. The women and children had died with their dead hold, no doing of his… but that made no difference in their minds. He was a hate they could seize upon, an enemy they had in hand, and for all the grief they had ever suffered, for Morgaine who had led their ancestors to grief in Irien and tried to bind them in drowning Shiuan-for her too they had such burning hate: but he was Morgaine's, and he was in hand.

He gave them no answer; none would serve. Trin hit him a dazing blow, and Vanye twisted over and spat blood on him, with more accuracy than before. Trin hit him a second time but Fwar stopped him from a third.

"We have all day, and all night and after that."

They looked pleased at that thought, and the talk afterward was foul and ugly, at which Vanye simply set his jaw and stared at the river, ignoring their attempts to bait him. A great deal of their threatening was wasted on him, for they spoke a rough sort of Kurshin well-laden with qhalurand marshlands borrowings, much changed from his own tongue… and he had learned Hiua of a young woman whose speech was gentler. He could guess at enough of it.

He was angry. That fact dully amazed him, in the far distance to which his thinking mind had retreated… that he would feel more rage than terror. He had never been a brave man. He had come to every grief that had driven him from home and hold and honor because he imagined pain too vividly and came undone at his kinsmen's slow tormenting… a boy's misery: he had been all too vulnerable then, loving them more than he had understood.

He had no love for these, these scourings of Hiuaj's Barrow-hills, these fallen Myya. He seethed with anger that of all the enemies he had, he had fallen to them… to Fwar, whose worthless life he had spared, being too much Nhi to kill a downed enemy. Now he had his reward of that mercy. Morgaine too they attacked with their foul laughter, and he had to bear it, still hoping that somewhere in their confidence they would make the mistake of freeing his hands with Fwar in reach.

They did not. They had learned him too well, and devised to get him from his armor without freeing him, throwing a noose about his ankles and suspending him from the limb of one of the trees like a slaughtered deer. They amused themselves in that too, pushing him to and fro while the blood pounded in his head and his senses were near to leaving him. Then they had easier work to free his hands and take the armor from him. Even so he succeeded in getting his hands on Trin, but he could not hold him. They struck him for their amusement until the blood ran down his arms and spotted the sand beneath him. Eventually his senses faded.

Horsemen, in number.

He hears the thunder of the hooves that merged with the pulse in his ears. Bodies rushed about him, with panting and blowing of horses.

More of them, returned from upriver. He remembered Morgaine and struggled back to consciousness, trying to focus his blurred eyes to see whether they had found her or not. Upside down in his vision, all the horses were dark shadows: Siptah was not there. One rider came near, aglitter with scale, white-haired.

Khal.Shiua qhal."Cut him down," the khal-lordordered. Finally there came a sawing at the rope. Vanye tried to lift his stiffened arms to protect his head, knowing that he must fall. But armored riders locked arms beneath him, eased him to the ground upright. He did not struggle after he realized their support… fell less hard than he might. They were not Fwar's: no more his friends than Fwar's men, and likely crueler; but their immediate purpose involved his living, and he accepted it. He lay still on the sand at the horses' feet, while the blood flowed back to his lower limbs and his heart labored with the strain of it. In his ears were the lord's curses for the Men who had almost killed him.

Morgaine,he thought, what of Morgaine?But nothing they said gave him any clue.

"Ride off," the lord bade Fwar and his cousins. "He is ours."

Eventually-for in Shiuan as here, qhalwere the more powerful-Fwar and his men mounted and rode away, without a word of a threat of vengeance… and that, in a Barrows-man and a Myya, boded ill for an enemy's back when the time came.

Vanye struggled to his elbows to see them go; but he had view of nothing but horses' legs and a few khalafoot, scale-armored and wearing helms which gave them the faces of demons-all helmed, save their lord, who remained ahorse, his white hair flowing in the wind. It was not one of the Shiua lords be knew.

The men-at-arms cut the cords that bound his ankles and tried to make him stand. He shook his head at that. "The knee… I cannot walk," he said hoarsely and as they spoke… in the qhalurtongue.

They were startled at that. Men in Shiuan did not speak the language of their masters, although khalspoke that of Men; he remembered that they were Shiua when one hit him across the face for his insolence.

"He will ride," said the lord. "Alarrh, your horse will bear this Man. Gather up all that is strewn here; the humans have no sense of order. They will leave all this for enemies to read. You"-for the first time he spoke directly to Vanye, and Vanye stared up at him sullenly. "You are Nhi Vanye i Chya."

