Vanye looked a second time. It did not look like a priest. He drew in a quick, anxious breath. It had been long since he had found anything of the Church; and there had been so much doubtful he had had to choose on his own: so far he had come, and changed so much—and a priest—
He was starkly afraid to face anything of the Church nowadays: that was the proof that he was damned, and he did not need a priest to threaten him with Hell.
Or to threaten Morgaine, or curse her with curses she would not regard, but which would all the same bring no luck to them.
"We do not need the priest," he muttered. "Send him away."
"I do not know," Chei said in evident consternation. "I do not think—I do not see how . . . my lady—"
"No matter," Morgaine said. Gold flashed in the seam of her cloak. She rested Changeling'scap on the ground, her hands on the quillons of the dragon grip. "If it saves us time, let us be done with this."
Vanye opened his mouth to protest. But it was not that Morgaine did not know the Church. There was nothing he could tell her. There was nothing he knew how to tell her.
He longed—God in Heaven, he longed for someone to tell him he had done right, and that his soul was not so stained as he thought it was, or a gentle priest like those in Baien-an or even old San Romen, who would lay hands on him and pray over him and tell him if he did thus and thus he was not damned.
But this priest did not have any gentle look. This one was damnation and hellfire, and met them with the uplifted cross of a sword.
"No further," the priest said, and drew a line in the dirt, between them and his lord. "Talk behind that."
Morgaine grounded Changelingjust behind that line, the dragon hilt in her hands, and a hell between them that the priest could not in his wildest dreams, imagine.
"Do we talk to this?" she asked scornfully, looking past the priest to Arunden. "Is he lord in this camp? Or are you?"
"My lady," Chei cautioned her, and Bron, who had come halfway between Arunden and his brother, stopped still and looked appalled.
"I will talk with whoever is lord here," Morgaine said. "If it is this man, so be it. His word will bind you. And I will take it for yours."
"If I say talk with the camp scullions, you talk with them!" Arunden snarled.
Vanye went stiff, but Morgaine's hand was up, preventing him, before the lord Arunden had even finished speaking.
"Well and good," she said. "To themI will offer my help, and turn this camp upside down, lord Arunden, when they profit from what I have to say. Oryou can listen, and profit yourself and yours, and not come to Ichandren's fate or have to ask advice of your servants."
"You are in a poor place to threaten us, woman! Have you looked around you?"
"Have you,my lord, and have you not noticed that qhal are taking your land and killing your people? I might make some difference in that. Let us talk, my lord Arunden! Let us sit down like sensible folk and I will tell you why I want to pass through your land."
"No passage!" the priest cried, and people murmured in the shadows. But:
"Sit down," Arunden said. "Sit,and lieto us before we deal with you."
More and more people appeared out of the dark and the woods, coming down into the light: a man or two at first, who stood with Arunden within the priest's line; and young women in breeches and braids, who scurried about seeing to the fire and bringing out blankets to spread by it—an appearance of decent courtesy, Vanye thought, standing by with his hand on his sword-hilt and a dart of his eye toward every move around the shadows on their own side of the line.
On his, the dour, broad-bellied hedge-lord stood by with a clutch of his own men and with Bron and Chei both across that line and talking urgently to him—he had his arms folded, and scowled continually; but made no overt gesture of hostility, only repeated ones of impatience.
The priest, for his part, drew another line when the rapidly-forming circle took shape about the fire, a mark in the dust with his sword and a holy sign over it, the which sent a cold feeling to Vanye's gut.
"Poor manners, these folk," he said to Morgaine, looking constantly to their flanks and refusing to be distracted by the priest's doings.
"No saying where the archers may be posted," Morgaine said. "I will warrant there is one or two with clear vantage—that ridge yonder, perhaps. Mark you, we do not give up the weapons—hai, there—"
One man was moving to take the horses. Vanye moved to prevent it, one hand out, one hand on his sword; and that man stopped.
Chei's horse had strayed loose, uncertain and confused, and apt, Heaven knew, to bolt; but their own had stood where the reins had dropped, where Siptah now stood and jerked his head and snorted challenge, a wary eye on the man approaching.
"I would not," he advised the man, who measured the warhorse's disposition and the owners' resolution with one nervous glance and kept his distance. "I would not touch him at all, man."
That stopped the matter. The man looked left and right as if searching for help or new orders, and edged away, leaving the warhorse and the mare and all their belongings to stand unmolested. Vanye whistled a low and calming signal, and the Baien gray grunted and shook himself, lifting his head again with a wary and defiant whuff.
"My lady," Chei came saying then. "Come. Please. Keep within the line."
Morgaine walked toward the fire. Vanye walked after her, and stood behind her— ilin'splace, hand on sword, within the wedge-shaped scratch in the dirt that made a corridor to the fire.
So Arunden stood, with his priest, and his men—all men: the only women were the servants, who came and went in the shadows.
"Sit," Arunden muttered with no good grace, and sank down to sit cross-legged.
So Morgaine sat down in like fashion, and laid Changelingby her, largely shrouded in the folds of her cloak—which movement Arunden's eyes followed: Vanye saw it as he stood there.
But: "Vanye," Morgaine said, and he took her meaning without dispute, and sank down beside her, as others were settling and gathering close, Chei and Bron among them, on Arunden's side of the line, but beside them on Vanye's side.
"So you found this boy with the wolves," Arunden said. "How and why?"
"We were passing there," Morgaine said. "And Vanye did not like the odds."
"Not like the odds." Arunden chuckled darkly, and with his sheathed sword poked at the fire so that sparks flew up. "Not like the odds. Where are you from? Mante?"
"Outside."
There was long and sober silence. The fire crackled, the burning of new branches, the flare of pine needles.
"What—outside?"
"Beyond Mante. Things are very different there. I do not give my enemies to beasts. I deal with them myself."
There was another long silence.
Then: "Cup!" Arunden said.
"My lord," the priest objected vehemently, scrambling up.
"Sit down,priest!" And as the so-named priest sank down with ill grace: "Close up, close up, close up! Does a qhalur womanfrighten you? Close up!"
No one stirred for a moment. Then Chei edged closer on Vanye's side. After that there was a general movement, men moving from the back of the circle forward on Arunden's side, edging closer on either side of them, blurring and obliterating the line the priest had drawn, two rough-looking men crowding close on Morgaine's side, so that Vanye felt anxiously after his sword-hilt.