C. J. Cherryh - Morgaine 3 - Fires of Azeroth

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C.J. Cherryh - The Chronicles of Morgaine 03-
Fires of Azeroth
Prologue
The qhal found the first Gate on a dead world of their own sun.
Who made it, or what befell those makers, the qhal of that age never knew or
learned. Their interest was in the dazzling prospect it offered them, a means to limitless
power and freedom, a means to short-cut space and leap from world to world and star
to star-instantaneous travel, once qhalur ships had crossed space at real-time, to carry
to each new site the technology of the Gates and establish the link. Gates were built on
every qhalur world, a web of eye-blink transport, binding together a vast empire in
space. And that was their undoing ... For Gates led not alone WHERE but WHEN, both
forward and backward along the course of world's and suns.
The qhal gained power beyond their wildest imaginings: they were freed of time.
They seeded worlds with gatherings from the far reaches of Gate-spanned space . . .
beasts, and plants, even qhal-like species. They created beauty, and whimsy, and leaped
ahead in time to see the flowerings of civilizations they had planned-while their subjects
lived real years and died in normal span, barred from the freedom of the Gates.
Real-time for qhal became too tedious. The familiar present, the mundane and
ordinary, assumed the shape of a confinement no qhal had to bear . . . the future
promised escape. Yet once that journey forward had been made, there could be no
return. It was too dangerous, too fraught with dire possibilities to open up backtime:
there was the deadly risk of changing what was. Only the future was accessible . . . and
qhal went.
The first venturers found pleasure for a time, learned the age and tired of it, and
restlessly migrated again, stage by stage, joined by their own children's children,
confounding law and society. In greater and greater numbers they moved on, evading
tedium, forever discontent, seeking pleasures and lingering nowhere long-until they
crowded into a future where time grew strange and unstable.
Some went further, pursuing the hope of Gates which might or might not remain
where they were predicted to be. More lost their courage utterly and ceased to believe in
further futures, lingering until horror overwhelmed them, in a present crowded with
living ancestors in greater and greater numbers. Reality began to ripple with unstable
possibilities.
Perhaps some desperate soul fled back; or perhaps the very weight of extended
time grew too much. Might-have-been and was were confounded. Qhal went mad,
perceiving things no longer true, remembering what had never been.
Time was ripping loose about them-from ripplings to vast disturbances, the
overstrained fabric of time and space undone, convulsed, imploded, hurling all their
reality asunder.
Then all the qhalur worlds lay ruined. There remained only fragments of their
past glory ... stones strangely immune to time in some places, and in others suddenly and
unnaturally victim to it . . . lands where civilization managed to rebuild itself, and others
where all life failed, and only ruins remained.
The Gates themselves, which were outside all time and space ... they endured.
A few qhal survived, remembering a past which had been/ might have been.
Last came humans, exploring that vast dark desert of the qhalur worlds . . . and
found the Gates.
Men had been there before . . . victims of the qhal and therefore involved in the
ruin; Men looked into the Gates, and feared what they saw, the power and the
desolation. A hundred went out those Gates, both male and female, a force never meant
to know a homecoming. There could only be forward for them: they must seal the Gates
from the far side of time, one and the next and the next, destroying them, unweaving the
deadly web the qhal had woven . . . to the very Ultimate Gate or the end of time.
World after world they sealed . . . but their numbers declined, and their lives
grew strange, stretched over millennia of real-time. Few of them survived of the second
and third generations, and some of those went mad.
Then they began to despair that their struggle was hopeless, for one Gate
omitted would begin it all again; one Gate, anywhen misused, could bring down on them
the ruin of all they had even done.
In their fear, they created a weapon, indestructible save for the Gates which
powered it: a thing for their own protection, and containing knowledge of Gates, that
they had gained-a doomsday force against that paradoxical Ultimate Gate, beyond
which was no passage at all-or worse.
They were five when that Weapon was made.
There was one who survived to carry it.
"Records are pointless. There is a strange conceit/ In making them when we are
the last-but a race should leave something. The world is going . . . and the end of the
world comes, not for its, perhaps, but soon. And we have always loved monuments.