He nodded.

"That means yes, I suppose."

"Yes." The khalhad spoken the language of Men, and he had answered again in qhalur.The lord's pale, sensitive face registered anger.

"I am Shien Nhinn's-son, prince of Sotharrn. The rest of my men are hunting your mistress. The arrow that took her was the only favor for which we thank the Hiua cattle, but it is a sorry fate for a high-born khal,all the same. We will try to better it. And you,Vanye of the Chya-you will be welcome in our camp. Lord Hetharu has a great desire to find you again… more desire for your lady, to be sure, but you will find him overjoyed to see you."

"I do not doubt," he murmured; but he did not resist when they bound his hands and brought a horse for him, heaving him into the saddle upright. The pain of his wounds almost took his senses from him; he swayed with dizziness as the horse shied off, and the Shiua began to dispute bitterly who should foul his hands and his person in seeing that he stayed ahorse, bloody and half-naked and human as he was. "I am Kurshin," he said then between his teeth. "While the horse stays under me, I shall not fall off. I will have no khal'shands on me either."

They muttered at that and spoke of teaching him his place; but Shien bade them to horse. They started off down the sandy bank with speed that jolted, likely malice rather than needful haste. They gave it up after a time, and Vanye bowed his head and gave to the horse's moving, exhausted. He roused only when they made the fording of the Narn, and the wide plain of Azeroth lay open before them.

After that it was grassland under the horses' hooves, and they went smoothly and easily.

He lived: that was for now the important thing. He smothered his anger and kept his head down as they expected of a Man awed by them. They would not anticipate trouble of him, these folk who marked their own hold-servants with brands on the face, to know them from other Men… reckoning no Man much more than animal.

It was not uncharacteristic of them that they found a means to splint his knee at their first rest, caring for him with the same detachment that they might have spent on a lame horse, no gentler and no rougher than that; yet no one would give him a drink because it meant his lips touching something they must use. One did throw him a morsel of food when they ate, but it lay on the grass untouched, for they would not unbind his hands and he would not eat after that fashion, as they wished. He sullenly averted his face, and was no better for that stop except that he could at least stand once he had been put on his feet. They saw to that, he reckoned, simply because it saved them having to work so much getting him on and off a horse.

"There was a khalwith you besides your mistress," Shien said to him, riding close to him that afternoon. "Who?"

He did not look up or give indication that he had heard.

"Well, you will find time to think of it," Shien said, and spurred disdainfully ahead, giving up the question with an ease curious in his kind.

And that whoseemed to desire a name in answer, as if they had taken Lellin to be one of their own, renegade to them. As if-he thought, hope stirring in him-as if they had not yet realized the existence of the arrhend,or realized a presence in this land besides that of Men. Perhaps Eth had held back more than seemed likely; or perhaps his killers had not left Shathan alive.

He lifted his head despite himself, and looked at the horizon before him, which was grassy and flat as far as the eye could see, an expanse unbroken save for a few bushes or thorn-thickets randomly scattered. The unnatural shape of Azeroth was not evident to the man who stood amid it: it was too vast to grasp at once. Perhaps there was much still secret from the Shiua… indicating that as yet none of Lellin's folk had fallen into their hands, and that the Mirrindim might yet be safe.

He hoped so with a fearful hope, although he held out little for himself.

They camped in the open that night, and this time they yielded to practicality and freed his hands briefly, standing over him with swords and pikes as if he could run, lame as he was. He ate a little, and one of them condescended to pour a little water into his hands that he might drink, thus saving the purity of his waterflask. But they restored the bonds for the night, hand and foot, securing him to one of their heavy saddles on the ground, so that he could not slip off into the dark. Lastly they threw a cloak over him, that he not freeze, for he had no clothing on his upper body.

Then they slept, insolently secure, posting no guard. He fretted long, trying his bonds, with an eye to stealing a horse and running for it; but the knots were out of his reach and the cords were too tight. Exhausted, he slept too, and woke in the morning with a kick in the ribs and a khal'scurse in his ears.

It was more of the same the next day: no food nor water until the evening, enough to keep him alive, but little more. He nursed his anger, for it kept him fed the same as the food did; but he kept his senses too, and bore their arrogance without resistence. Only once it failed him, when a guard seized him by the hair; he rounded on the halfling… and the guard stepped back at what he saw in him. They struck him to the ground then, for no more than that-that he had dared look one of them in the eyes. Their treatment of him worsened thereafter. They began to torment him with mindful spite when they must handle him, and began to talk among themselves, for they knew that he could understand, of what might befall him at their hands.

