Exile's Gate by C. J. Cherryh

woods. Birds come here. They tolerate the
gate-force very little. Why do you suppose this is?"

    "I do not know," Chei said faintly.

    Morgaine did not answer.

    "Why would it be?" Chei asked her then.

    Morgaine shifted the dragon
sword to her lap, tucking one knee up, and hugged that knee against
her. "If I cast leaves in the fire, it would flare. Would it not?"

    "Yes, lady."

    "And you would move back. Would you not?"

    "Yes," Chei said, more faintly still, as if he regretted ever asking into qhalish lore.

    "Quickly?"

    "Yes, lady."

    "So the birds would fly for their comfort if that gate yonder opened this moment. And you would feel it in your bones."

    Chei flinched, visibly.

    "So this is a very good
place for a camp," Morgaine said, "for us who have no desire for
unannounced visitors. How frequently do you suppose this gate is used?"

    "I would not know."

    "Perhaps not. So of that
use we would have warning. If we ride from here we have Gault to
concern us. How long—might we ride, slowly, on the road itself, before
we came to his notice?"

    "If we left after sundown—"
Chei's breath came rapidly. "We could make the western road and be deep
in the woods before daybreak. Lady, I do not know where his riders may
be, no one could say that, but I know where they are likeliest not. We
could make a safe camp in that woods near his lands, stay there the
day, and pick up the west road. No one would be traveling that at
night; and by one more morning we can reach the hills. We rest during
the day, we travel at night. That is the best thing to do."

    "So," Morgaine said, and
glanced Vanye's way, a quick shift of her eyes. "We can reach the woods
before the dawn," she said, looking back at Chei. "You are sure of
that."

    "A-horse, I know that we could."

    "Then we will go," she said
quietly. "If our guest swears he can bear the saddle, we had best leave
this place. We do not know how long our welcome will last."

    Vanye nodded, agreeing, with misgivings he knew she shared, and with a quiet as carefully maintained.

    The place, true, had a ward as great as any fabled witchery could provide—that they would feel any disturbance in the gate.

    But it held danger too: it
was remotely possible—that that flaring of power could simply take
them, at this range, if there were some unshielded gate-stone to which
the force might reach—and if their enemies had found them.

     

    Vanye had one change of
clothes, cloth breeches and a fine shirt—the one for those times they
could lay aside the armor, which did not look likely here: light and
fine, delicately sewn—a waste to wear such a gift on the trail; but the
giver had insisted.

    Now he laid all this at
Chei's side, along with the mended boots, as Morgaine was meticulously
packing and weight-measuring with their bags.

    "You could not bear the
armor on your shoulders," Vanye said. "My liege will carry it; I will
carry you on my horse. We are taking your word we can make cover before
sunrise."

    Chei took up the fine cloth
and frowned in surprise. Well he might, Vanye thought; and went to
prepare his own gear, and to saddle the horses in the dark. They knew that there was a journey to come, and stamped and shifted in impatience at this meddling about.

    He saddled them both, and
hung his sword at Arrhan's right side, where he would not carry it on a
ride like this, except he had Chei at his back. He tied a folded
blanket flat under thongs bound to the rings that ordinarily held it
rolled, scratched Arrhan in the soft underside of her throat, and
Siptah under his chin, snatching his fingers from the stud's
half-hearted nip—trouble, he thought. Siptah had been trouble of one
kind before, well-trained as he was; now that he had acquired the mare,
Siptah had other thoughts in his head, and Arrhan had like ones.

    "Fool," he muttered to
himself, that ever he had taken her, that ever he had brought her to a
land like this. He was Kurshin, was a horseman from his birth. And he
had