"Know that it was Morgaine kri Chya who wrought this man. Morgen-Angharan,
Men named her: the White Queen, she of the white gull feather, who was the death that
came on us. It was Morgaine who extinguished the last brightness in the north, who cast
Ohtij-in dawn to ruin, and stripped the land of inhabitants.
"Even before this present age she was the curse of our land, for she led the Men
of the Darkness, a thousand years before us; her they followed here, to their own ruin;
and the Man who rides with her and the Man who rides before her are of the same face
and likeness-for now and then are alike with her.
"We dream dreams, my queen and I, each after our own fashion. All else went
with Morgaine."
-A stone, on a barren isle of Shiuan,
Chapter One
The plain gave way to forest, and the forest closed about, but there was no stopping,
not until the green shadow thickened and the setting of the sun brought a chill to the air.
Then Vanye ceased for a time to look behind him, and breathed easier for his safety ...
his and his liege's. They rode farther until the light failed indeed, and then Morgaine reined gray
Siptah to a halt, in a clear space beside a brook, under an arch of old trees. It was a quiet place
and pleasant, were it not for the fear which pursued them.
"We shall find no better," Vanye said, and Morgaine nodded, wearily slid down.
"I shall tend Siptah," she said as he dismounted. It was his place, to tend the horses, to
make the fire, to do whatever task wanted doing for Morgaine's comfort. That was the nature of
an ilin, who was Claimed to the service of a liege. But they had ridden hard for more than this
day, and his wounds troubled him, so that he was glad of her offer. He stripped his own bay
mare down to halter and tether, and nibbed her down and cared for her well, for she had done
much even to last such a course as they had run these last days. The mare was in no wise a
match for Morgaine's gray stud, but she had heart, and she was a gift besides. Lost, the girl who
had given her to him; and he did not forget that gift, nor ever would. For that cause he took
special care of the little Shiua bay-but also because he was Kurshin, of a land where children
learned the saddle before their feet were steady on the earth, and it sat ill with him to use a
horse as he had had to use this one.
He finished, and gathered an armload of wood, no hard task in this dense forest. He
brought it to Morgaine, who had already started a small fire in tinder-and that was no hard task
for her, by means which he preferred not to handle.
They were not alike, she and he: armed alike, in the fashion of Andur-Kursh-leather and
mail, his brown, hers black; his mail made of wide rings and hers of links finely meshed and
shining like silver, the like of which no common armorer could fashion; but he was of honest
human stock, and most avowed that Morgaine was not. His eyes and hair were brown as the
earth of Andur-Kursh; her eyes were pale gray and her hair was like morning frost. . . qhal-
faii, fair as the ancient enemies of mankind, as the evil which followed them-though she denied
that she was of that blood, he had his own opinions of it: it was only sure that she had no loyalty
to that kind.
He carefully fed the fire she had begun, and worried about enemies the while he did so,
mistrusting this land, to which they were strangers. But it was a little fire, and the forest
screened them. Warmth was a comfort they had lacked in their journeyings of recent days; they
were due some ease, having reached this place.
By that light, they shared the little food which remained to them . . . less concerned for
their diminishing supplies than they might have been, for there was the likelihood of game
hereabouts. They saved, back only enough of the stale bread for the morrow, and then, for he
had done most of his sleeping in the saddle-he would gladly have cast himself down to deep,
well-fed as he was, or have stood watch while Morgaine did so.
But Morgaine took that sword she bore, and eased it somewhat from sheath ... and that
purged all the sleep from him.
Changeling was its name, an evil name for a viler thing. He did not like to be near it,
sheathed or drawn, but it was a part of her, and he had no choice. A sword it seemed, dragon-
hilled, of the elaborate style that had been fashioned in Koris of Andur a hundred years before
his birth . . . but the blade was edged crystal. Opal colors swirled softly in the lines of the runes
which were finely etched upon it. It was not good to look at those colors, which blurred the
senses. Whether it was safe to touch the blade when its power was thus damped by the sheath,
he did not know nor ever care to learn-but Morgaine was never casual with it, and she was not
now. She rose before she drew it fully.
It slipped the rest of the way from its sheath. Opal colors flared, throwing strange
shadows about them, white light. Darkness shaped a well at the sword's tip, and into that it was
even less wholesome to look. Winds howled into it, and what that darkness touched, it took.
Changeling drew its power from Gates, and was itself a Gate, though none that anyone would
choose to travel.
