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

rats, he thought again, like rats, whose sharp teeth made them fearsome despite their size. He dreaded even for Morgaine with the likes 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 safety’s 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 Kasedre’s 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 beautiful: Vanye kept that thought at a distance within himself—he 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 creatures—more 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. Therewas 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.
    â€œLady Morgaine,” begged Kasedre then, “you gave us a puzzle and promised us answers tonight.”
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œHow 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 Kasedre—to 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.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œHere,” said Morgaine, and took into her lap the moldering book of the scribe, while the