Gate of Ivrel

by C. J. Cherryh

  "Thee is not fit for a chase," she said. "Or I would, gladly. Be still. Do not offend our hosts."

  They walked unescorted down the long corridors, where sometimes were servants that looked like beggars that sometimes appeared at hold gates, asking their three days of lawful charity. It was shame to a lord to keep folk of his hall in such a state. And the hold of Leth was huge. Its stones were older than Morgaine's ride to Irien, older by far in all its parts, and in its day it had been a grand hall, most fabled in its beauty. If she had seen it then, it was sadly otherwise now, with the tapestries in greasy rags and 48

  Gate of Ivrel

  bare stone showing through the tattered and dirty carpets on the floors.

  There were corridors which they did not take, great open halls that breathed with damp and decay, closed doors that looked to have remained undisturbed for years. Rats scurried sullenly out of their path, seeking the large cracks in the masonry, staring out at them with small glittering eyes.

  "How much of this place have you seen?" he asked of her.

  "Enough," she said, "to know that there is much amiss here. Nhi Vanye, whatever bloodfeuds you have with Leth, you are ilin to me. Remember it."

  "I have none with Leth," he said. "Sensible men avoid them altogether.

  Madness is like yeast in this whole loaf. It breeds and rises. Guard what you say, liyo, even if you are offended."

  And of a sudden he saw the lean face of the boy leering out at them from a cross-corridor, the sister beside him, rat-eyed and smiling. Vanye blinked.

  They were not there. He could not be sure whether he had seen them or not.

  The door to the main hall gaped ahead of them. He hastened to overtake Morgaine. There were any number of bizarre personages about, a clutch of men that looked more fit to surround some hillside campfire as bandits—they lounged at the rear of the hall; and a few high-clan uyin that he took for Leth, who lounged about the high tables in the hall. These latter were also lean and hungry and out-at-the-elbows, their tgihin gaudy, but frayed at hems: to do justice to their charity and hospitality to Morgaine, they were indeed less elegant than what they had lent to her.

  And there was a man that could only have been Leth Kasedre, who sat in the chair of honor at center, youngish to look upon— he could surely have been no more than thirty, and yet his babyish face was sallow, beneath a fringe of dark hair that wanted trimming: no warrior's braid for this one, and much else that went to make up a man seemed likely wanting too. His hair hung in twining ringlets. His eyes were hunted, darting from this to that; his mouth was like that of a sick man, loose, moist at the edges. He exuded heat and chill at once, like fever.

  49

  Gate of Ivrel

  And his clothing was splendor itself, cloth-of-gold, his narrow chest adorned with brooches and clasps and chains of gold. A jeweled Honor blade was at his belt, and a jeweled longsword, which added decoration useless and pathetic. The air about him was thick with the reek of perfumes that masked decay. As they came near him there was no doubt.

  It was a sickroom smell.

  Kasedre arose, extended a thin hand to offer place to Morgaine, who tucked up her feet and settled on the low bench courtiers had vacated for her, a place of honor; she wore Changeling high at her back and released the hook that secured the shoulderstrap at her waist, letting strap and blade slide to her hip for comfort, sitting. She bowed gracefully; Kasedre returned the courtesy.

  Vanye must perforce kneel at the Leth's feet and touch brow to floor, respect which the Leth hardly deigned to acknowledge, intent as he was on Morgaine. Vanye crept aside to his place behind her. It was bitter: he was a warrior— had been, at least; he had been proud, though bastard, and certainly Nhi Rijan's bastard ranked higher than this most notorious of hedge-lords. But he had seen ilinin at Ra-morij forced to such humiliation, refused Claiming, forgotten, ignored, no one reckoning what the man might have been before he became ilin and nameless. It was not worth protest now: the Leth was supremely dangerous.

  "I am intrigued to have the likes of you among us," said Leth Kasedre.

  "Are you truly that Morgaine of Irien?"

  "I never claimed to be," said Morgaine.

  The Leth blinked, leaned back a little, licked the corners of his mouth in perplexity. "But you are, truly," he said. "There was never the like of you in this world."

  Morgaine's lips suddenly acquired a smile as feral as Kasedre's could be.

  "I am Morgaine," she said. "You are right."

  Kasedre let his breath go in a long sigh. He performed another obeisance that had to be answered, rare honor for a guest in hall. "How are you among us? Do you come back— to ride to other wars?"

  50

  Gate of Ivrel

  He sounded eager, even delighted at the prospect.

  "I am seeing what there is to be seen," said Morgaine. "I am interested in Leth. You seem an interesting beginning to my travels. And," a modest lowering of eyes, "you have been most charitable in the matter of my ilin 151 if it were not for the twins."

  Kasedre licked his lips and looked suddenly nervous. "Twins? Ah, wicked, wicked, those children. They will be disciplined."

  "Indeed they should be," said Morgaine.

  "Will you share dinner with us this evening?"

  Morgaine's precise and delighted smile did not vary. "Most gladly, most honored, Leth Kasedre. My ilin and I will attend."

  "Ah, but ill as he is—"

  "My ilin will attend," she said. Her tone was delicate ice, still smiling.

  Kasedre flinched from that and smiled also, chanced in the same moment to look toward Vanye, who glared back, sullen and well sure of the murder resident in Kasedre's heart: hate not directed at Morgaine— he was in awe of her— but of the sight of a man who was not his to order.