"You have the grace of your Barrows-ancestors," he said to them finally, and in their own tongue. One of them struck him for this. But Shien frowned, and curtly bade his own men to silence, and to let him be.

That night, when they made camp by a new tributary of the Narn, Shien stared at him long and thoughtfully after the others had begun to settle to sleep, stared with a concentration which began to disturb him . .. the more so when Shien roused his men and dismissed them out of hearing.

Then Shien came and settled at his side.

"Man." It was an inflection that only a khalcould give that word. "Man, it is said that you are close kin to the halfling Chya Roh."

"Cousin," he answered, unnerved by this approach. No word before this had they drawn from him in questions. He resolved to say nothing more. But Shien stared at him in pensive curiosity.

"Fwar's handiwork has disturbed the resemblance, but it is there; I see it. And this Morgen-Angharan…" he used the name by which Morgaine was known to them, and laughed. "Can Death die?" he asked, for Angharan was a deity among the marshlanders of Shiuan, and that was her nature, the white queen.

He knew khalurhumor, which believed in nothing and reverenced no gods, and he shut his ears to this pointless baiting. But Shien drew his dagger and laid it along his cheek, turning his face back with that, lest he soil his hands. "What a prize you are, Man… if you know what Roh knows. Do you realize that you could become both free and comfortable if you hold what I think you may? Man who speak our language. And I would not disdain to seat you at my table and give you-other-privileges. Gods, you have some grace of bearing, more than some who go boasting their tiny portion of khalurblood. You are not of the Hiua's kind. Do you know how to be reasonable?"

He stared into Shien's eyes… pale gray they were by daylight, as so few of the halflings' were: near full-blood, this prince. He was shaken to reckon that he could be what Shien said, a prize among khal,a commodity of value among the powerful: he had knowledge of Gates, the lore which they had lost, knowledge by which Roh himself had gained power among these folk. "What of Roh?" he asked.

"Chya Roh has made mistakes, which may well prove fatal to him. You might avoid those same mistakes. You might even expect that Hetharu could be persuaded to forget his vexation with you."

"And you will present that solution to Hetharu, is that it? I work at your orders, give what I know to you, and you regain what power Hetharu has taken from you."

The blade turned, and bit slightly. "Who are you to talk of our affairs?"

"Hetharu brought all the Shiua lords to their knees because he had Roh to give him power. Do you love him for it?"

He thought for an instant that Shien would kill him outright. His expression was ugly. Then Shien slipped the knife back into sheath at his belt "You have need of a patron, Man. I could help you. But you want to play games with me."

"If there is a way out of my situation, make it clear to me."

"It is very clear. Give me the knowledge that you have, and I will be able to help you. Otherwise not."

He stared into Shien's eyes and read it for half-truth. "And if I give you knowledge enough to contest with Hetharu and Roh, then my usefulness is ended there, is it not? Give you knowledge so that you can politic with it and trade influence with your brother-lords? Not in Hetharu's game. Be braver than that, Shiua lord, or do not think that you can use me for a weapon. Break with them both and I will serve you and give you the power that you want; but not otherwise."

"The khalwho rode with you… who?"

"I will not tell you."

"You think that you are in a position to refuse?"

"Those men of yours… how well can you trust them? You think there is not one among them who would bear information to Hetharu for reward? How you killed me out here, trying for knowledge Hetharu would not approve you having… why else did you send them out of hearing? No.If you are going to break with Hetharu, you need me alive and healthy. I will tellyou nothing; but I will help you get what you want."

Shien sat on his heels and stared at him, arms folded. He knew that he had gone very far with this khalurprince. He saw a veil come over Shien's eyes, and hope failed him.

"It is said," Shien murmured, "that you killed Hetharu's father. And do you hope to deal with him after that?"

"A lie. Hetharu killed his father, and blamed me for it to save his reputation."

Shien laughed wolfishly. "Aye, so do we all think. But that is the kind of lord Hetharu is, and so he dealt with you once when you trifled with him… so he dealt with his own lord and father; and now do you propose that if I refuse your mad scheme you will throw yourself on his mercy again? You do not learn readily, Man."

