Free The Complete Morgaine by C. J. Cherryh Page A

she ever cease from what drove her? It was not simple restlessness at their confinement. It was the same thing that burned in her during their time on the road, as if they were well enough while moving, but any untoward delay fretted her beyond bearing.
    It was as if death and the Witchfires were an appointment she was zealous to keep, and she resented every petty human interference in her mission.
    The sunlight in the room decreased. Things became dim. When the furniture itself grew unclear, there came a rap on the door. Morgaine answered it. It was Flis.
    â€œMaster says come,” said Flis.
    â€œWe are coming,” said Morgaine. The girl delayed in the doorway, twisting her hands.
    Then she fled.
    â€œThat one is no less addled than the rest,” Morgaine said. “But she is more pitiable.” She gathered up her sword, her other gear too, and concealed certain of her equipment within her robes. “Lest,” she said, “someone examine things while we are gone.”
    â€œThere is still the chance of running for the door,” he said. “
Liyo,
take it. I am stronger. There is no reason I cannot somehow ride.”
    â€œPatience,” she urged him. “Besides, this man Kasedre is interesting.”
    â€œHe is also,” he said, “ruthless and a murderer.”
    â€œThere are Witchfires in Leth,” she said. “Living next to the Witchfires as the Witchfires seem to have become since I left—is not healthful. I should not care to stay here very long.”
    â€œDo you mean that the evil of the thing—of the fires—has made them what they are?”
    â€œThere are emanations,” she said, “which are not healthful. I do not myself know all that can be the result of them. I only know that I do not like the waste I saw about me when I rode out at Aenor-Pyvvn, and I like even less what I see in Leth. The men are more twisted than the trees.”
    â€œYou cannot warn these folk,” he protested. “They would as lief cut our throats as not if we cross them. And if you mean something else with them, some—”
    â€œHave a care,” she said. “There is someone in the hall.”
    Steps had paused. They moved on again, increasing in speed. Vanye swore softly. “This place is full of listeners.”
    â€œWe are surely the most interesting listening in the place,” she said. “Come, and let us go down to the hall. Or do you feel able? If truly not, I shall plead indisposition myself—it is a woman’s privilege—and delay the business.”
    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.
    â€œI could stay here,” he said.
    â€œWith
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.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I am fit enough. And you are probably right about theservants.” 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 rats: for 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-sharp—like