Fortress of Owls
C.J. Cherryh
the third fortress book
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Prologue
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HarperPrism
10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022-5299
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and
dialogues are products of the author_s imagination and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by C. J. Cherryh
ISBN 0-06-105054-7
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The
Fortress Cycle
1. Fortress in the Eye of Time
2. Fortress of Eagles
3. Fortress of Owls
4. Fortress of Dragons
Visit HarperPrism on the World Wide Web at
http://www.
harperprism.com
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To my editor, Caitlin,
whose belief in this story carried it to print_
To Jane,
who patiently read and remarked, version after version_
And to Beverly,
who compiled the constantly growing lexicon out of all these
pages_
Thank you
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PROLOGUE
^
»
There is magic.
There is wizardry.
There is sorcery.
They are not now, nor were then, the same.
Nine hundred years in the past, in a tower, in a place called
Galasien, a prince named Hasufin Heltain had an inordinate
fear of death. That fear led him from honest study of wizardry
to the darker practice of sorcery.
His teacher in the craft, Mauryl Gestaurien, seeing his student
about to outstrip his knowledge in a forbidden direction,
brought allies from the fabled north-land, allies whose magic
was not taught, but innate. These were the five Sihhë-lords.
In the storm of conflict that followed, not only Hasufin
perished, but also ancient Galasien and all its works. Of all that
city, only the tower in which Mauryl stood survived.
Ynefel, for so later generations named the tower, became a
haunted place, isolated within Marna Wood, its walls holding
intact the horrified faces of lost Galasien_s people. The old
tower was Mauryl_s point of power, and so he remained bound
to it through passing centuries, though he sometimes
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intervened in the struggles that followed.
The Sihhë took on themselves the task of ruling the southern
lands_not the Galasieni, whose fate was bound up with Ynefel,
but other newcomers, notably the race of Men, who themselves
had crept down from the north. The Sihhë swept across the
land, subduing and building, conquering and changing all that
the Galasieni had made, creating new authorities and powers to
reward their subordinates.
The five true Sihhë lived long, after the nature of their kind,
and they left a thin presence of halfling descendants among
Men before their passing. The kingdom of Men rapidly spread
and populated the lands nearest Ynefel, with that halfling
dynasty ruling from the Sihhë hall at unwalled Althalen.
Unchallenged lord of Ynefel_s haunted tower, Mauryl
continued in a life by now drawn thin and long, whether by
wizardry or by nature: he had now outlasted even the long-lived
Sihhë, and watched changes and ominous shifts of power as the
blood and the innate Sihhë magic alike ran thinner and thinner
in the line of halfling High Kings.
For of all the old powers, Shadows lingered, and haunted
certain places in the land. And one of them was Hasufin
Heltain.
One day, in the Sihhë capital, within the tributary kingdom of
Amefel, in the rule of the halfling Elfwyn Sihhë, a queen gave
birth to a stillborn babe. The queen was in mourning_but that
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mourning gave way to joy when the babe miraculously drew
breath and lived, warmed, as she thought, by magic and a
mother_s love.
To the queen it was a wonderful gift. But that second life was
not the first life. It was not the mother_s innate Sihhë magic,
but darkest sorcery that had brought breath into the child_for
what lived in the babe was a soul neither Sihhë nor Man: it was
Hasufin Heltain, in his second bid for life and power.
Now Hasufin nestled in the heart of the Sihhë aristocracy, still
a child, at a time when Mauryl, who might have known him,
was shut away in his tower in seclusion, rarely venturing as far
as Althalen, for he was finally showing the weakness of the
ages Hasufin had not lived.
Other children of the royal house died mysteriously as that fey,
ingratiating child grew stronger. Now alarmed, warned by his
arts, full of fury and advice, Mauryl came to court to confront
the danger. But the queen would not hear a wizard_s warning,
far less dispose of a son of the house, her favorite, her dearest
and most magical darling, who now and by the deaths of all
elder princes was near the throne.
The day that child should attain his majority, and the hour he
should rule, Mauryl warned them, the house and the dynasty
would perish. But even that plain warning failed to persuade
the queen, and the king took his grieving queen_s side, refusing
Mauryl_s unthinkable demands to delve into the boy_s nature
and destroy their own son.
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In desperation and foreseeing ruin, Mauryl turned not to the
halfling Sihhë of the court, but to the Men who served them.
He conspired with Selwyn Marhanen, the warlord, the Sihhë_s
trusted general, and encouraged Selwyn and other Men to
bring down the halfling dynasty and take the throne for
themselves.
In that fashion Mauryl betrayed the descendants of the very
lords he had raised up to prevent Hasufin_s sorcery.
Hence they called Mauryl both Kingmaker, and Kingsbane.
And with the help of Men and with wizards drawn from all
across the kingdom, Mauryl seized the chance, insinuating both
the Marhanen and his men and a band of wizards into the royal
palace. Then Mauryl and his circle held magic at bay while a
younger wizard, Emuin, killed the sleeping prince in his
chambers_a terrible and bloody deed, and only the first of
bloodshed that night.
Destroying Hasufin, however, was the limit of Mauryl_s interest
in the matter. The fate of the Sihhë in the hands of Selwyn and
his men, even the fate of the wizards who had aided him, was
beyond his reach, and Mauryl again retreated to his tower,
weary and sick with age. Young Emuin took holy orders,
seeking to forget his deed and find some salvation for himself
as a Man and a cleric.
Given this opportunity, Selwyn_s own ambition and Men_s fear
of magic they did not wield led them to rise in earnest against
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Sihhë rule: province after province fell to the Marhanen.
The district of Elwynor across the river from Althalen,
however, though populated with Men, attempted to remain
loyal to the Sihhë-lords, and raised an army to bring against
the Marhanen, but dissent and claims and counterclaims of
kingship within Elwynor precluded that army from ever taking
the field. The Marhanen thus were able to take the entire
tributary kingdom of Amefel, in which the capital of Althalen
had stood, and treat it as a tributary province.
But rather than rule from Althalen, remote from the heart of
his power, and equally claimed by all the lords of Men, Selwyn
Marhanen established a capital in the center of his home
territory, declared himself king, and by cleverness and
ruthlessness set his own allies under his heel, creating them as
barons of a new court.
From the new capital at Guelemara, Selwyn dominated all the
provinces southward. He and his subjects, mostly Guelenfolk
and Ryssandish, were true Men, with no gift for wizardry and
no love of it either, leaning rather to priests of the Quinalt and
Teranthine sects. Selwyn raised a great shrine next his palace,
the Quinaltine, and favored the Quinalt Patriarch, who set a
religious seal on all his acts of domination.
Of all Men loyal to the Sihhë, only the Elwynim held their
border against the Guelenmen& for that border was on the one
hand a broad river, the Lenúalim, and on the other, the
haunted precincts of Marna Wood, near the old tower.
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So the matter settled& save only the question of Amefel, the
province on the Guelen-held side of the Lenúalim River:
Selwyn_s hope of holding his lands firm against the Elwynim
rested on not allowing an Elwynim presence on that side of the
river. So holding Amefel was essential.
Now the history of Amefel was this: Amefel had been an
independent kingdom of Men when the first Sihhë-lords walked
up to its walls and demanded entry. The kings of Amefel, the
Aswyddim, had flung open their gates and helped the Sihhë in
their mission to conquer Guelessar, a fact no Guelen and no
Guelen king could quite forget. In return for this treachery, the
local Aswydd house had enjoyed a unique status under the
Sihhë authority, and always styled themselves as kings, as
opposed to High Kings, the title the Sihhë reserved for
themselves alone.
Having conquered the province, but fearing utter collapse of
his uneasily joined kingdom if he became embroiled in a
dispute with the Aswydds over their prerogatives, Selwyn
Marhanen accorded the Aswydds guarantees of many of their
ancient rights, including their religion, and including their
titles. So while the Aswydds became vassals of the king of
Ylesuin, and were called dukes, they were styled aethelings, that
is to say, royal, within their own province of Amefel. This
purposely left aside the question of whether the other earls of
Amefel bore rank equivalent to the dukes of Guelen and
Ryssandisb lands. Since Amefin and Guelenfolk generally
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avoided appearing in one another_s courts, the question
remained tacit and unresolved.
Selwyn thus had Amefel; but the opposing district of Elwynor
formed a region almost as large as Ylesuin was with Amefel
attached; and its independency from Ylesuin over that first
winter had given Elwynor_s lords time to gather forces. By the
next spring, with Selwyn in Amefel, the river Lenúalim had
become the tacitly unquestioned border. To secure Elwynor as
part of Ylesuin remained Selwyn_s unfulfilled dream to his
dying day.
The Elwynim meanwhile, having declared a Regency in place
of the lost High King at Althalen, were ruled not by a king, but
by one of their earls, himself with a glimmering of Sihhë blood,
who styled himself Lord Regent. The people of Elwynor took it
on stubborn faith that not all the royal house of the Sihhë-lords
had perished, that within their lifetimes a new Sihhë-lord, the
one they called the King To Come, some surviving prince,
would emerge from hiding to overthrow the Marhanen and
reestablish the Sihhë kingdom. This time the kingdom would
have faithful Elwynor at its heart, and all the loyal subjects
would live in peace and Sihhë-blessed prosperity in a new
golden age.
The Elwynim, therefore, cherished magic and prized the wizard-
gift. But outside the Lord Regent_s line there were far too few
who could practice wizardry in any degree. Certainly no one
possessed such magic as the Sihhë had used, and there were
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few enough wizards who would even speak of the King To
Come& for the wizards of this age had had firsthand
experience of Hasufin Heltain, and they remained aloof from
the various lords of the Elwynim who wished to employ them.
Those few who had any Sihhë blood whatsoever were likewise
reticent, for fear of becoming the center of some rising that
could only end in disaster.
So the Elwynim, deserted by their wizards and by those who did
carry the blood, became too little wary of magic and those who
promised it& and still the years passed into decades without a
credible claimant in Elwynor.
Selwyn died. Ylesuin_s rule passed to Selwyn_s son
Ináreddrin& and this, after lndreddrin was a middle-aged man
with two previous marriages and two grown sons.
Now Ináreddrin was Guelen to the core, which meant devoutly,
blindly Quinalt_his mother_s influence. As prince, he had no
love of his uncivil warlord father, but a great deal of fear of
him. He grew up with no tolerance for other faiths, despite the
exigencies of the Amefin treaty. He lost patience with his wild
eldest son, Cefwyn, for Cefwyn took his grandfather_s example
and clung to the Teranthine tutor, Emuin (that same Emuin
who had aided Mauryl at Althalen), whom Selwyn had
appointed royal tutor for his grandsons.
