The road was winding, the turns blind, woods and rocks cutting off their view upon the right, trees almost taking the road in places upon the left.
And they met it, inevitably: the rear of Liells column, men warned by their noise and braced to receive them with a hedge of spears, a bristling shadow in the dark.
Erij ripped Changeling loose and let its sheath slide, lost, nothing hesitating. He spurred his uncertain horse and drove the beast at the spears, while the blade flared into opal and a peculiar starry dark hovered at its tip. The Lethen that touched it were quickly nothing: others fled aside, closed in, in renewed determination as Vanye tried to ride through, but few, few of them. Instead came dark, fur-clad bodies off the ridge, dropping thick upon his path Hjemurn, howling their blood-chilling cries. In his last clear sight of the column ahead he saw a glimmer of whiteSiptah among those horses: and the Lethen riders began to run, abandoning those on foot, perhaps knowing what pursued them.
Dark bodies poured between. Vanye kicked his faltering horse, himself and the beast being pulled down together. A spear rammed at his ribs and rocked him badly. Weaponless, he seized the shaft with both hands and tried to wrench it free from its owner.
Then the horse collapsed, and arms encircled him, pulling him to the ground at the same moment. A blade flashed down and rebounded off his mail, surprising the would-be killer. Others hacked at him, with the same result, bruising, driving the wind from him. He was smothered in bodies and sinking into dark.
And as suddenly released.
He scrambled for his feet, still dazed, and sprawled in the stained snow. Screams were in his ears, then silence, a howl of wind, hollow and abruptly silenced too.
He struggled to one knee as steps crunched up to him, looked dazedly upon Erij, who held the sword in the sheath. There were no bodies, and there were no Hjemurn to be seen, only themselves, and the horses standing side by side.
Quickly, he twisted about to look in the direction the riders had taken. There was nothing to be seen there either.
The riders, Vanye said. Killed or fled?
Fled, said Erij. If you had not fallenbut that must be the Chya blood in you. Get up.
He rose, steadied unexpectedly by Erijs hand, and he was surprised into a closer look at his brother, that same dark expression he had known in Ra-morijanger compounded by something else violent; but the hand that still held him was solidly gentle.
Why stay for me? Vanye taunted him, for he truly suspected some brotherly sentiment in the man. Did you want revenge that badly?
Erijs lips trembled in anger. Bastard that you are, I will not leave even Nhi refuse for the Hjemurn. Get mounted.
And out of the contradictions that were Erij, he pushed him and hit him at once, no cuff, but a blow that brought him to one knee, dizzy as he was. Vanye gathered himself to rise, went after Erij, and halted as Erijs own longsword hit the snow between them. He seized it up without hesitating.
And there was Erij by his horse, glaring at him with hate and fear staring naked out of his eyes.
If he had not known Erij he would have thought him mad as Kasedre himself; but of a sudden he knew the feeling himself, an old one, and familiar. Erij did fear him. Maimed by him, his former skill cut away by him, Erij feared, and likely wakened in the night in such dreams as Vanye himself knew, dreams of Rijan, of Handrys, and a morning in the armory court.
Father loved perfection, Erij had told him once. He hated leaving Nhi to a cripple. He never forgave me either, for being the one of us two legitimate sons that lived. And for being less than perfect afterward.
But Erij had sense enough finally to arm him, in spite of all instincts otherwise. A one-handed man coming alone into Hjemur... he perhaps feared to die less than he feared to be proved weak.
Vanye bowed an awkward respect to his brother. Likely we will die, he said, that sure knowledge a weight of guilt at his heart. Erij, lend me Changeling instead. I do swear to you, I will go through with it myself. Whatever can be done by a man carrying that thing, I will do. I will hand you Ra-hjemur if I live, and if I do not, then it was impossible anyway. Erij, I mean it. I owe you to do that.
Erij gave a short and uneasy laugk, tucked his handless arm behind him. Your gratitude is unnecessary, bastard brother. The fact is, I dropped the sword-sheath and came back after it.
You came back in time, Vanye insisted doggedly. Erij, do not make it nothing. I know what you did; and I say I would do this.
You are expert in treachery, and I am not about to trust you, especially where she is concerned. You are trying to delay me now, and there is an end of it. Get mounted.
He could not hold the course Erij set. He came near to falling as they took a slippery downslope, hung on grimly, but dropped a rein. The horse stopped at the bottom as a consequence, well-trained, stood with its own sides heaving between his knees, and Vanye slowly bent over the saddle, trying to clear his vision and making no effort to recover the lost rein.
Erij rode close to him, hit his horse and started it forward. He clung, but the horse stopped again, and he disregarded Erij and used his remaining strength to climb down and walk, leading his horse, toward a place where a flat rock promised a place to sit. He walked like a drunken man, and ached so that he more fell down than sat down when he reached it He lay over on his side, tucked his limbs up against the cold and simply ignored Erijs attempts to rouse him: a time to let the pain leave his gutit was all he asked.
Erij pulled at him roughly, and Vanye realized finally that Erij was attempting to lift his head upon his maimed arm; and himself took the wine flask and drank.
You are chilled, Erij said distantly. Sit, sit up.
He understood then that Erij was trying to put his cloak about him, and leaned against his brother, warmed against him so that finally he began to shiver and abused muscles began to knot up in reaction to cold.
Drink, said Erij again. he drank. Then, briefly, he slept
He meant it to be brief, only a closing of his eyes. But he awoke with the sun warming him, and Erij sitting nearby with Changeling tucked within his arms as Morgaine was wont to rest. Erij did not sleep: Vanyes first move brought him alert and sharp-eyed with suspicion.
There is food, said Erij after a moment. Get to horse and we will eat in the saddle. We have wasted enough time.
He did not contest the order, but dragged his aching limbs up and obeyed. There was an edge to the wind when they were out of the fold of the hill; he was glad of the little bit of wine Erij shared with him, and the coarse, crumbling bread and strong cheese. Food put strength into him. He looked at his brother in the daylight and saw a man equally haggard, shadow-eyed, hollow-cheeked, unshaven; but at a sane pace and with provisions to last them, he reckoned their chances of reaching Ra-hjemur better, at least, than he had reckoned them last night.
They are surely making little better time than we, he said to Erij. Ahead of us that they are... still, there is a limit to their horses, and their strength.
It is possible that we can overtake them, said Erij. It is at least possible.
Erij seemed soberly sane after the impulses of the night had run themselves out: for a moment there seemed even implied apology in his tone. Vanye snatched at it instantly.
I am stronger, Vanye said. I could go on. Listen to me. You have made a kind of Claiming; and once I am quit of my oath to her, then I serve your interests at that point, and I will hold Ra-hjemur for you.
And of course the witch would let you.
She has no ambitions for Ra-hjemur: only to settle with Thiye and then to go her own way. She will not come back. She is no threat to you, none. Erij, I beg you, I earnestly beg you, do not seek to kill her.