In truth he faced the possibility of a long evening with the mad Leth with dread, not alone of the Leth, but because of the fever that still burned in his veins. He would rather try to ride now, now, while he had the strength. If trouble arose in the hall, he was not sure that he could help Morgaine or even himself.
In truth, he reckoned that among her weapons she had the means to help herself: it was her left-handed ilin that might not make it out
I could stay here, he said.
With his servants to attend you? she asked. You could not gracefully bar the door against them yourself, but no one thinks odd the things I do. Say that you are not fit and I will stay here and bar the door myself.
No, he said. I am fit enough. And you are probably right about the servants. He thought of Flis, who, if she entertained everyone in this loathsome hall with the same graces she plied with him, would probably be fevered herself, or carry some more ugly sickness. And he recalled the twins, who had slipped into the dark like a pair of the palace ratsfor some reason they and their little knives inspired him with more terror than Myya archers had ever done. He could not strike at them as they deserved; that they were children still stayed his hand; and yet they had no scruples, and their daggers were razor-sharplike rats, he thought again, like rats, whose sharp teeth made them fearsome despite their size.
He dreaded even for Morgaine with the like of them skittering about the halls and conniving together in the shadows.
She left. He walked at his proper distance half a pace behind Morgaine, equally for the sake of formality and for safetys sake. He had discovered one saw things that way, things that happened just after Morgaine had glanced away. He was only ilin. No one paid attention to a servant. And Kasedres servants feared her. It was in their eyes. That was, in this hall, great tribute.
And even the bandits as they entered the hall watched her with caution in their hot eyes, a touch of ice, a cold wind over them. It was curious: there was more respect in the afterwave of her passing than the nonchalance they showed to her face.
A greater killer than any of them, he thought unworthily; they respected her for that.
But the Leth, the uyin that gathered at the high tables, watched her through polite smiles, and there was lust there too, no less than in the bandits eyes, but cold and tempered with fear. Morgaine was supremely beautifuclass="underline" Vanye kept that thought at a distance within himselfhe was tempted to few liberties with the qujal, and that one last of all. But when he saw her in that hall, her pale head like a blaze of sun in that darkness, her slim form elegant in tgihio and bearing the dragon blade with the grace of one who could truly use it, an odd vision came to him: he saw like a fever-dream a nest of corruption with one gliding serpent among the scuttling lesser creaturesmore evil than they, more deadly, and infinitely beautiful, reared up among them and hypnotizing with basilisk eyes, death dreaming death and smiling.
He shuddered at the vision and saw her bow to Kasedre, and performed his own obeisance without looking into the mad, pale face: he retreated to his place, and when they were served, he examined carefully and sniffed at the wine they were offered.
Morgaine drank; he wondered could her arts make her proof against drugs and poisons, or save him, who was not. For his part he drank sparingly, and waited long between drafts, toying with it merely, waiting for the least dizziness to follow: none did. If they were being poisoned, it was to be more subtle.
The dishes were various: they both ate the simple ones, and slowly. There was an endless flow of wine, of which they both drank sparingly; and at last, at long last, Morgaine and Kasedre still smiling at each other, the last dish was carried out and servants pressed yet more wine on them.
Lady Morgaine, begged Kasedre then, you gave us a puzzle and promised us answers tonight.
Of Witchfires?
Kasedre bustled about the table to sit near her, and waved an energetic hand at the harried, patch-robed scribe who had hovered constantly at his elbow this evening. Write, write, he said to the scribe, for in every hall of note there was an archivist who kept records properly and made an account of hall business.
How interesting your Book would be to me, murmured Morgaine, with all the time I have missed of the affairs of men. Do give me this grace, my lord Kasedreto borrow your Book for a moment.
Oh mercy, Vanye thought, are we doomed to stay here a time more? He had hoped that they could retreat, and he looked at the thickness of the book and at all the bored lordlings sitting about them flushed with wine, looking like beasts thirsting for the kill, and reckoned uneasily how long their patience would last.
We would be honored, replied Kasedre. It was probably the first time in years that anyone had bothered with the musty tome of Leth, replete as it must be with murderings and incest. The rumors were dark enough, though little news came out of Leth.
Here, said Morgaine, and took into her lap the moldering book of the scribe, while the poor old scholara most wretched old man and reeking of drinksat at her brocaded knee and looked up at her, wrinkle browed and squinting. His eyes and nose ran. He blotted at both with his sleeve. She cracked the book, disturbing pages moldered together, handling the old pages reverently, separating them with her nail, folding them down properly as she sought the years she wanted.
Somewhere at the back of the hall some of the less erudite members of the banquet were engaged in riotous conversation. It sounded as if a gambling game were in progress. She ignored it entirely, although Kasedre seemed irritated by it; the lord Leth himself squatted down to hear her, hanging upon her long silence in awe. Her forefinger traced words. Vanyes view over her shoulder showed yellowed parchment and ink that had turned red-brown and faint. It was a wonder that one who lisped the language as uncertainly as she did could manage that ancient scrawl, but her lips moved as she thought the words.
My dear old friend Edjnel, she said softly. Here is his deathwhat, murdered? Kasedre craned his neck to see the word. And his daughterah, little Linnadrowned upon the lakeshore. This is sad news. But Tohme did rule, surely
My father, interjected Kasedre, was Tohmes son. His eyes kept darting to her face anxiously, as if he found fear of her condemnation.
When I remember Tohme, she said, he was playing at his mothers knee: the lady Aromwel, a most gracious, most lovely person. She was Chya. I rode to this hall upon a night... She eased the fragile pages backward. Yes, here, you see:
... came She even to Halle, bearing sad Tidings from the Road. Lorde Araldebrother to Edjnel and to my friend Lrie, who went with me to Irien, and died there Lorde Aralde had met with Mischance upon his faring in her Companie that attempted the Saving of Leth against the Darke, which advanceth out of... Well, well, this was another sad business, that of lord Arald. He was a good man. Unlucky. An arrow out of the forest had him; and the wolves were on my trail by then.... herein she feared the Border were lost, that there would none rallye to the Saving of the Middle Realms, save only Chya and Leth, and they strippt of Men and sorely hurt. So gave she Farewell to Leth and left the Halle, much mourned... Well, that is neither here nor there. It touches me to think that I am missed at least in Leth. Her fingers sought further pages. Ah, here is news. My old friend Zrihe was counselor to Tiffwy, you know. Or do you not? Well.... Chya Zri has come to Leth, he being friend to the Kings of Koris. A feral grin was on her face, as if that mightily amused her. Friendshe laughed softlyaye, friend to Tiffwys wife, and thereon hung a tale.