This was no accident: Selwyn as a reigning king had found
priests and the Quinalt a convenient resource, and to that end
he had supported them_they kept the Guelenfolk obedient. But
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to safeguard his kingdom for the years to come, and with at
least some fear of what he had faced at Althalen, Selwyn had
wanted his grandsons never to dread priests or wizards_rather
to understand them, and to have one of the best on their side.
This was a source of bitter argument within the royal house:
the queen died, Ináreddrin grew more alienated from his
father, and the very year Selwyn died and lndreddrin became
king, Ináreddrin persuaded his younger son Efanor into the
strictest Quinalt faith_lavishing on him all the affection he
denied the elder son.
So did the highest barons, notably of the provinces of Ryssand
and Murandys, favor Efanor, and there was talk of overturning
the succession_for the more Efanor became religious, the
more Cefwyn, the crown prince and heir, consoled himself with
wild escapades, sorties on the border, and women& very many
women.
Still, by Guelen law and custom, even by the tenets of the
Quinalt itself, Cefwyn was, incontrovertibly, the heir.
So Ináreddrin, either in hopes that administrative responsibility
would temper Cefwyn_or, it was whispered, in hopes some
assassin or border skirmish would make Efanor his heir_sent
Cefwyn to administer the Amefin garrison with the courtesy
title of viceroy, thus keeping a firmer Marhanen hand on that
curiously independent province.
Now, ordinarily and by the treaty, there was no such thing as a
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viceroy in Amefel, and the duke of Amefel, Heryn Aswydd, was
not at all pleased by this gesture& but Heryn kept his
discontent to himself, even agreeing to report to Ináreddrin
regarding the prince_s behavior, and on the worsening situation
across the river_for there was a reason Ináreddrin had felt a
need for a firmer Guelen presence in Amefel. The Regent in
Elwynor had no children but a daughter of his old age. The
lords of Elwynor, weary of waiting for the appearance of a
High King, were now saying the Regent should choose one of
them to be king, as he was advanced in years& and the only
way for one earl to gain any legitimate connection with royalty
was by marrying the Lord Regent_s daughter.
The Regent, Uleman Syrillas, refused all offers, swearing that
his only child, his daughter- Ninévrisë, would wield the power
of Regent herself& unprecedented, among the Elwynim and
the Sihhë kings, that a woman should rule in her own right.
But Uleman had prepared his daughter to rule& and when the
day came that a suitor tried to enforce his demands with arms
and carry Ninévrisë away, the Regent refused to bow.
Elwynor sank into civil war& and that war insinuated itself
across the river into Amefel: there were families with kin on
both sides of the river.
So it was into this situation that Ináreddrin sent Prince Cefwyn
to strengthen the garrison.
And it was entirely characteristic of Ináreddrin that he told
Heryn he was to watch Cefwyn and told Cefwyn to watch
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Heryn, who was, after all, a heretic Bryaltine.
Unbeknownst to the king, in fact, Duke Heryn was in league
with one of the rebel earls in Elwynor.
Others of the Elwynim rebels, those who lacked force of arms,
were keen to have wizardly sanction.
And Hasufin Heltain, once again dead, as Men knew death,
was waiting only for such a moment of crisis and a condition in
the stars. Through the situation in Elwynor, that ancient spirit
found his way closer and closer to life.
Mauryl, however, had foreseen the hour, and had saved his
strength for one grand, unprecedented spell, a Summoning and
a Shaping, a revenant brought forth from the fire of Mauryl_s
hearth_not a perfect effort, however, nor mature nor
threatening. To Mauryl_s distress the young man thus
Summoned lacked all memory of what or who he had been.
Mauryl called his Summoning& Tristen. And the day Mauryl lost
his struggle with Hasufin, Tristen, a young man with the
innocence of the newly born, set forth into the world, hoping to
do the things Mauryl intended.
The Road which began from Ynefel led Tristen not to a wizard,
who would teach him, as Tristen had hoped, but straight to
Prince Cefwyn, on a night when, despising his host, Heryn
Aswydd, Cefwyn was sleeping with Heryn_s twin sisters, Orien
and Tarien.
Tristen was as innocent a soul as ever Cefwyn had met&
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incapable of anger, feckless, and utterly outspoken, but
wizardous at the very least. When Tristen confessed he was
Mauryl_s, Cefwyn_s curiosity was immediately engaged; and
when Cefwyn began to deal with Tristen, he found himself snared
indeed_for after his grandfather_s anger and his father_s cold
dislike of him, after the northern lords_ wish for Efanor and his
own brother_s desertion, this was the only wholehearted offer of
a stranger_s friendship he had ever met.
Meanwhile Tristen continued to learn& for he was a blank slate
on which Mauryl_s spell was still writing, Unfolding new things
in wizardous fashion, at need, and providing him knowledge
unpredictable in its scope and its deficiency. Tristen wondered at
butterflies& and asked questions that shot straight to the
prince_s heart.
Cefwyn_s affection toward this wizardous stranger made Duke
Heryn Aswydd hasten his plans& for Cefwyn was growing fey
and difficult. Heryn used King Ináreddrin_s suspicion of his son
to lure the king and Prince Efanor to Amefel& hoping then to do
away with Cefwyn and the younger prince in the same stroke as
the king, and thus overthrow the Marhanen dynasty.
Prince Efanor, however, had not ridden with the king; he had
ridden straight to Cefwyn to accuse and berate his brother,
determined to find out the truth ahead of their father_s arrival, to
spring any trap upon himself if one existed. It was a brave act.
And when Cefwyn knew his father had listened to Lord Heryn, he
was horrified, and rode at once to prevent the ambush, no matter
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the danger.
He arrived too late, and was almost overwhelmed by the force
that had killed the king; but the knowledge of warfare Unfolded
to Tristen that day, on that battlefield, and the gentle stranger
turned warrior. He rescued the princes, defeated Heryn_s allies_
and when Cefwyn reached Henas_amef not only unexpectedly
alive, but king of Ylesuin, Heryn paid with his life for his treason.
Tristen, however, strayed into the hills, where he fell in with the
Lord Regent of Elwynor, who was dying, in hiding from the same
enemies as had killed his old enemy lndreddrin. The old Regent_s
last wish was to bring his daughter Ninévrisë to Cefwyn
Marhanen_as his bride& for the only hope for the Regency now
was peace with Ylesuin.
So Tristen brought Lady Ninévrisë to Cefwyn, and Cefwyn
Marhanen, new king of Ylesuin, fell headlong in love with the
new Regent of Elwynor.
Tristen, for his services, became a lord of Ylesuin, no longer
mocked for his simplicity, but now feared, for no one who had
seen him fight could discount him. And Heryn_s sister Orien
became duchess of Amefel, since Cefwyn was not ready to set
aside the entire dynasty, and had seen none but ordinary flaws in
Orien. Orien, however, was bent on revenge and lied in her
oaths. Lacking armies, lacking skill in war, she sought another
means to power& and became prey to sorcerous whispers from
the enemy, Hasufin Heltain.
Hasufin_s immediate goal was an entry into the fortress of
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Henas_amef, but because of Tristen and Emuin, he could not
breach the wards: so he moved his pawn Orien to make an
attempt on Cefwyn_s life, moved another pawn to attempt
Emuin_s life, and at the same time drew the rebel army across the
river in all-out war.
_
The first two failed. The third was aimed at Tristen, whom
Hasufin recognized as Mauryl_s last and most effective weapon.
Sorcery would be at its strongest in a moment of chance and
upheaval, and there was no moment of upheaval greater than the
shifting tides of a battlefield: thus Hasufin made his strongest bid
to break into the world and destroy Tristen, who stood between
him and life and substance.
In the world of Men, at a place called Lewenbrook, near Ynefel,
the Elwynim rebels, under Lord Aseyneddin, met Cefwyn
Marhanen_s opposing army. That was the conflict Men fought.
But when Aseyneddin faltered, Hasufin sent out tides of sorcery
in reckless disregard. A wall of Shadow rolled down on the field,
and those it touched it took and did not give up. It was Hasufin_s
manifestation, and all aimed at Tristen_s destruction.
Tristen, however, took up magic as he took up his weapons, when
the challenge came. When Hasufin Heltain loosed his sorcery,
Tristen rode into the Shadow, penetrated into Ynefel itself, and
drove Hasufin from his unsteady Place in the world.
Cefwyn meanwhile had prevailed in the unnatural darkness, and
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when the sun broke free of the Shadow, he had held his army
together. Aseyneddin_s forces, such as survived, shattered and
ran in panic.
It was a long way back to the world, however, from where
Tristen had gone. Exhausted, hurt, at the end of his purpose,
Tristen resigned his wizard-made life, finished with Mauryl_s
purpose, too weary to wake to the world of Men.
But he had once given his shieldman Uwen, an ordinary Man
with not a shred of magic in him, the power to call his name. This
Uwen did, the devotion of a simple man seeking his lost lord on
the battlefield, and Tristen came.
_
There was a moment, then, when Cefwyn stood victorious over
the rebels, that he might have launched forward into Elwynor:
the southern lords had rallied to the new king, and would have
followed him. But Cefwyn saw his army badly battered and in
need of regrouping, he knew the enemy was on the run, meaning
they would sink invisibly into Elwynor, and he knew, as a new
king, he had left matters uncertain behind him. The majority of
his kingdom did not even know they had changed one king for
another, and the treaty he had made with Ninévrisë had never
reached his people.
It was the end of summer. Good campaigning weather still
remained, but harsh northern winters could make fighting
impossible. So for good or for ill, Cefwyn opted not to plunge his
exhausted army, lacking maps or any sort of preparation, into
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the unknown situation inside Elwynor, which had been several
years in anarchy and still had rival claimants to the Regency.
Instead he chose to regroup, settle his domestic affairs, marry the
lady Regent, ratify the marriage treaty, and rally the rest of his
kingdom behind him in a campaign to begin in the spring.
He went home, trusting his father_s trusted men, gathering up his
brother Efanor, and attempting simply to take up the power of
the monarchy as it had been. But when he reached his capital, he
discovered his father_s closest friends among the barons meant to
wrest the power into their own hands& as his father had let them
do much as they pleased for years. It was no longer a matter of
the northernmost barons preferring Efanor. They had had a king
they could rule, they meant to have another one, and in their
minds Cefwyn was a wastrel prince who would be a weak king:
he could be managed, they had said among themselves, if they
kept him diverted.
That was not, however, the king who came home to them: Cefwyn
arrived surrounded by their southern rivals, who were clearly in
favor, and allied to Mauryl_s heir, betrothed to the Elwynim
Regent, and proposing war on the Elwynim rebels. This was not
Ináreddrin_s dissolute son: it was Selwyn_s hard-handed
grandson, and the barons were appalled.
So they took a new tactic& they were older, cannier, more
experienced in court politics. They would use the priests, prevent
the marriage, treat the lady Regent as a captive_and seize land
in Elwynor.