It forever sought its source, and glowed most brightly when aimed Gate-ward.
Morgaine searched with it, and turned it full circle, while the trees sighed and the howling wind
grew, the light bathing her hands and face and hair. An imprudent insect found oblivion there. A
few leaves were torn from trees and whipped into that well of darkness and vanished. The
blade flickered slightly east and west, lending hope; but it glowed most brightly southward, as it
had constantly done, a pulsing light that hurt the eyes. Morgaine held it steadily toward that
point and cursed.
"It does not change," she lamented. "It does not change."
"Please, liyo, put it away. It gives no better answer, and does us no good."
She did so. The wind died, the balefire winked out, and she folded the sheathed sword
in her arms and settled again, bleakness on her face.
"Southward is our answer. It must be."
"Sleep," he urged her, for she had a frail and transparent look. "Liyo, my bones ache
and I swear I shall not rest until you have slept. If you have no mercy on yourself, have some
for me. Sleep."
She wiped a trembling hand across her eyes and nodded, and lay down where she was
on her face, caring not even for preparing a pallet on which to rest. But he rose up quietly and
took their blankets, laid one beside her and pushed her over onto it, then threw the other over
her. She nestled into that with a murmur of thanks, and stirred a last time as he put her folded
cloak under her head. Then she slept the sleep of the dead, with Changeling against her like a
lover: she released it not even in sleep, that evil thing which she served.
They were, he reflected, effectively lost. Four days past, they had crossed a void the
mind refused to remember, the between of Gates. That way was sealed. They were cut off
from where they had been, and did not know in what land they now were, or what men held it-
only that it was a place where Gates led, and that those Gates must be passed, destroyed,
sealed. Such was the war they fought, against the ancient magics, the qhal-born powers. Their
journey was obsession with Morgaine, and necessity with him, who served her ... not his
concern, the reason she felt bound to such a course; his reason was his oath, which be had
sworn to her in Andur-Kursh, and beyond which he had stayed. She sought now the Master
Gate of this world, which was that which must be sealed; and had found it, for Changeling did
not lie. It was the selfsame Gate by which they had entered this land, by which their enemies
had entered, behind them. They had fled that place for their lives ... by bitter irony, had fled that
which they had come to this world to find, and now it was the possession of their enemies.
"It is only that we are still within the influence of the Gate we have just left," Morgaine
had reasoned in the beginning of their flight northward, when the sword had first warned them.
But as the distance widened between them and that power, still the sword gave the same
disturbing answer, until there remained little doubt what the truth was. Morgaine had muttered
things about horizons and the curving of the land, and other possibilities which he by no means
comprehended; but at last she shook her head and became fixed upon the worst of her fears. It
was impossible for them to have done other than flee. He tried to persuade her that; their
enemies would surely have overwhelmed them. But that knowledge was no comfort to her
despair."I shall know for certain," she had said, "if the strength of the sending does not diminish
by this evening. The sword can find lesser Gates, and it is possible still that we are on the wrong
side of the world or too far removed from any other. But lesser Gates do not glow so brightly.
If I see it tonight as bright as last, then we shall know beyond doubt what we have done."
And thus they knew.
Vanye eased himself of some of the buckles of his armor. There was not a bone of his
body which did not separately ache, but he had a cloak and a fire this night, and cover to hide
him from enemies, which was better than he had known of late. He wrapped his cloak about
him and set his back against an aged tree. His sword he laid naked across his knees. Lastly he
removed his helm, which was wrapped about with me white scarf of the ilin, and set it aside,
shaking free his hair and enjoying the absence of that weight. The woods were quiet about
them. The water rippled over stones; the leaves sighed; the horses moved quietly at tether,
cropping the little grass that grew where the trees were not. The Shiua mare was stable-bred,
with no sense of enemies, useless on watch; but Siptah was a sentinel as reliable as any man,
war-trained and wary of strangers, and he trusted to the gray horse as to a comrade in his
watch, which made all the world less lonely. Food in his belly and warmth against the night, a
stream when he should thirst and surely game plentiful for the hunting. A moon was up, a
smallish one and unthreatening, and the trees sighed very like those of Andur's lost forests-it
was a healing thing, when there was no way home, to find something so much like it. He would
have been at peace, had Changeling pointed some other way.
