Morgaine roused them for tea and day-old cakes and smoked fish, and sat against the rock, sipping her portion of the tea and letting her eyes shut from time to time. Then her eyes opened with nothing of somnolence about them at all. "We might stay here a day," she said. "We have put distance between ourselves and the gate—which is very well. But this is the last place we may have leisure. Another night's riding—and we will be beyond Gault's holdings. Is that not the case?"
"That is the case," Chei said. "I swear to you."
"Bearing in mind that hereafter I will not permit Vanye's horse to carry double, and tire itself."
"I will walk. I can fend for myself, lady."
"Are you fit to walk? I tell you the truth: if you are not fit—we will give you that day's grace. But there may be other answers. Perhaps you know something of Morund's inner defenses."
Chei's eyes widened in dread. "Guarded," he said. "Well guarded."
"I," Vanye said, and rested his chin on his forearm, his knee tucked beneath his elbow. "I have stolen a horse or two in my life. I suppose Morund has pastures hereabouts. And for that matter, liyo, I can quite well walk."
Morgaine glanced his way. So he knew that he had guessed her intention all along, by that calm exchange. And he had had a queasy feeling in all this ride, good as the reasons were for quitting the last camp: Arrhan might carry double at a very slow pace, but not in haste—his liege not being a fool, to press one of their horses to the limit.
But that she risked them this far on this man's word had bewildered him, all the same—until she asked of Morund.
"Or," he said in the Kurshin tongue, "we might let our guide walk these trails he claims to know—alone. And we go the quicker way, the two of us, by night and by stealth, liyo, and get clear of this place. That is my opinion in the matter."
She gave him a sudden sidelong glance.
He gave a little lift of his shoulder. No frown was on her face, but that, he thought, was because there was a witness.
"I will have a word with thee," she said, and motioned off toward the streamside.
But: "I do not think there is overmuch to say," he said, and did not rise. "I am ilin. Ask. I will do it. Steal a horse? That is nothing. Perhaps I should take Morund. You hardly need trouble yourself."
"Thee is unreasonable!"
"I do not think I am unreasonable. Everything you wish, I will do. Can a man be more reasonable? Take Morund. Better that than walk in there. Far better than drag this poor man in there, since you are set on stirring up a trouble we could ride around. We have come this far on this man's advice. Take the rest of it, I say, and go where he bids us go, and let us go around this place."
For a moment she did not speak. There was sullen anger in the look she gave him. Then: "Oh, aye, and trust to luck and half a score human bands, shall we?"
"Better luck than this Gault, liyo. And what will we, do general murder? Is that what you want? It is what you lead us to. Someone will die, likest myself, since I have to shield you. I have a bruise the size of my fist on my right shoulder—"
"Whose fault, that?"
"—and a man by me I do not trust; or we do trust him, enough to let him free where he could cry alarm; or we do murder outright on this man—Which is it, do we kill him, do we tie him to a tree for the wolves and his enemies to find, or do we trust him to go free? Or if we trust him for that, why in Heaven's sweet reason do we not trust him down the back trail ourselves, and take ourselves clear of this damnable place before we raise hue and cry from here to the north?"
She rose abruptly to her feet and walked off. It left him Chei's frightened stare.
"We are having a dispute," Vanye said, "regarding the ease of finding horses."
Chei said nothing at all. He looked from one to the other of them, and for a long while Morgaine stood by the streamside, arms folded, staring off into the gathering dark.
Vanye buried their fire, and went down to wash the single pan they had used.
"Thee confuses me," Morgaine said, standing behind him as he rinsed the pan. "Thee considerably confuses me."
It was not, precisely, what he had expected her to say.
"Then," he said, "we confuse each other."
"What will you?"
That was not the question he was prepared for either—or it was the earnestness of it which confounded him.
"What will you?" He turned from the stream, for he sensed her precisely where she was, her back turned to their prisoner and the horses; and all manner of mischief possible. "I have no idea—"
"Thee does not kneel."
"I am washing the cursed dish," he retorted, "and you have your back to the man. Do you trust him that much?"
"Now thee is watching. I trust that thee is watching. What will thee? To let him free? Ride in among his folk, on his guidance? Or do we kill him or leave him for the wolves?"
"Ah. I thought it was his oath we trusted."
She drew in a sharp breath, and said nothing at all as he got to his feet. They were of a height. He stood lower on the bank. And for a long moment he did not move.
"Or," he said, "do you think we should not trust his guidance? Lord in Heaven, you took his oath. Did you count me so lightly? I do not recall my pledge was much different."
"Thee is Kurshin," she said, and recalled to him what he had forgotten: that it was more than the language she spoke, that she was, perhaps to a greater extent than he had thought—Andurin, out of the woodland cantons of his own land.
"You will not let me remember it," he said, and jutted a clenched jaw toward the man who waited by the dead fire. "He is human. But it is not considering my scruples you took his oath. You deceived him and you refused to confide in me. Why?"
"I do not deceive you."
"You do not tell the truth."
"Thee pleaded for his life."
"I had as soon have left him at the last camp, where he had some choice where to go. I had as soon gone further west from the beginning and come up through the hills."
She pressed her lips together in that way she had when she had said all she would. So their arguments tended to end—himself with the last word, and Morgaine lapsed into one of her silences that could last for hours and evaporate at the last as if there had never been a word of anger.
But always Morgaine did as she would—would simply ride her own way, if he would not go with her; there was no reasoning with her.
"I will get your cursed horse," he said.
She drew a sharp breath. "We will go his way, by the trails."
He felt his face go hot. "So we walk turn and turn."
"I did not ask that."
"That is a wounded man. How much do you think he can do?"
"I am willing to wait here. Did I not say as much?"
"Wait here! With the enemy over the next hill!"
"What would you?"
Now it was he who found no words. He only stood there a moment, half-choked with anger; then bowed his head and walked on past her, back to put the pan with their gear.
Chei looked at him with the same bewilderment, his eyes jerking from one to the other—lastly toward Morgaine, who came and sat down on her heels beside them.
Vanye sat as he was a moment, jabbing at the ground with a stick between his knees. "I reckon," he said mildly, "that we could make the back trails. If Chei and I rode and walked by turns."
Morgaine rested her arms on her knees, her brow on the heels of her hands. Then she dropped her arms and sat down cross-legged. "Myself," she said, "I am not of a mind to be inconvenienced by this Gault of Morund."