Wall of Shiuan

“No,” said Roh. “I have made an understanding for your welfare. And I will see it kept; we have bargained, they and I. I will see you at Abarais.”

“No,” said Vanye. “I do not think you will.”

“Cousin,” said Roh softly.

Vanye swore and turned away, bile rising in his throat. He shouldered through his guards, who lacked orders and stood like cattle, confused. None checked him. He went to the window slit and looked out at the rain-glistening stones, ignoring all of them as they made their arrangements to leave, with much clattering of arms and shouting up and down the corridors.

Group by group, to their various purposes, the gathering dispersed. Roh was among the first to leave. Vanye did not turn his head to see. He heard the room deserted, and the door heavily sealed, and distantly in the halls echoed the tramp of armed men.

Out in the yard there began a tumult among the people, and the clatter of horses on the pavings. Voices of men and women pierced the commotion, for a moment clear and then subdued again.

One lord was leaving Ohtij-in; the former could not possibly have been buried yet. Such was Hetharu’s haste, to ride with Roh, seeking power; and such Roh had doubtless promised him, with promises and threats and direct warnings to bring him quickly to Abarais, before flood should come, before the way should be closed. Perhaps Bydarra had opposed such a journey, inventing delays, but Bydarra would no more oppose anything—perhaps at Roh’s urging; it was Hetharu’s cruel humor that had placed the blame where Roh least wanted it,

Vanye heard the number of horses in the yard and reckoned that most of the force of Ohtij-in must be going.

And if Morgaine lived, she would have to contend with that upon the road—if she had not already, more wary and more wise than her ilin, skirted round Ohtij-in and passed toward Abarais.

It was the only hope that remained to him. If Morgaine had done so, Roh was finished, powerless. This was surely the fear in Roh’s mind, that drove him to create chaos of Ohtij-in, that drove him to accept allies that would turn on him when first they could. If Roh came too late, if Morgaine had passed, and the Wells were dead and sealed against him, then those same allies would surely kill him; and then would be another bitter reckoning, at Ohtij-in, for the hostage for a dead enemy.

But if Roh was not too late, if Morgaine was in truth lost, then there were other certainties: himself bidden to Abarais, to serve Roh—masterless ilin, to be Claimed to another service.

There was nothing else, no other choice for him—but to seek Roh’s life; and the end of that, too, he knew.

A door closed elsewhere, echoing in the depths; a scuff on stone sounded outside, steps in the corridor. He thought until the last that they were bound elsewhere: but the bolt of the door crashed back.

He looked back, the blood chilling in his veins as he saw Kithan, with armed men about him.

Kithan walked to the end of the table, steady in his bearing; his delicate features were composed and cold.

“They are leaving,” Kithan said softly.

“I did not,” Vanye protested, “kill your father. It was Hetharu.”

There was no reaction, none. Kithan stood still and stared at him, and outside there was the sound of horses clattering out the gates. Then those gates closed, booming, inner and outer.

Kithan drew a long, shuddering breath, expelled it slowly, as if savoring the air. He had shut his eyes, and opened them again with the same chill calm. “In a little time we shall have buried my father. We do not make overmuch ceremony of our interments. Then I will see to you.”

“I did not kill him.”

“Did you not?” Kithan’s cloud-gray eyes assumed that dreaming languor that formerly possessed them, but now it seemed ironical, a pose. “Hetharu would have more than Ohtij-in to rule. Do you think that Roh of the Chya will give it to him?”

Vanye answered nothing, not knowing where this was tending, and liking it little. Kithan smiled.

“Would this cousin of yours take vengeance for you?” asked Kithan.

“It might be,” Vanye answered, and Kithan still smiled.

“Hetharu was always tedious,” Kithan said.

Vanye drew in a breath, finally reading him. “If you aim at your brother—free me. I am not Roh’s ally.”

“No,” said Kithan softly. “Nor care I. It may be that you are guilty; or perhaps not. And that is nothing to me. I see no future for any of us, and I trust you no more than Hetharu should have trusted your kinsman.”

“Hetharu,” Vanye said, “killed your father.”

Kithan smiled and shrugged, turned his shoulder to him. He made a signal to one of the men with him, toward the door. That man summoned others, who held between them a small and tattered shadow.

Jhirun.