Dawn came softly and subtly, with singing of birds and the sometime stirring of the
horses. Vanye still sat, propping his head on his arm and forcing his blurred eyes to stay open,
and scanned the forest in the soft light of day.
All at once Morgaine moved, reached for weapons, then blinked at him in dismay,
leaning on her elbow. "What befell? Thee fell asleep on watch?"
He shook his head, shrugged off the prospect of her anger, which he had already
reckoned on. "I decided not to wake you. You looked over-tired."
"Is it a favor to me if you fall out of the saddle today?"
He smiled and shook his head yet again, inwardly braced against the sting of her
temper, which could be hurtful. She hated to be cared for, and she was too often inclined to
drive herself when she might have rested, to prove the point. It should of course be otherwise
between them, ilin and liyo, servant and liege lady .. . but she refused to learn to rely on anyone
. . . expecting I shall die, he thought, with a troubling touch of ill-omen, as others have who
have served her; she waits on that.
"Shall I saddle the horses, liyo?"
She sat up, shrugged the blanket about her in the morning chill and stared at the ground,
resting her hands at her temples. "I have need to think. We must go back somehow. I have
need to think."
"Best you do that rested, then."
Her eyes flicked to his, and at once he regretted pricking at her-a perversity in him, who
was fretted by her habits. He knew that temper surely followed, along with a sharp reminder of
his place. He was repared to bear that, as he had a hundred times and more, intended and
unintended, and he simply wished it said and done. "It likely is," she said quietly, and that
confounded him. "Aye, saddle the horses."
He rose and did so, troubled at heart. His own moving was painful; he limped, and there
was a constant stitch in his side, a cracked rib, he thought. Doubtless she hurt too, and that was
expected; bodies mended; sleep restored strength . . . but most of all he was concerned about
the sudden quiet in her, his despair and yielding. They had been travelling altogether too long, at
a pace which wore them to nerve and bone; no rest, never rest world and world and world.
They survived the hurts; but there were things of the soul too, overmuch of death and war, and
horror which still dogged them, hunting them-to which now they had to return. Of a sudden he
longed for her anger, for something he understood.
"Liyo," he said when he had finished with the horses and she knelt burying the fire,
covering all trace of it. He dropped down, put himself on both knees, being ilin. "Liyo, it
comes to me that if our enemies are sitting where we must return, then sit they will, at least for a
time; they fared no better in that passage than we. For us-liyo, I beg you know that I will go on
as long as seems good to you, I will do everything that you ask-but I am tired, and I have
wounds on me that have not healed, and it seems to me that a little rest, a few days to freshen
the horses and to find game and renew our supplies-is it not good sense to rest a little?"
He pleaded his own cause; did he plead his concern for her, he thought, then that
instinctive stubbornness would harden against all reason. Even so he rather more expected
anger than agreement. But she nodded wearily, and further confounded him by laying a hand on
his arm-a brief touch; there were rarely such gestures between them, no intimacy ... never had
been. "We will ride the bow of the forest today," she said, "and see what game we may start,
and I agree we should not overwork the horses. They deserve a little rest; their bones are
showing. And you-I have seen you limping, and you work often one-armed, and still you try to
take all the work from me. You would do everything if you had your way about it."
"Is that not the way it is supposed to be?"
"Many the time I have dealt unfairly with you; and I am sorry for that."
He tried to laugh, passing it off, and misliked more and more this sudden sinking into
melancholy. Men cursed Morgaine, in Andur and in Kursh, in Shiuan and Hiuaj and the land
between. More friends' lives than enemies' were to the account of that fell geas that drove her.
Even him she had sacrificed on occasion; and would again; and being honest, did not pretend
otherwise.
"Liyo," he said, "I understand you better than you seem to think-not always why, but
at least what moves you. I am only ilin-bound, and I can argue with the one I am bound to; but
the thing you serve has no mercy at all. I know that. You are mad if you think it is only my oath
that keeps me with you."
It was said; he wished then he had not said it, and rose and found work for himself tying
their gear to saddles, anything to avoid her eyes.
When she came to take Siptah's reins and set herself in the saddle, the frown was there,
but it was more perplexed than angry.
