Himself, he gave himself up to Arrhan's gait and slept, in what stretches he could, between the pain of burns and stiff muscles and the ache of his shoulders and back, and the peculiar unpleasantness of the unshielded stone which rode close against his throat, as Chei had tied it, a sense of gate-force which reached a mind-numbing pitch and stayed there, never abating.
When Morgaine needed him to do something she would signal him. He had no doubt she would do it in some fashion—perhaps through the stone itself, if it would not likewise advise their enemy.
Beyond that he did not try to think, except where the qhal themselves afforded him something to wonder on. To think what the end of this might be, or to think how he had wandered into this, was too deadly a sink, a place in which he could lose himself. This much he had learned of Morgaine, to deal with the moment and keep his mind flowing with it—like swordplay, like that intricate art in which there was no time to spare for forever.
He waited, that was all.
And by afternoon another man pitched from the saddle.
There were outcries, there was shouting—some men broke and ran and the whole company did, stringing out in disorder.
Two riders veered far off toward the northwest, and kept going.
"They are cowards!" Chei yelled at the rest. "Likeliest they are dead men. Stay with the column."
"Let him go!" one of the qhal shouted back. "Let him go,let us ride back to Morund!"
"Silence!" Chei bade him. "Do you think any of us would live out the hour?"
"No one would prevent you," Vanye said. "Go home. It is your high lords who use the gates—this one is spending your lives to no—"
He ducked his head and put his shoulder in the way of Chei's sheathed sword as it came whistling round for him, ducked again from the second blow, and as Arrhan shied, drove his heels in.
The mare jerked and bolted, hitting the reins with all her weight and throwing the other horse into a wild stagger after balance. For a moment he kept her circling and shying up under the impacts of his heels.
Then other riders closed in about him and seized reins and bridles to stop her.
Chei was one. Chei shoved the sheathed sword under his chin when all was done and jerked his head up.
"Tonight," Chei told him. "Tonight."
No one spoke, except Chei bade them put a rope to Arrhan's halter and use that as well as the reins.
They gave him neither food nor water, nor any other consideration for his comfort, so that the ride became one long misery of heat and ache—no rest for him at the times they would stop to rest the horses. They drank at a stream and afforded Arrhan water, but none for him.
It was petty vengeance.
Only once, there was an outcry from the rear of their column, and Chei gave furious orders that sent men thundering back along the road toward a rider that appeared like a ghost and vanished again in the tricks of the rolling land.
He held his breath then. He could not but worry.
But the rider left the road before they came that far.
And within the hour a man pitched dead from the saddle.
"Damn you!" Chei shouted to the hills. "Damn you!"
The hills echoed him. That was all.
Vanye did not meet his eyes then. He kept his head bowed amid the murmuring of the others.
They were thirty-three.
Close to him, for some little time, Chei and the captain argued in muted fury, concerning a place for a camp, concerning the hazard of leaving the road for the hills.
"It is him she wants," the captain asserted finally, in hushed violence. "Put a sword in him, take the jewel, and leave him in the road. She will stop for him. No horse for him and a wounded man on her hands— thenthe balance shifts. Thenwe become the hunters. More of this is madness."
It was only too reasonable a course. Vanye listened with a sinking heart, and braced himself to cause them what trouble he could.
But: "No!" Chei said.
"It is your ambition," the captain said. "Your damnable ambition, Qhiverin! No waiting on Mante—no chance of anyone but yourself dealing with it—You will listen to me, or the high lord will when I bear the report to him—"
"You will obey orders, captain, or I will bear reports of my own of your insubordination, of your obstructing me, damn you! I am my lord,and Qhiverin is gone, captain,with all his disfavor, Gault is dead, what is more, and you do not know me, captain,you do not know me in the least and you do not know the enemy you are dealing with and you do not know the weapon you are dealing with. That stone around his neck keeps us alive, captain. Around yours, much as I would like to see it, it would be no more than an encouragement—it cannot take that weapon of hers, need I shout the matter aloud? Whoever holds the stone will go like a leaf in the wind, and that accursed sword will stand fast in this world— thatis what prevents her, nothing more."
"Her lover bleeding in the dirt will prevent her." The captain ripped his sword from its sheath. "And I will carry the stone, my lord,and deliver the stone to Mante, my lord!"
Vanye drove his left heel into Arrhan's side and she wheeled, jerking hard at the reins, clear of his reach as Chei's sword came out and rang loud in the turning of that blade, a mirror-bright flash of sun, a wheeling cut and the hiss of other steel drawn, on all sides.
A thunder of hooves and a second man came at him; he drove with his heels and ducked, flat in the saddle, as the stroke grated off his armor, as the man leading his horse swung round and an arc of steel flashed over his head in the other direction, ringing off the rebel's blade close by his ear. Horses shoved and shied and Arrhan struggled in the press: there was nothing he could do but lie flat as he could against Arrhan and the heaving rump of his defender's horse for an instant as the blades rang above him, as blood spattered over him and one or the other fell—
He drove his heels in and fought for balance with an effort that tore muscles in his stomach, with steel still ringing over his head, then let go entirely and landed in a space between the horses, to scramble up again, hands bound, and run.
A shout, a rumbling behind him—riders on either side of him, and a horse shouldered him and sent him rolling; up to his feet again and a second dash for the rocks that he could see—
If Morgaine were near enough, if she could give him cover—
A horse thundered down at him. There was nothing he could do but run, and veer, spinning aside at the last moment as the horse rushed past.
But the second horse he could not evade, and fell, his helm saving his head and rolling free as he hit on his bound arms and struggled after wind and purchase to rise.
A horseman overshadowed him. An extended lance slammed against his armor and pushed him back, the point hovering an unstable distance from the pit of his throat.
He did not know which side had won until Chei's voice bade the rider back away, and men got down to gather up him and his helmet and take him back to his horse.
There were bodies on the road. The captain was one, with his skull split. There were two other qhal who might have been all the captain's and might have been, some of them, Chei's. They left them for the scavengers as they had left the others, and they put him on Arrhan's back again.
He slumped over such as he could to rest then, and to avoid Chei's attention.