Wall of Shiuan

The qujal clenched his arms across him as at a chill. “The world is going under; but this time was ours, tedious as it was, and this land was ours, to enjoy it The Wells ruined the world once, and spilled this Barrows-spawn into our lands—that drove other humans into ruin, that plundered and stole and ruined and left of us only halfbreeds, the survivors of their occupations. They tampered with the Wells and ruined their own lands; they ruined the land they took and now they come to us. Perhaps he is of that kind,” he said, with a burning look at Vanye, “and came through the Wells; perhaps the one named Roh came likewise. The Barrow-kings are upon us again, no different than they ever were. But someone did this thing to us—someone of knowledge more than theirs. Someone did this, who had the power to open what was sealed.”

Morgaine frowned, straightened, drawing Changeling into her lap; and of a sudden Vanye moved, seized the slight halfling to silence him, to take him from the room: but Morgaine’s sharp command checked him. None moved, not he nor the startled peasants, and Morgaine arose, a distraught look on her face. She withdrew a space from them, looked back at him, and to Fwar, and seemed for a moment dazed.

“The Barrow-kings,” she said then: there was a haunted expression in her eyes... Vanye saw it and remembered Irien, ghosts that followed her, an army, lost in that great valley: ten thousand men, of which not even corpses remained.

His ancestors, that were to her but a few months dead.

“ Liyo,” he said quietly, his heart pounding. “We are wasting time with him. Set the halfling free or put him with the others, but there are other matters that want attention. Now.”

Sanity returned sharply to Morgaine’s gaze, a harsh look bestowed on Kithan. “How long ago?”

“ Liyo,” Vanye objected. “It is pointless.”

“How long ago?”

Kithan gathered himself with an intake of breath, assumed that pose of arrogance that had been his while he ruled, despite that Vanye’s fingers bit into his arm. “A very long time ago. Long enough for this land to become what it is. And surely,” he shot after that, pressing his advantage, “you are about to bid equally with the man Roh: life, wealth, restoration of the ancient powers. Lie to me, ancient enemy. Offer to buy my favor. It is—considering the situation—purchasable.”

“Kill him,” Fwar muttered.

“Your enemy has gone,” Kithan said, “to Abarais—to possess the Wells; to take all the north. Hetharu is with him, with all our forces; and eventually they will come back.”

Fear was thick in the room. Morgaine stood still. The Barrows-men seemed hardly to breathe.

“The Shiua spoke the same,” said one of the marshlanders.

“When the flood subsides,” said Morgaine, “then there will be a settling with Roh; and he will not return to Ohtij-in. But that is my business, and it need not concern you.”

“Lady,” said Fwar, fear distorting his face, “when you have done that—when you have reached the Wells—what will you do then?”

Vanye heard, mind frozen, the halfling held with one hand, the other hand sweating on the grip of his sword. It was not his to answer: with his eyes he tried to warn her.

“We have followed you,” a Barrows-man said. “We are yours, we Barrowers—We will follow you.”

“Take them,” Kithan laughed, a bitter and mocking laugh; and of a sudden the foremost of the Aren-folk fled, his fellows with him, thrusting their way through the tall Barrows-men, running.

Still Kithan laughed, and Vanye cursed and hurled him aside, into the midst of the Barrows-men, who hurled him clear again; Vanye unsheathed the sword, and Kithan halted, within striking distance of him, and knowing it.

“No,” Morgaine forbade him. “No.” And to the Barrowers: “Fwar, stop the Aren-folk. Find me Haz.”

But the Barrowers too remained as if dazed, pale of face, staring at her. One of them touched a luck-piece that he wore hanging from a cord about his neck. Fwar bit at his lip.

And Kithan smiled a wolf-smile and laughed yet again. “World’s-end, world’s-end, O ye blind, ye Barrows-rabble. She has followed you through the Wells to repay you for all you have done... your own, your personal curse. An eyeblink for her, from there till now, but there is no time in the Wells, nor distance. We are avenged.”

A knife whipped from sheath: a Barrows-man drew—for Morgaine, for Kithan, unknown which: Vanye looked toward it, and that man backed away, whey-faced and sweating.

There was silence in the room, heavy and oppressive; and of a sudden there was a stir outside, as the animals in the pens began bawling all at once. Furniture quivered, and the surface in the wine pitcher on the table shimmered and then men sprang one way and the other as chairs danced and the floor heaved sickeningly underfoot, masonry parting in a great crack down the wall that admitted dusty daylight. The fire crashed, a burning log rolled across the carpet, and there were echoing crashes and screams throughout the hold.