A chill came on him, remembering, but he shook his head nevertheless. "Then you also know him well enough to know that you will never profit by serving him. Take my way, lord of Sotharrn, and have what you want-or have nothing. I learn too readily to hand any khalthe only thing that makes my life valuable."

Shien's white brows knit into a frown. For a moment thoughts passed visibly through his eyes, none of them good to behold. "You assume that you know how to deal with us, and how I must deal with the other lords. You do not know us, Man."

"I know that I am dead when you have what you want."

Shien's frown bent slowly into a smile. "Ah, Man, you are too unsubtle. One does not accuse his possible benefactor of lying. I might even have kept my word."

"No," he said, though the doubt was planted in him.

"Think of it, tomorrow, when we deliver you to Hetharu."

And Shien rose then and settled some distance away. Vanye turned his head to stare at him, but Shien poured himself a cup from his flask and sat with his face averted, drinking delicately.

Beyond him sat the others, halflings aping khal,with bleached hair and coarse arrogance, and a hate for Men that was the greater because of their own human blood.

Shien turned his head and smiled at him thinly, lifting the cup in mockery.

'Tomorrow," Shien promised him.

They forded two shallow rivers, one at dawn and one at noon. Vanye reckoned well now where they were, nearing the Gate that stood in Azeroth. He grew afraid, as it was impossible not to fear contemplating that power, which could drink in substance and ravel it.

But no sign of the Gate was yet visible, not in the long ride they made that afternoon. There were few rests; Shien had promised that they would come to Hetharu's camp in this day and seemed determined on it if it exhausted them. Vanye said nothing to Shien as the distance wore away under the horses' hooves. Shien had nothing more to say to him, save now and again to gaze at him brooding speculation. He reckoned again what his chances were if he yielded on the Shiua lord's terms, and averted his face from temptation.

They did not stop at dusk, even to rest, and the night turned bitterly cold. He asked them for a cloak, but they refused it, though the guard who had lent it before would not wear it himself; they took pleasure in refusing. After that he bowed his head, trying to ignore them. They taunted him with threats which this time Shien did not silence, but he said nothing, caring nothing for them.

Then there appeared a glow on the horizon .. . cold, like the moon; but the moon was aloft, and the light was far brighter.

The Gate of Azeroth, that Men called the Fires.

He lifted his face, staring at that terrible presence, seeing now where they were bound, for nearer at hand were the dimmer red lights of woodfires, and ungainly shapes: tents and shelters.

They passed sentries who sat their posts concealed in shelters of grass; and rode past picket lines, where horses stood… few in proportion to the vast sprawl of the Shiua camp… the camp of a nation spread over the vast plains under the Gate; of more than a nation: of the remnant of a world.

And it aimed at the heart of Shathan.

Morgaine and I have done this thing,he could not forbear thinking. My doing as much as hers. Heaven forgive us.

They passed the fringes of the camp. Suddenly Shien put the company to a gallop, passing the sprawling shelters of grass and cloth which hemmed them about on all sides.

Men stared at their passage… dark shapes, small: true Men, of Shiuan's marshes. Vanye saw the stares and went cold as someone sent up a thin, hysterical cry.

"Herman. Hers!"

Men rushed out to bar their way, scattered from the hooves of the horses when the khalkept coming. The marshlanders knew him, and would gladly tear him limb from limb if he fell among them. The khalwhipped their horses and thundered through, reckless of human lives, and into a quieter portion of the camp, where demon-helms quickly parted and shdt a barricade of brush and sharpened stakes, and backed it with a row of barbed pikes.

The mob no longer pursued; the gate sufficed. They slowed, the horses blowing and panting in exhaustion, stretching at the reins and seeking air. They rode slowly up to a sprawling shelter, the largest in the compound.

The structure was patched, cobbled together of various bits of cloth and bundles of reeds and grass, and part of it was a tent. Light blazed within, showing through the canvas; and there was music, but not such as the arrhendimhad played. They halted there, and guards came to take the horses.

They lifted him down from the saddle. "Be careful," said Shien when one of them jerked at him. "This is a very valuable Man."

And Shien himself took him by the elbow and brought him toward the door of the tent. "You were not wise," Shien said.

He shook his head, uncertain whether he had rejected a trap that would have killed him or whether he had rejected the only hope he had. It was impossible. A khalwould scarcely keep faith with khal.That one would keep faith with a Man was not to be believed.

He blinked, suddenly thrust into the light and warmth within.