The Pillars Of The World

never left hers.
    “Step aside, Neall,” she said.
    He shook his head. “Death can’t be cheated, but sometimes a bargain can be struck.” He saw her surprise before she could mask it. “The others who are Death’s Servants have no choice about who they guide to the Shadowed Veil, but the Gatherer does . She can transfer one person’s strength to another.
    At least, that’s what the stories say.”
    “And if the stories are true?” Morag asked quietly.
    “Then take me. Give my life strength to Ari, and take me.”
    She gave him a queer look. “You would do that?”
    “No, Neall,” Ari pleaded. “Don’t give up your life.”
    He turned slowly and looked at her. “You are my life.” When he turned back to face Morag, she was watching Ari intently. Fear spiked through him, roughening his voice. “Will you trade? My life for hers.”
    She gave him another queer look, then held out her hand.
    He grabbed it, curled his fingers around it so she couldn’t let go.
    She gave him a tug that pulled him to one side of the path at the same moment the other woman slipped around him and hurried toward Ari.
    He tried to pull away from her—and discovered she was stronger than he’d thought. So he just stood there, watching helplessly, as the other woman knelt beside Ari and gently brushed one hand over Ari’s head.
    Ari’s eyes closed. Her head sank to the ground.

    “You agreed to trade!” Neall said, feeling grief mingle with fury.
    “I made no bargain, Neall,” Morag said quietly. “Nor would I have. I see no shadows in her face. Let my sister do what she can.”
    “Sister?” He stared at the other black-haired woman, who was carefully lifting Ari’s tunic.
    “Morphia is the Sleep Sister, the Lady of Dreams.”
    How fitting that the Gatherer and the Sleep Sister were actually sisters.
    Morag released his hand and walked toward Ari. “She is hurt, and she is in pain, but Death is not waiting here for her, Neall.”
    “If Death had been waiting, would you have agreed to the bargain?” Neall asked, keeping pace with her.
    Morag was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I don’t know. No one has asked that of me until now.”
    “Then what’s happened to Ari?”
    Morphia looked up at him. “I gave her sleep so she would feel no pain.”
    Sinking to his knees, Neall forced himself to look at the wounds.
    “She bleeds, but the quarrels cut through nothing more than flesh.” She looked questioningly at Morag, who held one hand over Ari’s body.
    Morag nodded. “I don’t sense any damage inside her. Did you bring her saddlebags before the two of you ran?”
    “Yes,” Neall said.
    “Then bring them here, and some water as well.”
    As Neall stood up to do her bidding, he glanced at the dead men. Right now, it was better not to think too much about who Morag was.
    He would have traded , Morag thought as she waited for Neall to bring the saddlebags. Even without knowing whether it was truly needed, he would have traded his life for hers .
    Would any Fae male have cared so much that he would have tried to make that bargain? If necessary, he would fight for Clan and kin—and, perhaps, die in the fighting. But he wouldn’t go into that fight expecting to die. He would expect to live and benefit from his courage in the fight. But for a man to hand over his life, knowing he wouldn’t share in whatever would come after?
    You did just make a bargain, Neall, although it’s one you’re not aware of. One I hope you’ll never be aware of.
    When Neall hurried back to them, Morphia used the water to wash the wound in Ari’s side and the graze in her thigh. Morag rummaged through the saddlebags until she found the rolled cloths and the small jar of healing ointment.
     
    “But those are—” Neall started to protest.
    “Clean and made to absorb blood,” Morag replied. She and Morphia smeared the ointment on the wounds and dealt with the makeshift bandages. Neall protested again when they tore up Ari’s long nightgown to make strips long enough to wrap around Ari and hold the dressings. They ignored him.
    “Now,” Morag said as she put the supplies back in Ari’s saddlebags, “lift her carefully and take her out of the way. We’ll try to shift the gelding enough to get your saddlebags free.”
    “No,” Neall said. “I don’t need—”
    Morag gave him a look that silenced him. “If you didn’t need what you’d brought, you wouldn’t have brought it.”
    It took effort, but between