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Cefwyn was as determined to bring them into line and shake the
kingdom into order. He sent the southern barons home to attend
their harvests and prepare for war, all but Cevulirn, whose
horsemen had less reliance on such seasons and who stayed as a
shadowy observer for southern interests.
In Elwynor, meanwhile, another of the rebel lords, the survivor
of all the others, took advantage of the confusion to bring his
army out of the hills, besiege his own capital of Ilefínian, and
declare the lady Regent captive in the hands of the Marhanen
king.
Cefwyn took measures to ensure that the Quinalt would approve
the marriage and the treaty by which he would agree to put
Elwynor in the hands of as lady Regent, independent of the
Crown ofYlesuin.
The barons retaliated with an attempt to limit the monarchy over
them.
And if Tristen had been feared in the south, he found he was
abhorred in the north. He kept to the shadows& for Cefwyn,
fighting for his right to wed the woman he loved and trying to
wrest back sovereignty in his own capital, feared Tristen_s being
caught up in the fight.
Obscurity, however, only increased the mystery. The barons saw
Tristen as an influence on Cefwyn that must be eliminated. On a
night when lightning, whether by chance or wizardry, struck the
Quinalt roof, a penny in the offering in the Quinaltine was found
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to be Sihhë coinage, with forbidden symbols on it; and the
charge was forbidden wizardry, attacking the Quinalt and the
gods.
Cefwyn suspected that His Holiness the Patriarch was devious
enough to substitute the damning coin, and Cefwyn moved
quickly to force the Patriarch into his camp. But the coin
together with the lightning threw the wider court into such alarm
that Cefwyn felt compelled to remove Tristen from controversy.
In what he thought a clever and protective stroke, he sent Tristen
back to Amefel not as a refugee in disgrace, but as duke
ofAmefel& a replacement for the viceroy he had left in charge.
Now this viceroy was Parsynan, appointed on the advice of some
of these same troublesome barons, notably Murandys and
Ryssand& for Cefwyn had exiled Orien Aswydd and her sister to
a Teranthine nunnery for their betrayal, and had never appointed
another duke, until now.
Hearing that Tristen was going to Amefel, and that Parsynan was
recalled, Corswyndam Lord Ryssand panicked, fearing that
certain records might fall into the king_s hands. So he sent a
rider to advise Parsynan of his imminent replacement.
Corswyndam_s courier rode hard enough to reach the town of
Henas_amef the Amefin capital, ahead of the royal messenger
bearing the official notice. Parsynan quite naďvely brought his
local ally Lord Cuthan, an Aswydd by remote kinship, into his
confidence, since this man had supported him against his brother
earls before.
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Cuthan, however, was in on a plot by the Elwynim to create war
in Amefel, a distraction for Cefwyn, and the plan was to seize the
citadel, on the promise Elwynim troops would then invade and
engage with the king_s
_
forces. Cuthan not only failed to warn Parsynan it was coming&
but he also said nothing to warn his brother lords that a
detachment of the king_s forces was about to arrive. One or the
other would happen first, and Cuthan meant to stay safe.
So, ignorant of important pieces of information, certain Amefin
lords, led by Earl Edwyll of Meiden, seized the South Court of
the fortress of Amefel to wait for Elwynim support.
In the same hour, losing courage, Cuthan told the other earls the
king_s forces were coming, and there were as yet no Elwynim.
The other earls failed to join Edwyll& which suited Cuthan: he
and Edwyll were old rivals, and now Edwyll was guilty of
treason, sitting in the fortress with the king_s forces approaching.
And none of the rest of them were guilty of anything.
In a thunderstroke, before anyone had thought, Tristen arrived
and, to the cheers of the populace, moved swiftly uphill to the
fortress to take possession. The earls of Amefel rapidly set
themselves on the winning side.
Edwyll, meanwhile, died, having enjoyed a cup of wine out of
Orien Aswydd_s cups, untouched since the place was sealed at
her exile& and whether Edwyll_s death was latent wizardry
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attached to Orien_s property, or simple bad luck, the command of
the rebels now devolved to Edwyll_s son, thane Crissand, who
was forced to surrender. Tristen now had the fortress in his
hands.
Not satisfied with the death of Earl Edwyll, however, Parsynan,
in command of the garrison troops, seized the prisoners from
Tristen_s officers and began executing them.
Tristen found out in time to save Crissand& and dismissed Lord
Parsynan from the town in the middle of the night and without
his possessions, scandalous treatment of a noble king_s officer,
but if there was anything wanting to make Tristen the hero of
Henas_amef, this settled matters: the people were delighted,
wildly cheering their new lord. Crissand, Edwyll_s son, himself of
remote Aswydd lineage, swore fealty to Tristen in such absolute
terms it offended the Guelen clerks who had come with Tristen,
for Crissand owned Tristen as his overlord after the Aswydd
kind, aetheling, a royal lord, reopening all the old controversy
about the status of Amefel as a sovereign kingdom. Crissand had
become Tristen_s friend and most fervent ally among the earls of
Amefel& who, given a lord they respected, came rapidly into
line, united for the first time in decades.
In the succeeding hours Tristen gained both the burned remnant
of Mauryl_s letters, and Lord Ryssand_s letter to Parsynan. The
first told him that correspondence Mauryl had had with the lords
of Amefel might have some modern relevancy& one archivist had
murdered the other and run with the letters. The second letter
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revealed Corswyndam_s connivance with Parsynan.
Tristen sent Ryssand_s letter posthaste to Guelessar, while
Cuthan, revealed for a traitor to both sides, took advantage of
Tristen_s leniency to flee to Elwynor.
In the capital, Ryssand knew he had to move quickly to lessen the
king_s power against any baron, and one of his clerks had
reported that the office of Regent of Elwynor, which Ninévrisë
claimed, included priestly functions. So at Ryssand_s instigation,
the Holy Quinalt rose up in protest of a woman in priestly rites,
which would break the marriage treaty.
Cefwyn countered with another compromise and a trade of
favors with the Holy Father: Ninévrisë agreed to state that she
was and had always been of the Bryaltine sect, that recognized
though scantly respectable Amefin religion, and if she agreed to
accept a priest of that faith as her priest, leaving aside other
difficult questions, the Quinalt would perform the wedding.
The barons now came with the last and worst: charges of
infidelity, _s with Tristen, laughable if one knew them& but
Ryssand_s daughter Artisane was prepared to perjure herself to
bring Ninévrisë down, and Ryssand_s son Brugan brought the
charges to Cefwyn, along with a document giving much of his
power to the barons, which was clearly the alternative.
Therein Ryssand overstepped himself: it gave an excuse for a
loyal baron, Cevulirn oflvanor, to challenge Brugan and, by
killing him, change the character of the effort. The gods had let a
man of the king_s kill the man who made the charge, and if
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Ryssand should make public the attack on , that fact would come
out.
But if it should, someone would challenge Cevulirn, and another
and another& or if it did not, Ryssand could not be expected to
deal civilly with the man who had killed his son. Cefwyn still
hoped to deal with the other barons, and would cast the killing as
a private quarrel to prevent the issue becoming public.
But that meant Cevulirn had to leave court, and Cefwyn girded
himself for a confrontation in court with a powerful baron who
had just lost his son& a confrontation that might yet tear the
kingdom apart if the other barons stood with Ryssand.
Into this situation Ryssand_s incriminating letter arrived secretly
into Cefwyn_s hands& and Cefwyn thus had the means to suggest
Ryssand retire to his estates immediately, or have all his actions
made public to the other barons.
So the treaty stood firm, Cefwyn and Ninévrisë married, and
Tristen settled in to rule in the south as lord of Amefel, lord of the
province containing old Althalen and bordering Ynefel and
Elwynor across the river.
And rule he does, in the first glorious winter of his wizard-
summoned life.
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BOOK ONE
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Chapter 1
«
^
»
Master Emuin had packed in a night, when His Majesty in
Guelemara had decreed a new duke for Amefel. Baskets, barrels,
and bundles had gone out of master Emuin_s tower room in the
Guelesfort in the heart of Guelemara and into wagons that night
of storm and departure, and after a slow transit between
provinces, up they had come, a week and more later, into the
appointed tower in the fortress of Henas_amef.
But when master Emuin_s new tower room had reached its
apparent limits, as it had on the day following his arrival, why,
baskets and bundles coming up for the week afterward had
necessarily accumulated on the stairs and on the very small
landing, hardly more than a step, that gave a servant, a petitioner,
or the new duke of Amefel himself scant place to stand and
knock for admittance.
_Master Emuin?_
_Leave it on the stairs! Gods bless, fool, there_s no more room!_
_Master Emuin, it_s Tristen, if you please._
Footsteps crossed the floor. The door opened. The old man
peered out, hair disarrayed and gusting past his face in a cold
wind and a white daylight that said the shutters were open despite
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the snow sifting down outside.
_Master Emuin, you_ll freeze._ Tristen pushed through the door
into the round tower room, where, indeed, shutters were wide to
the winds and windows were blazing white with winter sky.
Emuin was wrapped in a heavy traveling cloak, and so was
Tristen, but for different reasons, Tristen was sure. Master Emuin
had kept his room in the Guelesfort in similar state, but in the
milder days of autumn, and, however new to his authority over
the old man, Tristen was certainly not disposed to tolerate that
state of affairs here.
Consequently, he began closing shutters.
To Emuin_s clear indignation: _And how am I to see, pray?_
_Candles. Lanterns. As other people do, sir! People account me
the simpleton, and you the wizard and wise man, and you have
the hall full of baskets and this tower so cold it gusts cold wind
into the lower hall. Whence this notion not to have candles?_
There followed a small, uncomfortable pause in which Emuin
looked elsewhere.
_It is that?_ Tristen asked, surprised to have happened on the
truth. Then he added that favorite, persistent question that always
found so little patience among ordinary folk: _Why, sir?_
_Plague and bother of lighting fires! Leave my shutters alone!
The place is dark as a cave._
_If you_ll not have Tassand arrange this, then I shall, sir. I will,
with or without your leave._ It was a great impertinence to defy
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the old man, but he had learned of Cefwyn how to argue, and
argue he was prepared to do.
_The duke of Amefel will not carry baskets and build shelves!
There are simply too many baskets to fit! They used to fit! I don_t
know how it came to be so much. Leave one shutter, I say! How
can a man see?_
_Then you_ll accept Tassand_s help._ He faced an obdurate,
weary old man, one who had not planned to reestablish his
workshop twice, a man at his wits_ end after a hard journey& an
old man who still, a week after coming all this journey
specifically to advise him in his new office, at least as Emuin had
said to him, continually found reasons not to speak to him
frankly on far more important matters than baggage obstructing
the stairs. _And you shall have it, sir, his help or mine. You may
choose which, but the lower hall is full of drafts, and the candles
blow out when someone opens the east doors._
A tremor of weariness had come into Emuin_s mouth, and more
wrinkles than usual mapped the territory around his eyes. He
trembled on the verge of yielding. Then: _No! No, you will not
be arranging baskets or carrying them._
_Then Tassand, sir. His Majesty set me in charge. I must have the
baskets up the stairs and the shutters shut._
A second surly glance.