Morgaine kept silent in their riding, which was leisurely and followed the bendings of the
stream; and the weariness of his sleepless night claimed him finally, so that he bowed his head
and folded his arms about him, sleeping while they rode, Kurshin-style. She took the lead, and
guarded him from branches. The sun was warm and the sighing of leaves sang a song very like
the forests of Andur, as if tune had bent back on itself and they rode a path they had ridden in
the beginning.
Something crashed in the brush. The horses started, and he came awake at once,
reaching for his sword.
"Deer." She pointed off through the woods, where the animal lay on its side.
Deer it was not, but something very like unto it, oddly dappled with gold. He
dismounted with his sword in hand, having respect for the spreading antlers, but it was stone-
dead when he touched it. Other weapons had Morgaine besides Changeling, qhalur-soit also,
which killed silently and at distance, without apparent wound. She swung down from the saddle
and gave him her skinning-knife and he set to, minded strangely of another time, a creature
which had been indeed a deer, and a winter storm in his homeland's mountains.
He shook off that thought. "Had it been to me," he said, "it would have been small game
and fish and precious little of that I must have myself a bow, liyo."
She shrugged. In fact his pride was hurt, such of it as remained sensitive with her, that
he had not done this, but she; yet it was her place to provide for her ilin. At times he detected
hurt pride in her, that the hearth she gave him was a campfire, and the hall a canopy of
branches, and food often enough scant or lacking entirely. Of all lords an ilin could have been
ensnared to serve, Morgaine was beyond doubt the most powerful, and the poorest. The arms
she provided him were plundered, the horse stolen before it was given, and their provisions
likewise. They lived always like hedge-bandits. But tonight and for days afterward they would
not have hunger to plague them, and he saw her slight hurt at the offense behind his words; with
that he dismissed his vanity and vowed himself grateful for the gift.
It was not a place for long lingering: birds' alarm, the flight of other creatures-death in
the forest announced itself. He took the best and stripped that, with swift strokes of the keen
blade-skill gained in outlawry in Kursh, to hunt wolf-wary in the territories of hostile clans, to
take and flee, covering his traces. So he had done, solitary, until a night he had sheltered with
Morgaine kri Chya, and traded her his freedom for a place out of the wind.
He washed his hands from the bloody work, and tied the hide bundle on the saddle,
while Morgaine made shift to haul the remnant into the brush. He scuffed the earth about and
disposed of what sign he could. Scavengers would soon muddle the rest, covering their work,
and he looked about carefully, making sure, for not all their enemies were hall-bred, men of
blind eyes. One there was among them who could follow the dimmest trail, and that one he
feared most of any.
That man was of clan Chya, of forested Koris in Andur, his own mother's people .. .
and of his mother's close kin; it was at least the shape he lately wore.
It was an early camp, and a full-fed one. They attended to the meat which they must
carry with them, drying it in the smoke of the fire and preparing it to last as long as possible.
Morgaine claimed first watch, and Vanye cast himself to deep early and wakened to his own
sense of time. Morgaine had not moved to wake him, and had not intended to, he suspected,
meaning to do to him what he had done to her; but she yielded her post to him without objection
when he claimed it: she was not one for pointless arguments.
In his watch be sat and fed the fire by tiny pieces, making sure that the drying was
proceeding as it should. The strips had hardened, and he cut a piece and chewed at it lazily.
Such leisure was almost forgotten, in his life-to have a day's respite, two-to contemplate.
The horses snuffed and moved in the dark. Siptah took some interest in the little Shiua
mare, which would prove difficulty did she breed; but there was no present hazard of that. The
sounds were ordinary and comfortable.
A sudden snort, a moving of brush ... he stiffened in every muscle, his heart speeding.
Brush cracked: that was the horses.
He moved, ignoring bruises to rise in utter silence, and with the tip of his sword reached
to touch Morgaine's out-flung hand.
Her eyes opened, fully aware in an instant; met his, which slid in the direction of the
small sound he had sensed more than heard. The horses were still disturbed.
She gathered herself, silent as he; and stood, a black shape in the embers' glow, with
her white hair making her all too much a target. Her hand was not empty. That small black
weapon which had killed the deer was aimed toward the sound, but shield it was not. She
gathered up Changeling, better protection, and he gripped his sword, slipped into the
darkness; Morgaine moved, but in another direction, and vanished.
