C. Cherryh - Gate of Ivrel
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- Название:Gate of Ivrel
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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 –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.”
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 Pyven. 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 win 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.
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 sat 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.”
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’s 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, Nhl 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 question.” 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.
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 were 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. “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.”
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