_I_ll have them set in whatever order you wish,_ Tristen said, _a
fire laid, candles lit. Please have all the windows shut by this
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evening, sir, at least by the time the sun goes down._
_Beeswax. None of your tallow candles, young lord, nothing
stinking of slaughter. I will have beeswax._
Then there was more in it than candles, as there was more in
Emuin_s insistence on open windows than a desire for daylight
by day and a view of the stars at night. Master Emuin was not a
man who chose luxury or spent money profligately, beeswax
being the luxury, above tallow. But he was a wizard, and the
question of beeswax or tallow passed not without note and not
without significance in Tristen_s thoughts.
_Beeswax,_ Tristen said, _you shall have, sir._ He was pressed
for time in this small foray up the stairs, and let the precise
reason of the candles escape comment, but he marked it for
inquiry at some quieter moment. _You_ll have Tassand_s earnest
attention to whatever things you need, clothing for attendance in
hall& and all set in order in a proper clothespress._ He saw that
the one that did exist was crammed so full of bottles and papers
the doors stood open.
_Nonsense._
_Tassand need not retrieve your robes out of baskets._
_I have no room, I say! Hang them on a peg. For a peg, I have
room!_
_Join me at supper this evening, where it_s warm. Cook will have
meat pies._
_When I have found my charts, young lord! If I have found my
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charts, which at the moment seems unlikely!_
Emuin shouted in frustration, and Tristen found his own
amiability tested. _They might be in those baskets on the stairs,
sir. Dogs might come at them. There was a dog about. I saw him
below._ That this had been far out in the yard, from the window,
he failed to say. Whatever moved master Emuin to accept help
and hasten his baskets up the steps was a benefit.
_Perish the creature! Very well, very well, send Tassand! Gods
bless!_ Master Emuin cracked his shin against a bench in the
dimmed light. _Leave me one window, if you please! I have old
eyes. Gods, what a contentious lad you_ve become!_
_For your health_s sake, sir, and the servants_, and the downstairs
candles, and to have your advice for a long time to come, without
your taking ill up here, yes, I have become extremely
contentious._ Tristen relented, leaving one leeward shutter ajar
on stiff metal hinges so that the room was not altogether in
twilight. He had had a fire laid in the hearth and wood provided
in advance of his teacher_s arrival, and it had burned far too fast,
thanks to the gusts, he was sure.
The tower room had a fireplace which shared a duct with the
guardroom below and the hall below that, three flues and one
common stonework that led to the wayward and now wintry
winds above the fortress roof. It was thanks to the warm
stonework, with other rooms_ smoke passing through, that there
was any comfort at all in the room. _You need more firewood.
Have you asked?_
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_No, no. And I don_t need a fire. The damned wind kicks up a
gale in here when the flue_s open. Damn._ Master Emuin had
found a pot of powders spilled in the bottom of a basket, and was
not in a good humor. _Damn, damn._
It seemed time for even the lord of Amefel to make a quiet
retreat, out the door and down past the numerous baskets of herbs
and birds_ nests and down again the rambling East Stairs, with its
little nooks and shelves and half levels, themselves piled high
with stray baskets. His guard, four men, his constant and trusted
companions, had waited below, and followed him from there.
It had not been an entirely satisfactory meeting. He had come
upstairs intending to set the fortress generally under master
Emuin_s surveillance, had found himself distracted into argument
about the shutters.
Distraction in master Emuin_s vicinity was not an uncommon
occurrence. He would have liked to have asked master Emuin
about the archives and the problems there. He would have liked
to consult master Emuin about the vacant earldom of Bryn, but
they had ended arguing about other things. He saw no likelihood
that all the baskets and bundles were ever going to fit into the
tower. Now he walked the hall uneasy in this requirement
regarding the candles, which echoed off his own dislike of
Emuin_s open and unwarded windows& and there was another
piece of unfinished business he had not yet had a chance to
discuss with Emuin: the wizard-work that had left the fortress
more open than some to wizardous attack.
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He most of all wished that master Emuin would leave his charts
in whatever disorder they fell, look at events around him, and
provide a steady and sober counsel to him in his new rule over
the province of Amefel.
Yes, Emuin had advised him in some limited particulars, but
there remained the flood of mundane matters which he had not
yet been able to persuade the old man to hear, such as the pile of
petitions regarding land settlements, and several very much
greater ones, involving the king and the situation in Elwynor.
But no, Emuin would not be at peace to hear anything so
important until his workshop was in order, which it was not, and
showed no prospect of being. Tristen began asking himself where
he could find storage outside the tower, which master Emuin thus
far refused to consider; he had come upstairs to gain advice about
the affairs of the fortress, and instead found himself wondering
where he could set a clothes-press.
Now he found himself wondering why he had ever thought he
could spare an afternoon to leave the fortress and ride outside the
walls.
But Earl Crissand had pleaded with him and cajoled him to take
some relief from the demands on his attention. He had a need and
a duty, Crissand said, to see the people and be seen by them, a
duty he could not accomplish inside the fortress. The ducal seat
at Henas_amef had become remote and estranged from the
commons even under its recent duke and duchess, and the last
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authority, Lord Parsynan, had brought the land nothing but grief
and bloodshed. It was time the people saw hope for better days.
So here they were, he and his guard all cloaked and gloved and
equipped for winter riding_an unexpectedly appropriate weight
of clothing for venturing the tower room_bound for the west
doors and the stable-court. The escape seemed both more
attractive and less responsible since the conversation above; and
he only hoped to reach the stables.
All through the lower hall the household staff with mops and
buckets fought back the thin gloss of mud soldiers and workmen
brought from the snowy yard. And around the central doors, that
mud mixed with the shavings and dust of workmen repairing the
damages of their new lord_s accession. It was a second source of
draft in the fortress, where wind leaked through the nailed
patches, and it was a hazard to his escape, a source of overseers
with questions.
He foresaw it: now a well-dressed master craftsmen intersected
his path and showed him a paper, the requests of craftsmen for an
order of oak planks.
Consult Tassand, was his answer to no few. He was sure his chief
of household knew no more about oak planks than he did about
wizardry and herb lore_less, in fact_but Tassand at least knew
how to send petitioners to appropriate places. From being merely
a body servant, Tassand had become a duke_s master of
household, did the office of chamberlain and half the office of
seneschal.
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Tassand seemed to know, moreover, when an order was
excessive or excessively expensive, which his lord did not. He
did know that money represented hours and quality of a man_s
work, and that dukes did not have an endless supply of it.
But today, faced with an order for wood which seemed
reasonable for carpenters, and anxious to reach the doors: _Yes,_
he said, and moved on. _Yes,_ he said, to a further request, and
he had no more than sent that man off, than a third man in court
clothes appeared in his path, unrolling drawings of the carvings
of the new main doors, and asking whether the design pleased
him.
_The Eagle of Amefel in the center panel, do you see, Your
Grace, and the border of oak leaves, for endurance&_
He had no idea why he should be asked about the carving for the
main doors, which he had simply ordered repaired to stop the
draft. The only usefulness of the carving might be a kind of
magical seal, and everyone from earls to servants to his close
friends had assumed that common doors would not do& nothing
common ever suited. Endurance seemed a reasonable, a happy
wish, to which he certainly consented, and with a wish of his
own he reinforced it& he helped the craftsmen as he could, not
knowing what he was supposed to do.
But by now he was sure he was overdue in the stable-court, and
he was more and more sure Crissand was right in urging him to
ride out for a day: he grew weary and short of patience. His court
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did everything in a great deal of fuss and uncertainty, and
questions seemed to come to him faster than he could learn.
Wishes for solutions aside, he had not enough officers, not
enough servants, no clear lines of appeal_and, as Tassand had
informed him, unhappily there was no other person established as
the authority. What had existed, Parsynan and Edwyll between
them had destroyed; and now both were gone, and he was there.
Consequently everyone wanted his attention, everyone wished to
establish their connections and their favor with the new duke, and
in the process their demands pressed on him until his head fairly
swam with questions. He did not know who should do these
things. He had no idea. And under the incessant demands for his
attention, he could not find answers.
Indeed he was so overwhelmed he feared even Crissand had
motives in stealing him away for several hours in private&
points to press, favors to gain at the worst; and in agreeing to go,
he knew it would wound him to the heart if that was all
Crissand_s reason in seeking his company. He hoped for less
selfish notions in this young man who seemed so inclined toward
him. He hoped for some beacon in this sea of demands, but he
had been disappointed before, discovering even master Emuin set
his own will ahead of friendship and promises, and that Cefwyn,
whom he loved, had as many demands on his time as he had.
He understood Cefwyn_s situation, now, in a way he never could
have before.
But knowing that turned him desperately to seek warmth and
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company where it seemed to offer. And, oh, that might be foolish
of him, and expose him to hazards such as he had seen in
Cefwyn_s court.
But he went. He trusted. He stormed through the last stretch of
hallway toward the stable-court before more questioners could
close about him_for he had been indoors for an entire fortnight
now, imprisoned in his duty, in men_s squabbles and difficulties,
while all the wonder of snow spread across the land outside his
misted, frosty windows.
And now the chance was on him. He rushed toward freedom in
simple, undilute curiosity, eager to meet the sights that had
tantalized him and eager to have a horse under him for a few
hours& eager most of all to have Crissand beside him and the
sound of a friendly voice without a single demand for favor or
approval of some document.
Cefwyn had made him duke of Amefel& and of all pleasures the
high office might have afforded (the prior lord, Heryn, had
ordered gold dinnerplates, and the viceroy, Lord Parsynan, had
coveted a lady_s jewels), he discovered that the greatest and least
attainable of all his treasures was time, time to ride out in the
sparkling white and time to be with friends.
And when he and his accustomed bodyguards, Lusin and the rest,
escaped out the west doors into the snowy damp air and thumped
down the steepest steps in the fortress_he found himself both
free and faced with a yard he had forgotten would be teeming
with soldiery and oxen and carts.
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_The lord_s come down!_ A trio of stablehands scampered at the
sight of them, dodging through the confusion of ox teams and
heaps of equipment bound for the bottom of the hill, all shouting
for the duke_s horses as they went. Tristen regarded the
commotion with some dismay: nothing he did these days was
circumspect or secret, and no one went sluggishly to
accommodate him; the carts were going to the border, the army
was going, this was the day he had appointed, and such had been
his haste this morning he had not even realized his ride and the
carts_ being loaded overlapped each other.