Brush stirred. The horses jerked madly at tethers of a sudden and whinned in alarm. He
slipped through a stand of saplings and something he had taken for a piece of scrub . . . moved:
a dark spider-shape, that chilled him with its sudden life. He went farther, trying to follow its
movements, cautious not least because Morgaine was a-hunt the same as he.
Another shadow: that was Morgaine. He stood still, mindful that hers was a distance-
weapon, and deadly accurate; but she was not one to fire blindly or in panic. They met, and
crouched still a moment No sound disturbed the night now but the shifting of the frightened
horses. No beast: he signed to her with his straight palm that it had gone upright, and touched
her arm, indicating that they should return to the fireside. They went quickly, and he killed the
fire while she gathered their provisions. Fear was coppery in his mouth, the apprehension of
ambush possible, and the urgency of flight. Blankets were rolled, the horses saddled, the whole
affair of their camp undone with silent and furtive movements. Quickly they were in the saddle
and moving by dark, on a different track: no following a spy in the moonless dark, to find that
he had friends.
Still the memory of that figure haunted him, the eerie movement which had tricked his
eye and vanished. "Its gait was strange," he said, when they were far from that place and able to
talk. "As if it were unjointed."
What Morgaine thought of that, he could not see. "There are more than strange beasts
where Gates have led," she said.
But they saw nothing more astir in the night. Day found them far away, on a
streamcourse which was perhaps different from the one of the night before, perhaps not. It bent
in leisurely windings, so that branches screened this way and that in alternation, a green curtain
constantly parting and dosing as they rode.
Then, late, they came upon a tree with a white cord tied about its trunk, an old and
dying tree, lightning-riven.
Vanye stopped at the evidence of man's hand hereabouts, but Morgaine tapped Siptah
with her heels and they went a little farther, to a place where a trail crossed their stream.
Wheels rutted that stretch of muddy earth.
To his dismay Morgaine turned off on that road. It was not her custom to seek out folk
who could as easily be left undisturbed by their passing . . . but she seemed minded now to do
so. "Wherever we are," she said at last, "if these are gentle people we owe them warning
for what we have brought behind us. And if otherwise, then we shall look them over and see
what trouble we can devise for our enemies."
He said nothing to that. It seemed as reasonable a course as any, for two who were
about to turn and pursue thousands, and those well-armed, and many horsed, and in possession
of power enough to unhinge the world through which they rode.
Conscience: Morgaine claimed none . . . not altogether truth, but near enough the mark.
The fact was that in that blade which hung on the saddle beneath her knee, Morgaine herself
had some small share of that power, and therefore it was not madness which led her toward
such a road, but a certain ruthlessness.
He went, because he must.
Chapter Two
There were signs of habitation, of the hand of some manner of men, all down the road:
the ruts of wheels, the cloven-hoofed prints of herded beasts, the occasional snag of white wool
on a roadside branch. This is the way their herds come to water, Vayne reasoned. There
must be some open land hereabouts for their grazing.
It was late, that softest part of afternoon, when they came upon the center of it all.
It was a village which might, save for its curving roofs, have occupied some forest edge
in Andur; and a glamour of forest sunlight lay over it, shaded as its roofs were by old trees, a
gold-green warmth that hazed the old timbers and the thatched roofs. It was almost one with the
forest itself, save for the fanciful carving of the timbers under the eaves, which bore faded
colors. It was a cozy huddle of some thirty bundings, with no walls for defense . . . cattle pens
and a cart or two, a dusty commons, a large hall of thatch and timbers and carved beams, no
proper lord's hold, but rustic and wide-doored and mainly windowed.
Morgaine stopped on the road and Vanye drew in beside her. A boding of ill came on
him, and of regret. "Such a place," he said, "must have no enemies."
"It will have," said Morgaine, and moved Siptah forward.
Their approach brought a quiet stirring in the village, a cluster of dusty children who
looked up from their play and stared, a woman who looked out a window and came out of
doors drying her hands on her skirts, and two old men who came out of the hall and waited
their coming. Younger men and an old woman joined that pair, with a boy of about fifteen and a
workman in a leather apron. More elder gathered. Solemnly they stood, ... human folk,
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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：156 页 大小：466.46KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-07

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