Read Online The Complete Morgaine by C. J. Cherryh - Free Book Online

madness; Morgaine, though unnerving in her oddness, was at least sane.
    â€œRest,” she bade him when he had dressed, for the effort had taxed him greatly. “You may need your strength. They have our horses in stables downstairs near the front entry, down this hall outside to the left, three turns down the stairs and left to the first door. Mark that. Listen, I will show you what I have observed of this place, in the case we must take our leave separately.”
    And sitting on the bed beside him she traced among the bedclothes the pattern of the halls and the location of doors and rooms, so that he had a fair estimation of where things lay without having laid eye upon them. She had a good faculty for such things: he was pleased to learn his
liyo
was sensible and experienced in matters of defense. He began to be more optimistic of their chances in this place.
    â€œAre we prisoners,” he asked, “or are we guests?”
    â€œI am a guest in name, at least,” she said, “but this is not a happy place for guesting.”
    There was a scratching at the door. Someone tried it. When it did not yield, the visitor padded off down the hall.
    â€œDo you have any wish to linger here?” he asked.
    â€œI feel,” she said, “rather like a mouse passing a cat: probably there is no harm and the beast looks well-fed and lazy; but it would be a mistake to scurry.”
    â€œIf the cat is truly hungry,” he said, “we delude ourselves.”
    She nodded.
    This time there was a deliberate knock at the door.
    Vanye scrambled for his longsword, hooked it to his belt, convenient to the left hand. Morgaine moved the chair and opened the door.
    It was Flis again. The girl smiled uncertainly and bowed. Vanye saw her in clearer light this time, without the haze of fever. She was not as young as he had thought. It was paint that blushed her cheek and her dress was not country and innocence: it was blowsy. She simpered and smiled past Morgaine at Vanye.
    â€œYou are wanted,” she said.
    â€œWhere?” asked Morgaine.
    Flis did not want to look up into Morgaine’s eyes: addressed, she had no choice. She did so and visibly cringed: her head only reached Morgaine’s shoulders, and her halo of frizzled brown seemed dull next to Morgaine’s black and silver. “To hall, lady.” She cast a second wishing look back at Vanye, back again. “Only you, lady. They did not ask the man.”
    â€œHe is
ilin
to me,” she said. “What is the occasion?”
    â€œTo meet my lord,” said Flis. “It is all right,” she insisted. “I can take care for him.”
    â€œNever mind,” said Morgaine. “He will do very well without, Flis. That will be all.”
    Flis blinked: she did not seem particularly intelligent. Then she backed off and bowed and went away, beginning to run.
    Morgaine turned about and looked at Vanye. “My apologies,” she said dryly. “Are you fit to go down to hall?”
    He bowed assent, thoroughly embarrassed by Morgaine, and wondering whether he should be outraged. He did not want Flis. Protesting it was graceless too. He ignored her gibe and avowed that he was fit. He was not steady on his feet. He thought that it would pass.
    She nodded to him and led the way out of the room.
    Everything outside was much the same as she had described to him. The hall was in general disrepair, like some long abandoned fortress suddenly occupied and not yet quite liveable. There was a mustiness about the air, a queasy feeling of dirt, and effluvium of last night’s feasting, of grease and age and untended cracks, and earth and damp.
    â€œLet us simply walk for the door,” Vanye suggested when they reached that lower floor and he knew that the lefthand way led to the outside, and their horses, and a wild, quick ride out of this place of madmen. “
Liyo,
let us not stay here. Let us take nothing from this place, let us