Almost as they cleared the bottom step, one of the stablemaster_s
lads came laboring through the press with the tall ducal standards
bundled together, brought from their storage near the armory, a
heavy burden for a slight lad. It was a heavy burden, too, for the
grown men appointed to carry them when they were unfurled.
They were inevitably cumbersome, and in the wish of his heart,
Tristen would have bidden the boy put the banners back in their
safekeeping so he and Crissand could simply ride free and enjoy
the day in anonymity& but those banners were part and parcel of
their honest excuse for riding forth today. They would show them
abroad, ride through the town of Henas_amef in brave display,
and visit the nearest villages, likewise: and all that was to
confirm that, indeed and at last, Amefel had a lord watching over
them and doing the sort of things a lord did. In a winter ominous
with war and its preparations, Crissand had reasoned with him,
the people needed to see him. Banners were for courage, and they
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had to see them fly.
War& he did understand. Doors and orders for oak were another
question altogether.
Perhaps Crissand might show him that, too.
Carts maneuvered with ponderous difficulty, one loading, one
waiting. Uwen Lewen_s-son arrived through the gap between
with bay Gia at lead_Uwen bundled up in a heavy cloak and
with a coif pulled up over his silver-streaked hair. Tristen
recognized the horse but not immediately his own right-hand
man.
Uwen was more sensible than he was, Tristen thought, feeling
the nip of the wind, in which his hair blew free. It was not a dank
cold, but a crisp, invigorating one, with the sky trying its best to
be blue. It was better weather than they had enjoyed for a week;
but it might turn, and while he came from his hasty passage
through the lower hall all overheated, he had his coif and cowl,
his heavy gloves and lined boots, foreseeing wind among the
hills.
_A fine day,_ Uwen said. _Weather-luck is with us._
_A bright day,_ he said, his heart all but soaring. He had dreaded
winter as a time of death, then seen it advance during their
passage from Guelessar in an unexpected glory of frost& from
his high windows he daily saw snow lying white and pure across
the land and had wondered would it look as white close at hand.
And was snow like water, into which it turned, and did it change
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colors according to the sky like a pond? He saw it take on the
glories of sunrise and sunset, such as there were under a leaden
sky. He waited to see what the sun would bring.
And with the arrival of the sun for the first time in days he saw
the promise of wonders. Even in the brawling confusion of the
carts and the limited vantage of the stable yard, he saw Icicles,
which he had only just learned as a Word, and never seen so
glorious as just now, on this morning of sun breaking through the
clouds. They decorated every ledge and eave, and sparkled. The
most casual glance around at the yard showed how a frosting of
snow glossed all the common things of the stable into
importance. He had never noticed the curious carving about the
stable door, for instance, an unexpectedly fine decoration for a
humble building: the lintel was beautiful edged in the sifting of
snow, a carving of flowers and grain, appropriate enough for
horses.
All around him such details leapt up, from the pure snow lying
on the stonework edges, white instead of mortar, to the way it
made a thick blanket on the stable roof.
With Uwen accounted for and his guard waiting for their horses,
he stared about him in a moment of delighted curiosity, seeking
other wonders, finding beauty even in the lion-faced drain spouts
above them, that he had never seen.
He wished, of course, not to be seen gawping about, as Uwen
called it: the duke of Amefel had to rule with dignity and become
like other lords, immune to wonder, attentive to serious matters,
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never easily distracted from the solemn business of his rank.
Oh, but so many things were new in this, his first winter in the
world. The eaves of the gatehouse and its roof slates shone so
bright in a moment of clear sunlight that they hurt the eyes.
Never in the world was light so powerful, and yet the air itself
was cold.
Meanwhile the lad with the standards had delivered them to
Sergeant Gedd, foremost of the standard-bearers riding with him
today, and was about to pursue his own business. But Tristen,
seeing those two young, strong legs, pounced on the messenger
he needed and nipped the lad_s sleeve before he could quite
escape.
_My lord!_ Eyes were round and cheeks were cold-stung to a
wondrously fiery blush. _May I serve m_lord?_
_Go inside, go upstairs to my apartments, and tell whoever
comes to the door that I_ve spoken to master Emuin, do you have
that? Say that Tassand is to go up to the tower as soon as possible
and set it in order. Do you have all that?_
_Yes, m_lord! Tassand_s to go to the tower!_ The lad was solemn
now, and puffed up with importance, and, dismissed, bowed and
raced up the outside steps in frantic haste, slipping on the ice
there.
There went more mud into the halls, but certainly the boy was no
worse than the soldiers. Advising Tassand might have waited
until he returned from the ride: he had all but forgotten his
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agreement in the distraction of the hallway. But now Tassand
would attend master Emuin before master Emuin could forget he
had ever agreed, so they would not have that argument again. He
might have the stairs clear and master Emuin_s noxious pots and
powders out of the stairwell before evening, which might let
Cook_s servants reach the old man with food without breaking
their necks.
On such chance encounters and with such chance-met
messengers he did business, and that, he was sure, was part of the
trouble. When they had set out from the capital he had felt
overwhelmed with the size of the staff he had brought along, and
now he found it a very scant number to accomplish the running
of a province. Cook, an Amefin woman, had found him several
reliable new servants for the halls; Ness at the gate, who was
Amefin, had found two more for the storerooms; and the clerk
they had brought from Guelemara, a Guelenman who
nevertheless looked to make a home here in Amefel, was looking
for likely lads with suitable training.
The house staff he had inherited from Parsynan came from
service in or to noble Amefin houses, each one of which had its
ambitions and each one of which would hear reports from those
they lent. Such servants as had served Lord Heryn and Orien had
mostly fled across the river, some in fear of the king, some in
fear of their neighbors and rivals& and those servants that did
remain of the original staff had to be watched by the servants he
trusted.
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But still he gathered them_all the servants, all the folk who in
some way had dealt with him in his first days. He counted them
part of Amefel, and his, even searching after the lad who had first
met him as a stranger in Amefel and guided his steps to the gate-
guards. He sought them out, guided them into his safekeeping&
and thus out of the hands of malign working from across the
river, not enough of a staff yet, and those missing pieces were
well scattered and hard to find again, which the more persuaded
him it was necessary. He was here. He had a Place in the world.
Certain things and persons had led him to that Place, and having
done so, they were snared in magic: therefore, they had to be
found.
Meanwhile, waiting for the lost to return and for the staff to
reknit itself, they were short-handed.
_So master Emuin is havin_ Tassand_s help after all,_ Uwen said,
standing beside him at the bottommost step, looking over the
yard from that slight advantage, taller than he by that means,
when ordinarily that was not the case.
_If he admits he ever agreed,_ Tristen said. _But I_ve learned. I
press my advantage while I have it._
_Gods know what_s in them baskets o_ his,_ Uwen said. _I ain_t
pokin_ into _em, an_ I hope Tassand_s careful. Gods know what_ll
crawl out._
The boys were bringing the horses up by now, and the
guardsmen that were serving as his escort arrived, already ahorse,
passing in front of one of the wagons. Its ox team backed away
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from the crowding of half a dozen horses, not something an ox
hitch or its wagon did well, and its left wheel aimed for a stack of
barrels.
_Hold there!_ Uwen shouted at the standing driver, seeing it in
the same instant, and ran to slap the nearer ox on its rump and
start it forward. The driver with his goad saw his dilemma and
diverted his team on around the small circle of free space to face
the gate, cart wheels not making the turn well, where Uwen again
got to the fore, holding up both hands. __At_s good. Now ye hold
that cart right here, man, no matter who says otherwise, until His
Grace is down the hill. Don_t ye be blockin_ the road._
That effectively blocked all the other carts behind, who could not
come through to load, but it saved them having that lumbering
vehicle before them all the way down the hill& an incongruous
precedence for a show of the ducal banners that would have been.
The carts were gathering up the tents and heavy stores to take
them down the hill, a slow process, that evidently had not started
at dawn, when the ice was hard: they must have waited for the
sun.
And that raised a question where Captain Anwyll was, who was
supposed to be dealing with the drivers and the setting forth of
the supplies to the river. Tristen observed Uwen_s crisp passing
of instructions, faulted Anwyll for his absence from the scene,
then realized that he himself as the lord of Amefel had been more
properly looking out for such considerations as the order of
precedence, rather than gazing at the icicles.
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Mooncalf, His Majesty_s commander had been wont to call him.
_Where is Anwyll?_ he asked Uwen.
_Dunno, m_lord. I_ll find out._
The safety of others depended on him. He saw numerous failings
in himself which he was resolved to mend, and knew that, no, it
was not usually the grand things in which he failed: he had very
reasonably, if high-handedly, contradicted the king_s orders,
taken the wide risk with the weather in sending Cefwyn_s carts to
the border with necessary supplies instead of back to Cefwyn,
where they would wait idle all winter. The carters were irate:
they had expected to be done and back on the road in the
opposite direction, headed for Guelemara and their homes before
the snows blocked the roads for good and all, and instead they
were out on Amefin roads, which were little more than cattle-
traces.
More, while the carts would not move in the deep winter, they
were still Cefwyn_s, and the king needed those wagons in
Guelemara for very much the same reason as he himself was
fortifying the border in the south. He hoped that he was right in
his estimations_ that no sudden Elwynim incursion on
Cefwyn_s west would make them necessary in the north, for he
was not only keeping Cefwyn_s carts for one more duty, he had
also appropriated to border defense the detachment of Dragon
Guard that had escorted him to Amefel.
But he had had no choice. When Cefwyn had sent him to take
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command of the garrison of Guelen Guard, neither of them had
foreseen the situation, that the Guelen Guard of the garrison
would have so bloodily offended against the Amefin that the
Amefin would no longer deal with them. The Guelens had to be
set down, the Dragons sent to do their work.
Nor had he been able to ask Cefwyn what to do. Messages went
slowly and unpredictably between Amefel and Guelessar, and
with the weather, more so. He had not had a reply to his last
message from the capital, it was six days to send and obtain an
answer, at least, and meanwhile he could only solve the problems
he had at hand: keep the disgraced Guelens under tight rein, in
garrison at the capital, and send the reliable Dragons to hold the
river to be sure the Elwynim did not keep their promise to the
earls of Amefel and invade.
More, if the weather turned a little worse for a little longer, the
river could freeze, and if it froze, there would be no division
between Amefel and Elwynor. For that reason he wanted reliable
men there to watch& especially over the main road at Anas
Mallorn, north of Modeyneth, which was the only road that
would carry a large force rapidly to the heart of Amefel.
And that meant the men he was sending to the river had to have
supply enough to last the winter in case the weather turned worse.
So he had no choice but to borrow the king_s carts, weighing one
disaster against another, and knowing Cefwyn was better served
by a southern border in good order than by strict, uninformed
obedience to his orders.