  Of a sudden, wildly, he feared Morgaine's own capabilities. She slipped so easily into mad Kasedre's vein, well able to play the games he played and tread the maze of his insanities. Vanye reckoned again his worth to his liyo, and wondered whether she would yield him up to Kasedre if need be to escape this mad hall, a bit of human coin strewn along her way and forgotten.

  But so far she defended her rights with authoritative persistence, whether for his sake or in her own simple arrogance.

  "Have you been dead?" asked Kasedre.

  "Hardly," she said. "I took a shortcut. I was only here a month ago. Edjnel was ruling then."

  51

  Gate of Ivrel

  Kasedre's mad eyes glittered and blinked when she casually named a lord his ancestor, dead a hundred years. He looked angry, as if he suspected some humor at his expense.

  "A shortcut," she said, unruffled, "across the years you folk have lived, from yesterday to now, straightwise. The world went wide, around the bending of the path. I went through. I am here now, all the same. You look a great deal like Edjnel."

  Kasedre's face underwent a rapid series of expressions, ending in delight as he was compared to his famous ancestor. He puffed and swelled so far as his narrow chest permitted, then seemed again to return to the perplexities of the things she posed.

  "How?" he asked. "How did you do it?"

  "By the fires of Aenor above Pyvvn. It is not hard to use the fires to this purpose— but one must be very brave. It is a fearful journey."

  It was too much for Kasedre. He drew a series of deep breaths like a man about to faint, and leaned back, resting his hands upon that great sword, staring about at his gape-mouthed uyin, half of whom looked puzzled and the other part too muddled to do anything.

  "You will tell us more of this," said Kasedre.

  "Gladly, at dinner," she said.

  "Ah, sit, stay, have wine with us," begged Kasedre.

  Morgaine gave forth that chill smile again, dazzling and false. "By your leave, lord Kasedre, we are still weary from our travels and we will need a time to rest or I fear we shall not last a late banquet. We will go to our room and rest a time, and then come down at whatever hour you send
for us."

  Kasedre pouted. In such as he the moment was dangerous, but Morgaine continued to smile, bright and deadly, and full of promises. Kasedre bowed. Morgaine rose and bowed.

  52

  Gate of Ivrel

  Vanye inclined himself again at Kasedre's feet, had a moment to see the look that Kasedre cast at Morgaine's back.

  It was, he was glad to see, still awestruck.

  * * *

  Vanye was shaking with exhaustion when they reached the security of their upstairs room. He himself moved the chair before the door again, and sat down on the bed. Morgaine's cold hand touched his brow, seeking fever. "Are you well?" she asked.

  "Well enough. Lady, you are mad to sample anything of his at table tonight."

  "It is not a pleasant prospect, I grant you that." She took off the dragon sword and set it against the wall.

  "You are playing with him," said Vanye, "and he is mad."

  "He is accustomed to having his way," said Morgaine. "The novelty of this experience may intrigue him utterly."

  And she set down in the other plain chair and folded her arms. "Rest," she said. "I think we may both need it."

  He eased back on the bed, leaning his shoulder against the wall, and brooded over matters. "I am glad," he said out of those thoughts, "that you did not ride on and leave me here senseless with fever as I was. I am grateful, liyo. "

  She looked at him, gray eyes catwise and comfortable. "Then thee admits," she said, "that there are some places worse to be ilin than in my service?"

  The thought chilled him. "I do admit it," he said. "This place being chief among them."

  53

  Gate of Ivrel

  She propped her feet upon her belongings: he lay down and shut his eyes and tried to rest. The hand throbbed. It was still slightly swollen. He would have gladly gone outside and packed snow about it, reckoning that of more value than Flis' poultices and compresses or Morgaine's qujalin treatments.

  "The imp's knife was plague-ridden," he said. Then, remembering: "Did you see them?"

  "Who?"

  "The boy— the girl—"

  "Here?"

  "In the downstairs corridor, after you passed."

  "I am not at all surprised."

  "Why do you endure this?" he asked. "Why did you not resist them bringing us here? You could have dealt with my injury yourself— and probably with them too."

  "You perhaps have an exaggerated idea of my capacities. I am not able to lift a sick man about, and argument did not seem profitable at the moment.

  When it does, I shall consider doing something. But you are charged with my safety, Nhi Vanye, and with protecting me. I do expect you to fulfill that obligation."

  He lifted his swollen hand. "That— is not within my capacity at the moment, if it comes to fighting our way out of here."

  "Ah. So you have answered your own first questions." That was Morgaine at her most irritating. She settled again to waiting, then began instead to pace. She was very like a wild thing caged. She needed something for her hands, and there was nothing left. She went to the barred window and looked out and returned again.

  54

  Gate of Ivrel

  She did that by turns for a very long time, sitting a while, pacing a while, driving him to frenzy, in which if he had not been in pain, he might also have risen and paced the room in sheer frustration. Had the woman ever been still, he wondered, or did 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.

  "Master says come," said Flis.

  "We are coming," said Morgaine. The girl delayed in the doorway, twisting her hands.

  Then she fled.

  "That 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."

  "There 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."

  "Patience," she urged him. "Besides, this man Kasedre is interesting."

  "He is also," he said, "ruthless and a murderer."

  "There 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."

  55

  Gate of Ivrel

  "Do you mean that the evil of the thing— of the fires— has made them what they are?"

  "There 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."

  "You 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—"

  "Have 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."

  "We 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.

  "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."

  56

  Gate of Ivrel

  "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 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 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 kil
ler 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 57

  Gate of Ivrel

  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?"