Here they had left him, where his screams could in nowise be heard above.
And it was into this place that the Myya sealed him, without light and without water, with only his thin shirt against the numbing cold. He fought against them, dazed as he yet was, panicked by the fear that they would bind him here as Handrys had: fled their grasp and meant to fight them.
They closed the door on him, plunged him into utter dark; the bolt outside crashed across and eckoed.
He tried his strength against it until he was exhausted, his shoulder bruised and his hands torn. Then he sank down against it, the only sure point in this absolute dark, the only place that was not cold earth and stone. He caught his breath and heard for a time only the slow and distant drip of water.
Then the rats began to stir again, timid at first, stopping when he would make a sound. Gradually they grew bolder. He heard their small feet, both along the walls and overhead, in the maze of unseen beams.
He loathed them, since that nightmare in the basement of Ra-morij; he hated even seeing them in light, despising them there: the very sight of them brought back the memory, reminding him of dark places where they thrived in numbers, a realm within the walls, under foundations, where they were the terror and he small and helpless.
He no longer dared lie there. They generally avoided a man who was awake: he knew this sensibly, in spite of his fear; but he had heard too much of what they might do to a man asleep. He paced to keep himself awake, and once, when he did lie down to rest, and felt something light skitter over his leg, he came up with a shuddering cry that echoed madly through the dark, and gathered himself to his feet.
The sound made a pause in all the scurryingsonly a moment. Then they proceeded fearlessly about their business.
Sometime, eventually, he would have to sleep. There had to be a time that he would fall down exhausted. Already his knees were shaking. He paced until he had to take his rest by leaning against the walls, until he had long moments of knowing nothing, and woke again in the midst of a fall to the ground, to scramble up again, dusting his hands and shuddering, holding himself on his shaking legs with difficulty.
Then, at last, came a clatter in the hall, a light under the door, and it opened, blazing torchlight into his face, dark figures of men. He went to them as to dear friends, flung himself into their arms as into a place of refuge.
They brought him back upstairs, back to the fine hall that was Erijs apartment. It was night outside the window, so that he knew it had been a night and a day since he had slept; and now his knees were shaking and his hands almost incapable of handling the utensils as he seated himself at the accustomed table opposite his brother.
He reached for the wine first, that began to take the chill from his belly, but he could not eat. He picked at a few bites, and ate some of the bread, and a bit of cheese.
The knife clattered from his hand and he had had enough. He shoved his chair back without Erijs leave, withdrew to the warm hearth and lay down there while Erij finished his dinner. His senses dimmed, exhaustion taking him, and he wakened to Erijs boot in his ribs, gently applied.
He gathered himself up, willing to stave off a return to that place by conversation, by applying himself most earnestly to Erijs humors, but the Myya guards were there. They set hands on him to take him back to that place of darkness and rats, and he fought them and cried aloud, sobbing, clawing free of them: he found the table, snatched a knife and laid a mans arm open with it before they wrested it away from him and pulled him down in a clatter of spilling dishes. A booted foot slammed into his head; when he went down his only thought was that they would take him back unconscious, and that the rats would have him. For that reason he fought them; and then a second blow to the stomach drove the wind from him and he ceased to know anything.
He still lay upon the floor. He knew light and heat and felt carpet with his fingers. Then he felt a cold edge prison one wrist against the floor, and opened his eyes upon Erij, who sat against the arm of the chair; upon the bright length of a longsword that rested over him.
You have more staying power than you used to have, bastard brother, said Erij. A few years ago you would have seen reason two days ago. Is it so much you owe her that you will not even say why she has come?
I will tell you, he said, though I myself do not understand it. She says that she came to destroy the Witchfires. I do not know why. Perhaps it is some matter of her honor. But they never were anything but harm to Andur-Kursh; so she is no harm to Morija.
And you do not know what gain that would be to her.
No. She only sayssomehowshe means to kill Thiye, and that is not... He moved his arm. The blade sliced skin and he decided against it. Erij, she is not the enemy.
Erijs mouth twisted into a sour smile. There have been more than Thiye that aspired to what Thiye holds. And none of those have meant us good.
Not to possess what he holds. To destroy it.
The blade lifted. Vanye struggled to his knees, aching in head and belly, where he had been kicked. He met Erijs cynicism with absolute earnestness.
Little brother, said Erij, I think you actually believe the witch. And you have gone soft in the wits if that is so. Look at me. Look at me. I swear to youand you know that I keep my wordthat if you forsake that allegiance in truth, I will not collect the price you owe me. The longsword flicked at his wrist. Vanye snatched it back, horrified. The blade instead leveled at his eyes, holding him like the eyes of a serpent.
Bastard brother, said Erij, it has taken me these two years to learn some skill with my left hand. All for a careless, useless gesture. Romens efforts notwithstanding, I lost the fingers. They went before the hand. Need I tell you how I have sworn I would do if ever I had you in reach, bastard brother? Handrys may have deserved what he had of you; but I only tried to shield him at that momentonly to keep you from striking him again, I not even in armor. There was no honor for you in what you did, little brother. And I have not forgiven you.
That is a lie, said Vanye. You would as gladly have killed me, and I was less skilled than either of you: I always was.
Erij laughed. There is the Vanye I know. Handrys would have cursed me to my face and gone for my throat if I threatened him. But you know I will do it, and you are afraid. You think too much, Chya bastard. You always had too keen an imagination. It made you coward, because you never learned to put that wit of yours to good advantage. But I will own you were outmatched then. The years have put weight on you, and half a hand to your stature. I am not sure I should like to take you on now, left-handed as I am.
Erij. He cast everything upon an appeal to reason, put utmost heart into his tone. Erij, will you have this hall reputed like that of Leth? Let me pass from here. I am outlawed. I admit I deserve it, and I was mad to come here asking charity of Father. I would never have dared come if I had known I would have to ask any grace of you. That was my mistake. But Nhi will lose honor for you. You know that Nhi will have no part of it, or else you would not have to use Myya guards with me.
For what are you asking me?
To treat me as Nhi, as your brother.
Erij smiled faintly, drew from his belt the shortsword, the Honor blade, and cast it ringing onto the stones of the hearth. Then he walked out.
Vanye stared after him, shuddered as the door slammed and the heavy bolt went across. Fear settled into him like an old friend, close and familiar. He did not even look at the sword for a moment. He had not asked for this, but for his release; and yet it honorably answered, more than honorably answered, all that he had asked of Erij.