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Such decisions, strategy, and maneuvering of armies, he could
make with a clear head and strong confidence. He had done all
that, and it weighed very little on his mind. It was the daily and
moment-by-moment details of the operation that eluded him, and
the details from which the sights and the sparkle of the sun
claimed his attention. He knew the captains should have argued
more strenuously about this day_s outing, about the carts, about
the decisions he made, but no one had, and that was his abiding
concern. They took his orders so well that no one told him his
mistakes these days, and Uwen came back to him with no more
than a shrug and a glance back at the drivers.
_Fools,_ Uwen said, tugging his hand into a gauntlet.
Uwen should be here, administering the town. But Uwen would
not let him ride out alone, and on the other hand, Amefel was too
volatile a command, the feeling against Guelenfolk far too bitter
to leave Captain Anwyll in charge of the capital. He left
command to Lord Drumman, whom he trusted, an Amefin, and
he hoped the Guelen Guard would create no new difficulty about
it& not mentioning the other earls. He was only now learning
which earl resented which other one in what particular respect.
But Drumman was generally liked. Therefore, he sent Anwyll to
do the one thing a determined Guelenman might do with the
goodwill of the earls: guard the river; Uwen he set in as much
authority as Uwen was willing to take, but today Uwen went with
him& his guard did, too, Guelen and conspicuously fair amid the
generally darker Amefin.
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_There_s Lord Meiden, m_lord,_ Lusin said, and indeed, a little
late himself, Earl Crissand had just ridden under the gate and past
the rear of the inbound carts.
But not just the earl. The earl brought with him his own escort,
the men of Meiden all cloaked and armed, and now completely
obstructing the small courtyard around the oxcarts& indeed,
Crissand_s guard turned out to exceed his own, a show of force
from a decimated house& he did not fail to notice it himself, as
all around him the men of his own, Guelen-born, escort stiffened
their backs and stared with misgivings.
Crissand, too, seemed to realize he had made a misstep, and rode
up much more meekly than he had ridden in. _My lord,_ Crissand
said, above the discontent lowing of oxen, and dismounted to pay
his respects. _I had expected far more men. Forgive me. Shall I
send back my guard?_
Did Crissand think so many guards prudent, and was Crissand
right in estimating safety and risk out in his own rural land?
Crissand was young as he, at least in apparent years, and did
many things to excess, but he had never seemed to be a fool
regarding Amefel, and knew his land. They were Crissand_s
villages they proposed to visit. Tristen_s eyes passed worriedly
over the situation, as confusion reigned for a moment in the small
yard and the Guelenmen of the Dragon Guard eyed the Amefin
of Crissand_s household in suspicious assessment amid the
oxcarts.
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In the same moment a stableboy oblivious to all the rivalry of
Guelen and Amefin escorts brought red Gery up, holding out the
reins. Tristen found it easier to set his foot in the stirrup and be
under way than to sort out the excess of guards and weapons and
precedences and this lord_s sensibilities and that lord_s distrust.
He was not unarmed, standing naked in his bath. He did not fear
Crissand.
_Bring them,_ he said to Crissand_s anxious looking up at him.
In truth he would be solely an Amefin lord, relying only on these
men, once he dismissed his Guelen forces back to Guelessar, as
he must when he had raised sufficient Amefin units. Was that
why Crissand had brought so many_that Crissand had proposed
to supply the escort for him?
How he would have a ducal regiment in any good order by spring
without setting one earl against another was another question_
which earldom would contribute men and how many? But it was
not today_s question& for once he was up and had Gery_s lively
force under him, the motion and the prospect of freedom chased
all more complex thoughts from his head. He was in the right
place; he had done the right things. He ached from too much
sitting in chairs and far too many difficult and contentious
decisions in recent days. He knew he had sat blind to the land he
was supposed to be governing, and hearing his choices only from
the lips of advisers. Now he had that saddle under him and Gery
willing and eager to move, he was eager to go, and circled Gery
about with an eye to the gate as Uwen and his guard mounted up.
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The two troops muddled ranks for a moment, then began to sort
out in fair good spirits.
The Dragon Guard themselves had been glad to have an outing
away from the barracks, and good humor prevailed, though
Tristen suspected a sharp rivalry still manifested in the haste and
smartness with which the banner of Amefel unfurled in Sergeant
Gedd_s hands. The Eagle on its red field made a brave splash of
color against the whites and browns and grays of the yard; and
after it the two black banners of his other honors unrolled from
their staffs, the Tower of the Lord Warden of Ynefel and the
Tower and Star of the Lord Marshal of Althalen& both honors
without inhabitants, but Amefin ones, so the Amefin made much
of them. It was a brave show; and protocol held the banner of the
Earl of Meiden to unfurl second: a blue banner with the Sun in
gold, as brave and bright as Earl Crissand himself, dark as his
fellow Amefin but with a glance like the summer sky. He might
have been embarrassed for a moment in the relative size of their
guards; but the day was so brisk and keen there was no resisting
the natural joy in him. There was love in Crissand Adiran, of all
the earls, a disposition to be near him, to seek his friendship_
and how could he have thought ill of Crissand_s reasons?
There was love, a reliable and a real love grown in a handful of
days, and Tristen did not know why it was: friendship had
happened to both of them, on the sudden, completely aside from
Tristen_s both endangering and saving Crissand_s life. It was no
reason related to that, it was no reason that either of them quite
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knew. Crissand had simply risen on his horizon like the sun of
his banner& and that was that. Prudence aside, putting by all
worry for master Emuin and his advice, and for the workmen and
for all the household, all in the friendship that had begun to exist,
they were together, and there was a great deal right with the day
simply in that.
With banners in the lead they rode out the iron-barred gates of
the Zeide, gate-guards standing to sharp attention to salute them.
The racket of their hooves echoed off the high frontages of the
great houses around about as, wasting no time in the square, they
began the downward course& numerous enough for an armed
venture rather than a ride for pleasure, and they drew curious
stares from those with business about the fortress gates, but as
they entered the street the sun broke from a moment of cloud,
shining all the way down the high street to midtown, lighting a
blinding white blanket on gables of the high frontages, and that
glorious sight gave no room for worry.
Traffic had worn off the snow in the streets to a little edge of
soiled ice, and the brown cobbles ran with disappointingly ugly
melt down that trace of sunlight, but above, about the eaves, all
was glorious. The houses grown familiar to Tristen_s eye from
the summer were all frosted with snow and hung with icicles, and
the sunlight danced and shone on them as they rode, shutters
dislodging small falls of snow and breakage of ice as they opened
for townsmen to see. The cheer in the company spread to the
onlookers, who waved happily at this first sight of their new lord
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outside the fortress walls, and in company with Amefin. Already
they had encouraged high spirits.
And, oh, the icicles& small ones, large ones, and a prodigious
great one at the gable of the baker_s shop, on a street as familiar
to Tristen_s sight as his own hallway atop the hill& familiar, yet
he had never noticed that gable, never noticed half the nooks and
crannies and overhangs of the high buildings that carried such
sun-touched jewelry today.
It seemed wondrous to him, even here in the close streets. He
turned to look behind them, gazing past the ranks of ill-assorted
guardsmen and cheering townsfolk as dogs yapped and gave
chase. It gave him the unexpected view of the high walls and iron
gates of the Zeide, all jeweled and shining as if enchantment had
touched them.
Lord Sihhë! someone shouted out then, at which he glanced
forward in dismay. Others called it out from the windows, Lord
Sihhë and Meiden! in high good cheer. The sound racketed
through the town, and people shouted it from the street.
Lord Sihhë indeed. That, he had not wished. The Holy Father in
Guelessar would never approve that title the people gave him;
and the local Quinalt patriarch, before whom he had to maintain a
good appearance, was sure to get the rumor of what the people
shouted. Feckless as he had been, he had learned the price words
cost, and he wished he could hush those particular cries& but
they did it of love, nothing ill meant, and it was all up and down
the street. The old blood might be anathema to the Guelen
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Quinalt; but among Amefin folk, who were Bryaltines, it was
honor they paid him. They shouted it in delight: Lord Sihhë and
Meiden! as Crissand waved happily at the onlookers, the
partnership of the oldest of Amefin houses with the banner of
Althalen, as it had been a hundred years ago, when Meiden was
the friend of the Sihhë& was it that they thought of?
Past the crossing at midtown, they gathered speed on the
relatively clear cobbles and jogged briskly downhill past a last
few side streets and the last few shops and trades, down to the
rougher, more temporary buildings near the walls. The town_s
lower gates stood open: they ordinarily did so by broad daylight;
and consequently there was no delay at all to their riding out, no
more concern for townsfolk and titles or the determined town
dogs. The wide snowy expanse beyond the dark stone arch was
freedom for a day.
He found himself lord of a changed land as he rode out& white,
white, where the brown of autumn had been, and before that, the
green and gold of enchanted summer& all gone, all buried and
blanketed and tucked away for the winter.
All the knotty questions of armies and rivalries and titles and
entitlements of lords fell away in broad, bright wonder, for if
breath-blurred windows had shown him the surrounding fields
and orchards as hazy white, the utter expanse of it had until now
escaped him. There just was no cease of it. Boundaries that all
summer and fall had said here is one field and here another, here
a meadow, there a field& all were overlain until stone fences and
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sheep-hedges made no more than ridges.
But while those grand lines had blurred, he had never, at the
distance of his windows, imagined the wealth of details written in
the new snow, the record of farmers_ traffic that told where men
and beasts had walked hours, even days ago. The landing of a
bird left traces, like marks on parchment.
Shadows of birds, too, passed on the snow, prompting him to
look up, and then to smile, for his birds flew above them,
outward bound, his silly, beloved pigeons, faring out on their
business, as by evening they would fly home to the towers and
ledges of the fortress, looking for bread and their perches. They
circled over once, and flew out ahead, seeming to have urgent
business in mind& a barn, perhaps the spill of a granary door:
the woods never suited them. The woods were Owl_s domain.
_Are they the ones from the tower?_ Crissand asked, himself
looking up.
_I think they are._
_Do they follow you?_ Crissand asked.
_They go where they like. I don_t govern them._
Did his birds fly sometimes far afield, and did they sometimes
meet the pigeons that nested at Ynefel?
He was not sure, indeed, that anything lived at Ynefel. He saw
them sweep a turn toward the west, indeed, away, away toward
the river& and equally toward the stony hills around ruined
Althalen. Ruins suited them well: they liked ledges and
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stonework. Certainly birds that dared nest at Ynefel, if they were
the same birds, would never fear Althalen.
_Nothing of omen,_ Crissand wondered in some anxiousness.
