Gate of Ivrel Read Online Free Page A
Author: C. J. Cherryh
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Large Type Books, Oklahoma Author, Frosthair; Morgaine (Fictitious Character), Morgaine Frosthair (Fictitious Character)
hand from that as if she had touched something foul, and wiped her fingers on the earth. A bloody streak was upon her arm, parting the black leather of her sleeve where she had thrust the arm forth from the enveloping cloak, and her clean hand stole to that.
She sat there shivering, like one in the grip of some great fear. He sank down on his heels near her, puzzled, even pitying her, and wondering in the back of his mind how she had chanced to hurt herself in so short a time: no, it looked old; it was drying. She must have done it while he was busy at the deer's carcass.
"How long?" she asked him. "How long have I been away?"
"More than a hundred years," he said.
"I had thought—rather less." She moved her hand and looked down at the hurt, brushed at it, seemed to decide to ignore it, for it was not deep enough to be dangerous, only painful.
"Wait," he said, and obtained his own kit, and would gladly
have tried to treat the wound for her: he thought he owed her that at least for this night's shelter. But she would have none of it, and insisted upon her own. He sat and watched uneasily while she drew out her own things, small metal containers, and other things he had no knowledge of. She treated her own injury, and did not bandage it, but a pinkish film covered it when she had done, and it did not bleed. Qujalin medicines, he judged; and perhaps she could not abide honest remedies, or feared they had been blessed, and might be harmful to her.
"How came you by that?" he asked, for it looked like an ax-stroke or sword-cut; but she had no tools, however the wood had been cut, and high on her arm as it was he could not judge how she could have chanced to do it.
"Aenorin," she said. "Lord Ris Heln Gry's-son, he and his men."
Heln was nearly a hundred years in his own grave. Then he felt an uneasiness at his stomach and well understood the look Morgaine had had. She had ridden out of the Aenorin's chase and across his path—a hundred years in what by that wound had been the blink of an eye.
It was insane. He bowed down upon his face and then retreated, glad to leave her to her own thoughts.
And because he was saddle-weary and harried beyond any immediate concern of magics or fear of beasts, he wrapped himself in his thin cloak and leaned against the rock wall to sleep.
The crash of a new piece of wood into the fire awakened him, still unrested, and he saw Morgaine brush snow from her cloak and settle again in her accustomed place. Her eyes went to him, fixed unwelcomely upon his, so that he could not pretend he slept.
"Is thee rested?" she asked of him, and that curious Korish accent was of long ago, and chilled him more than the wind or the stone at his back.
"Somewhat," he said, and forced stiff muscles to set him upright. He had slept in armor many a night, and occasionally he had slept colder; but there had been too many days in the saddle lately, and too little rest between, and none at all the night before.
"Vanye," she said.
"Lady?"
"Come, near the fire. I have questions for thee."
He did so, not gladly, and settled wrapped in his threadbare cloak and cherished the heat. She sat wrapped in her furs, her face half in shadow, and gazed into his eyes.
"Heln found this place," she said. "A hunter I did not kill told him. Aenor-Pyvvn rose in arms then. They sent an army after me—" She laughed, the merest breath. "An army, to take this little cave. Of course I knew their coming. How not? They filled the southern field. I fled at once—yet it was close. But they even dared the valley of Stones; so I fled where they could not—would not—follow. And there I must wait until someone freed me. I am no older; I knew nothing of the years. But things have gone to dust, else the horses and we would fare better tonight. Thee fears me—"
It was so, it was clearly so: from a man his enemy he would have resented those words; Morgaine he
She sat there shivering, like one in the grip of some great fear. He sank down on his heels near her, puzzled, even pitying her, and wondering in the back of his mind how she had chanced to hurt herself in so short a time: no, it looked old; it was drying. She must have done it while he was busy at the deer's carcass.
"How long?" she asked him. "How long have I been away?"
"More than a hundred years," he said.
"I had thought—rather less." She moved her hand and looked down at the hurt, brushed at it, seemed to decide to ignore it, for it was not deep enough to be dangerous, only painful.
"Wait," he said, and obtained his own kit, and would gladly
have tried to treat the wound for her: he thought he owed her that at least for this night's shelter. But she would have none of it, and insisted upon her own. He sat and watched uneasily while she drew out her own things, small metal containers, and other things he had no knowledge of. She treated her own injury, and did not bandage it, but a pinkish film covered it when she had done, and it did not bleed. Qujalin medicines, he judged; and perhaps she could not abide honest remedies, or feared they had been blessed, and might be harmful to her.
"How came you by that?" he asked, for it looked like an ax-stroke or sword-cut; but she had no tools, however the wood had been cut, and high on her arm as it was he could not judge how she could have chanced to do it.
"Aenorin," she said. "Lord Ris Heln Gry's-son, he and his men."
Heln was nearly a hundred years in his own grave. Then he felt an uneasiness at his stomach and well understood the look Morgaine had had. She had ridden out of the Aenorin's chase and across his path—a hundred years in what by that wound had been the blink of an eye.
It was insane. He bowed down upon his face and then retreated, glad to leave her to her own thoughts.
And because he was saddle-weary and harried beyond any immediate concern of magics or fear of beasts, he wrapped himself in his thin cloak and leaned against the rock wall to sleep.
The crash of a new piece of wood into the fire awakened him, still unrested, and he saw Morgaine brush snow from her cloak and settle again in her accustomed place. Her eyes went to him, fixed unwelcomely upon his, so that he could not pretend he slept.
"Is thee rested?" she asked of him, and that curious Korish accent was of long ago, and chilled him more than the wind or the stone at his back.
"Somewhat," he said, and forced stiff muscles to set him upright. He had slept in armor many a night, and occasionally he had slept colder; but there had been too many days in the saddle lately, and too little rest between, and none at all the night before.
"Vanye," she said.
"Lady?"
"Come, near the fire. I have questions for thee."
He did so, not gladly, and settled wrapped in his threadbare cloak and cherished the heat. She sat wrapped in her furs, her face half in shadow, and gazed into his eyes.
"Heln found this place," she said. "A hunter I did not kill told him. Aenor-Pyvvn rose in arms then. They sent an army after me—" She laughed, the merest breath. "An army, to take this little cave. Of course I knew their coming. How not? They filled the southern field. I fled at once—yet it was close. But they even dared the valley of Stones; so I fled where they could not—would not—follow. And there I must wait until someone freed me. I am no older; I knew nothing of the years. But things have gone to dust, else the horses and we would fare better tonight. Thee fears me—"
It was so, it was clearly so: from a man his enemy he would have resented those words; Morgaine he
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