_No,_ he said as they rode, _only birds._
A cloud came, passed. Many clouds came and went, and fields
blazed white after shadow. Snow on bare gray apple branches
made lacework of the eastern view. Moving shadows grayed the
hills, and the sky was an amazing clear blue with fat wandering
clouds, while the morning_s fall cast a winter glamour on
common stones and roadside broom. The horses_ nostrils flared
wide, their ears pricked forward in the bracing air. Their steps
were willingly quick and light.
_Is it the South Road we use all the way?_ he asked Crissand at a
certain point. He had looked at maps; but the hills were a maze of
small trails, some missing from the charts, he much suspected,
and he was very willing to use a shortcut and go up into the
wonderful hills if Crissand knew one.
_Yes, my lord, south an hour,_ Crissand said, _to Padys Spring.
There_s an old shrine, and the village track to Levey comes in
there, only over the ridge. We_ll leave the main road there._
Padys rang not at all off memory, neither the village of Levey,
nor Padys Spring& though he was sure there should be water
where Crissand described a spring being.
But, also, to his vague thought, the name of the place was not
quite Padys.
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_Bathurys,_ he said suddenly, pleased to have caught it.
_M_lord?_
_Bathurys,_ he said. It seemed increasingly sure to him that that
was the proper name of the spring, as sometimes the very old
names came to him. There was a shrine, Crissand had already
said; but he was less sure of that fact.
But there at least should be a spring at a place called Bathurys,
and when he set a right name to it, he far better recalled the lay of
the land& thought of a village of gray stone, and flocks of sheep.
It was not so far a ride, then. He felt happy both in Gery_s free
and cheerful movement and in the increasing good temper of the
company around him. He even heard laughter among the soldiers
behind, and beside him, Uwen, who habitually was shy of lords_
company, was not shy in Crissand_s presence, and bantered
somewhat with Crissand_s captain, riding near them.
The two guard companies, the Dragons and the men of Meiden,
had fought each other with bloody determination the night of his
arrival; but the Dragons had also rescued Crissand and his men
from execution, so with this particular Guelen regiment, the tally
sheet of good and bad was mixed. Besides, the Dragons were a
Guelen company the Amefin held in higher regard than they had
ever held for the Guelen Guard, even before Parsynan_s rule
here: the Dragons, better disciplined, had never been hard-handed
with the townsfolk, never stolen, never done any of the things the
Guelens had done, so he had it reported. So, warily, cautiously,
goodwill grew, in the amity of the officers and the lords, so in the
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ranks.
And, truth, by the time they had passed the first rest and ridden
over the icy bridge, Uwen and the captain of Meiden_s house
guard were cheerfully comparing winters they had known, and
arguing about the merits of sheep, while the men in the ranks had
proceeded to local autumn, local ale, the taverns in Guelemara
and those in Amefel, and the women they knew.
The men found their ways of talking. But Tristen labored in his
converse with Crissand as if they were strangers, for all their
prior dealings had been policy and statecraft. Now they talked
idly, as common men did, about the autumn, the land, the flocks,
and the apples. Uwen, who had been a farmer before he was a
soldier, knew far more about any of these things, Tristen was
sure, but Crissand knew everything there was to know about
apples, their type, and their value. All Tristen found to do was
ask question and question and question. Crissand did know his
people_s trade, down to the tending of apple orchards and sheep,
which he had done with his own hands, and had no hesitation in
the answers. _The flocks are most of my people_s living,_
Crissand said, _more so than the orchards in the last five years,
since the blight. Lord Drumman_s district is all orchards of one
kind and another. So is Azant_s. But we fared well enough in
Meiden, since we have both sheep and apples: the barley never
does well, to speak of: that comes from the east and from Imor
and Llymaryn._
And again, after a time, Crissand said, _Lewenbrook was hardest
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on Levey of all Meiden_s villages. Fourteen dead is a heavy toll
for a village of two hundred, six more wounded, seven lost with
my guard, a fortnight gone. That_s a quarter of all the village, and
every man they had between sixteen and thirty._
Tristen had not reckoned the dead in those terms, but it came
clear to him, such a hardship.
_A great many widows for a small village,_ Crissand said, _and
them to do the spring plowing, except I gift younger sons from
some of my other villages to go and plant for the widows when
they_ve seen to their own fields._
_We will not have Amefel for a battlefield again,_ Tristen vowed,
with all knowledge Cefwyn was going to war and that he must.
He would not have the war cross the river. He was resolved on
that.
_Gods grant,_ Crissand said fervently.
Sun flashed about them when Crissand said it. It had been a
moment of cloud, which passed& and indeed now there was
certainly no tardiness in the heavens, though the wind was still.
Spots of sunlight came and went with increasing rapidity across
the land, glorious patches of light and gray shadow on the snow.
The talk was, albeit puzzling to him, also enlightening, even in
this first part of their ride, of the things Crissand and the other
lords had suffered, and what the villages needed. They had a
certain shyness of each other at the first, and Crissand seemed to
worry about offending him, telling the truth as Crissand would,
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but everything Crissand said, he heard. From orchards and sheep
they talked on about this and that, gossiped about various of the
lords, but none unkindly: Drumman_s ambition for a new breed
of sheep, Azant_s daughter_s two marriages, her widowed at
Lewenbrook, only seven days a bride_but not the only tragedy.
Parsynan, so he had no difficulty understanding at all, had done
nothing to mend the situation in the villages, nothing to recover
Emwy from its destruction, nothing to help Edwyll_s heavy
losses, only to collect taxes for the coronation levy and further
punish the villages that had helped win the day.
_Then the king_s men came counting granaries and sheep again,_
Crissand said, _and that was the thing that pushed my father
toward rebellion, my lord. We_ve no villages starving yet, but by
next year they_d be eating the seed corn, and that, that, my lord,
there_s no recovering. So the Elwynim offer tempted my father,
and the king_s men made him angry. That_s the truth of it. I don_t
excuse our actions, but I report the reason of them._
_I_ve yet to understand all Parsynan_s reasons,_ Tristen said, _but
at least by what I_ve seen, he built nothing. And I want the
repairs made and no great amount spent, and no gold ornaments,
and none of this. Yet they want to carve the doors, which is a
great deal of expense, and more time, yet everyone, even the
servants, say I should do it& while the villages want food. Is that
good sense?_
_Our duke shouldn_t have plain doors,_ Crissand said, _and if he
understands the plight of the villages and sees to it they have
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grain, there_s no man will complain about the duke_s doors._
_I need troops to the riverside more,_ Tristen said in a low voice,
still discontent with the delays for wood-carving, more and more
convinced he should never have been persuaded to agree to it at
all. _Any door would do to shut out the cold. I need canvas, I
need bows, and I need horses and food._
_To attack Elwynor, my lord?_
_To keep the war out of Amefel. And the armory. There_s
another difficulty. Parsynan did nothing to maintain it; Lord
Heryn kept it badly; Cefwyn set it to rights, and when the master
armorer left to go with the king, Parsynan set no one in charge of
it, and there_s no agreement between the tally and what_s there. I
brought a good man back with me, Cossun, master Peygan_s
assistant, and he can_t find records there or in the archive._
_I fear there was theft,_ Crissand said. _I even fear my men did
some of it. But those weapons we have&_ Crissand did not look
at him when he added, _& even today. But Meiden wasn_t the
only one to take weapons. The garrison made free of it, if my
lord wants the truth. The Guelen Guard._
_Yet where are the weapons?_
_Sold in the town, and pledged for drink, and such, in the
taverns. The weapons are there, my lord, just not in the armory.
Except if there was gold or silver, and that might have gone gods
know where. To the purveyors of wine and ale and food, not to
mention other things._
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It was a revelation. So were many things, in this fortnight of his
rule here. Everywhere he looked there was another manifestation
of Parsynan_s flagrant misrule, another particular in which a self-
serving man had stripped the town and the garrison of whatever
value might have served the people of Amefel. The Guelens, lax
in discipline under Parsynan_s rule, had seemed to view the
Amefin armory as a place from which to take what they would_
and knowing what he knew, yes, he could believe no officer had
prevented it.
_Did you hear that, Uwen?_
_Aye,_ Uwen said, soberly. _An_ I ain_t surprised if those
weapons is scattered through town, an_ I ain_t surprised if a lot of
legs has helped _em walk there, not just the Guelens. Metal_s
metal, m_lord, an_ a good blade for a tanner or a wheelwright,
that ain_t unlikely at all. Is it?_ Uwen asked of the Meiden
captain.
The man agreed. _I wouldn_t be surprised._
_And the archive?_ Tristen asked Crissand.
_A man who wanted to remove a deed or change one,_ Crissand
said, _could do that, for gold. That was always true. Which is as
good as stealing, but in one case it was done twice, once by Lord
Cuthan, and then by a lord I_ll not willingly name, my lord,
changing it back, so it never went to trial, because the archivist
was taking money from both, and the last won. So I_d not believe
any record that came to the assizes, my lord, because any could
be forged. Some lands have two deeds, both sworn and sealed,
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and only the neighbors know the truth. So it comes to the court,
and so my lord will decide on justice._
He had not yet dealt with the question of contested lands, of
which he knew there were several cases pending, and he found it
even more daunting by what Crissand said.
And now he knew at least two things he was sure Crissand had
drawn him out here to say, and none of it favoring the Guelen
Guard or the viceroy_s rule here. The lord viceroy was gone; but
the Guelen captain was not, and since the war needed the Guelen
troops, their usefulness presented him a dilemma, two
necessities, one for troops, the other simply not to have theft
proceeding, especially of equipment.
The province had mustered for the war, he began to understand,
and the weapons had just not gone back to the armory: the town
was armed, and had been so, and yet the young men had no great
skill in using the weapons. Hence so many of them had died at
Lewenbrook. He did not like what he heard, not of the treatment
of the contents of the armory, not of the forgery of records.
_They should not go on doing this,_ Tristen said with firm intent.
_They will not go on doing it._
_Your Guelen clerk has taken no bribes,_ Crissand said. _An
honest man in office has thrown certain lords into an
embarrassing position: the last man to change a document may
not be the right man, as everyone knows him to be, and there_s a
fear the whole thing will come out. Trust none of Cuthan_s
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documents, and be careful of Azant_s, on my honor& he_s a
good man, my lord, but he_s done what he had to do, to counter
Cuthan_s meddling. He regrets it, and now he_s afraid. If Your
Grace asked all of them to return the deeds to what they were
under Lord Heryn, it might be a fair solution. I say so, knowing
I_ll lose and Azant will gain by that, but I think it_s fair, and it
would make Azant very happy with Your Grace._
He heard that. He heard a great many things of like import.
_This is all Levey_s care,_ Crissand said finally, as they came
over a hill. Gray haze of apple trees showed against the snow,
acres of them. _These are their orchards. But the hills about here
are sheep pasture& good pasture, in summer. A prosperous
village, if it hadn_t lost so many men. The spring_s not far now,
my lord._
The snow had confounded all landmarks. He knew he had ridden
past this place before, but it was all strange to his eye, and no
villager had stirred, here& the snow ahead of them was pure,
trackless, drifted up near the rough stone walls of the orchard.
_Do you hunt, my lord?_ The wind picked up, and Crissand
pulled up the hood of his cloak. _There_s fine hunting in the
woods eastward, past the orchards. Hare and fox._
_No,_ Tristen said, flinching from the thought, the stain on the
pure snow. _I prefer not._
None of your tallow candles, master Emuin had said. Nothing
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reeking of blood and slaughter. Nothing ever, if he had his way.
He had seen blood enough for a lifetime.
There was a small silence. Perhaps he had given too abrupt a
refusal. Perhaps he had made Crissand ill at ease, wondering how
his lord had taken offense.
_Yet Cook must have something for the kitchens, mustn_t she?_
Tristen said, attempting to mend it. _So some will hunt. I don_t
prefer it for myself._
_What do you favor for sport, my lord?_
He blinked at the shifting land above Gery_s ears and tried to
imagine all the fair things that filled his idle hours, a question he
had asked himself when he saw laughing young men throwing
dice or otherwise amusing themselves, cherishing their hounds or
hawks.
Or courting young women. He was isolate and unused to
fellowship. Haplessly, foolishly, he thought of his pigeons, and
the fish sleeping in the pond in the garden, and of his horses,
which he valued.
Riding was something another young man might understand, of
things that pleased him.
_His Grace is apt to thinking,_ Uwen said in his long silence.
Uwen was wont to cover his lapses, especially when his lord had
been foolish, or frightened people.
_Forgive me,_ Tristen said on his own behalf. _I was wondering
what I do favor. Riding, I think._ That was closest. So was
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reading, but it was rarely for pleasure, more often a quest after
some troubling concept. _So long as the snow is no thicker than
this, we might ride all about the hills and visit all the villages,
might we not?_
_Snow never comes deep before Wintertide, not in all my
memory._
_And I had far rather wade through this than answer questions
about the doors._
_As you are lord of Amefel you may have carved what you like,
and do what you like. The people do love you. So do we all, my
lord, all your loyal men._
That rang strangely, ominously out of the air, and lightly as he
knew it was meant, he felt dread grow out of it, dread of
encounters, dread learned where strangers feared other strangers,
and encounters were mostly unpleasant. He felt shy, and afraid of
a sudden, afraid of his own power over men_s lives. He felt afraid
because Crissand felt afraid of him, and it should not be so. The
other lords feared him. So did the common folk. He recalled the
breaking forth of Sihhë stars on doorways, the cheers in the
streets. _Love?_ He thought on that a moment.
There was a small silence this time on Crissand_s side. _That you
are Sihhë is no fault in their eyes._
_I am a Summoning and a Shaping,_ he said with more
directness of his heart than he had ever used on that matter, even
with Uwen, who rode close on his other side, Crissand_s captain
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somewhat back in the column for a word with another man.
_That I may be Sihhë seems mere afterthought to being a dead
Sihhë._
_M_lord,_ Uwen protested, and Crissand:
_You are our fair lord. None better. None better!_
_A Shaping, and a fool. Uwen knows. Cefwyn_s captain tells me
so._
_Spite._
_No, I value that in him. And Uwen bears very patiently with my
mistakes, knowing all my flaws, and keeps me from the greatest
disasters&_
_M_lord!_ Even Uwen was scandalized and did not return his
fond smile.
_But you do so, and it is true, Uwen. I value your counsel as I
value the Lord Commander_s, and your protection above his._
_M_lord,_ Uwen muttered, embarrassed. But it was still true.
What Uwen gave him was beyond price or valuation; and he
wished ever so much that he might have that kind of honesty
from Crissand. He thought he had had it for a moment, and then
it had turned to the flattering and the worship Crissand gave him,
and he felt that change like a wound.
_Uwen is my friend,_ Tristen said to Crissand, riding knee to
knee with him, _and Lusin and my guards are my friends, and
Tassand and my servants are my friends. And so is king Cefwyn
and master Emuin and Her Grace of Elwynor; they know I_m a
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fool. His Highness Prince Efanor was kind to me, too, and gave
me a book of devotions he greatly values. He thinks I_m a
heretic. Commander Idrys of the Dragons, too; he calls me a fool
and a danger, and I regard his advice. Annas, and Cook, here in
Amefel, master Haman, all were kind to me, and I think they
regard me as somewhat simple. But Guelessar was a lonely place.
Lords, ladies, the servants in the halls and the cook and his men
and all, all used to gods-bless themselves and didn_t deal with
me._
_They_re Quinalt,_ Crissand said, as if that explained all the
world.
_So is Uwen._
_Not that good a Quinaltine,_ Uwen said under his breath.
_And Cefwyn is my friend,_ Tristen continued doggedly to his
point. _If you wish to be my friend, Crissand Adiran, if you
become my friend, you should know that I hold Cefwyn in
friendship._
_For your sake I give up all complaint against him._
_And will bear him goodwill?_
He had the gift, Emuin had advised him, of both asking and
telling too much truth, challenging the polite lies that kept men
from inconveniencing each other and the great lies that kept men
from each other_s throats. He had learned to moderate that, and
wield silence somewhat more often.
But with this young earl who had first met him at sword_s edge
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and then sworn to him more extravagantly than all the other
earls, with this young man who had brought him here to pour
half-truths into his ear, he cast down the question like a gage, to
see whether Crissand would pick it up or find a polite and empty
phrase to avoid allegiance to the Marhanen& and truth to him.
Either way, he would thus declare the measure of their friendship.
_What will you, my lord?_ Again Crissand attempted to dance
sideways, disappointingly so. _I bear all goodwill to the king._
Uwen cleared his throat and said in a diffident tone, and without
looking quite at Crissand: _His Grace is inclined to want the
plain truth from a man on any number of points, your lordship,
more _n some is used to, but he ain_t ever apt to hold the truth
again_ a man. Bein_ as he_s no older _n last spring, when he come
into this world, he_ll ask ye things ye might wonder at, meanin_
no disrespect by it. But ye_ll have the truth from _im, if ye will to
have it._
It took courage for Uwen to speak up as he had, a common man,
to what Uwen called his betters. But Uwen had shepherded him
through courts and village streets and knew him as no other man
did, and sometimes spoke for him when the going had gotten too
tangled. Not even Cefwyn, nor even Emuin, knew him as Uwen
did.
_Then I must tell the truth,_ Crissand said in that silence that
followed, _and this is the foremost truth: His Majesty_s law may
call my father a traitor, and it_s true, traitor to the Marhanen; and
so am I. Nor do I repent anything I did. You would have saved
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my father, I well know. I would that my father had lived and that
the lord viceroy had died. From the time I was accountable of
anything, my father told me no good could come to Amefel while
a Marhanen sat the throne in Guelessar and Heryn Aswydd in
Henas_amef. And, yes, Heryn was kin of ours. But no one of my
house mourned him_nor were we surprised when the king in
Guelemara sent Heryn_s sisters to a nunnery and set the viceroy
over us. Nor were we at all surprised when the viceroy was a
thief. Need he be better than Heryn Aswydd?_
All of that Tristen well understood. But the conclusion of it he
did not. _Did you hope for better from Tasmôrden?_
_No. We hoped Tasmôrden would set my father in power. And
after that, my father would see to Amefel. None other would. I_m
not surprised to know there were no troops, nor would there be,
coming to our relief. And when Cuthan betrayed us and you
came and when the Guelen viceroy ordered us killed, I had no
more hope. But I was not surprised._ A small silence followed. It
was no good memory, and Crissand gathered a deep breath and a
brisker voice. _But when you came into that courtyard and
rescued us, and you did justice, my lord, for the first time in a
hundred years, someone did justice for men of Amefel, I knew
my father didn_t die in vain, that after all we have a lord I will
follow. And if you bid me be loyal to the king, for your sake, my
lord, then gods save the king in Guelemara, I say it with all my
heart._
That was a very great thing for an Amefin to say.
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And when Crissand said gods save the king, Tristen unthinkingly
resorted to the gray space in simple startlement, a recourse for a
wizard_s Shaping as easy as a next breath or a wondering beyond
the words and into the real motion of a man_s heart. He sped into
that space with an awareness of the men closest on either hand, a
feather-touch of awareness, of the familiar.
Uwen, for instance: Uwen was rather like a rock, steady,
ordinary, incontrovertible, neither there nor quite aware of the
things in that space, but coming quite close to reaching it, at
times, through familiarity with him. The Meiden captain was
dimmer in his awareness. So with the rest of the guards.
But Crissand glowed, faintly but incontrovertibly there. Crissand
Earl Meiden himself was distant cousin to the aethelings of
Henas_amef, and, with the aetheling blood came wizard-gift.
Crissand to all seeming had not a glimmering awareness of the
gift that was in him& a gift perhaps enough to bend luck in
Crissand_s favor. Luck had failed Crissand_s father, whose
heredity was at least half the same; yet Crissand said it: the cause
had prospered. Luck had allowed Crissand_s men to save him
from the viceroy_s order, so that Crissand and his mother both
had lived.
And on that thought Tristen took a small pause, a cold small
thought, that Crissand_s slight gift, his luck, was a pivot on which
greater things turned, and when things were free to move, then
wizardry had its best chance. On a small pin, a great gate swung.
Whose wizardry had it been? Or might it be magic at work, that
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sense that, somewhere, long ago, he had known Crissand Adiran,
or someone very like him?
But Crissand in the gray space now had not a glimmer of ill will.
Rather Crissand shone with a pure, plain, and dangerous folly of
adoration, a heady wine for anyone who drank.
Like Emuin_s insistence on beeswax, it came with wizard-force,
and sober as he had grown this autumn, such blithe excess of
adoration frightened him. But in the reckless outpouring of
Crissand_s heart, he found Crissand_s happiness and hope spread
about him. Even the house guard and the Dragons had made a
sort of conversational peace, and the world was incredibly fair
and bright despite the grim talk of recent moments. Sunlight
through the scudding, gray-bottomed clouds cast sparkling detail
where it touched, random grains of snow shining like dust of pale
jewels to left and to right of an untrodden road, and every hill
and every copse of trees offered new beauty. Creature of a single
year, he had imagined winter when it came would be deathly
still, and instead he discovered it full of sparkle and motion and
wonder around him, and he was warmed by unquestioning love.
Could there be a snare in too much beauty? Could there be too
much expectation of good, and too much faith?
Could ever there be too much love?
And could love require lies?
He asked himself that. He had drawn Crissand once into the gray
space himself, though he doubted Crissand had since ventured it
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on his own. He doubted, too, that Crissand had any least notion
what had happened to him in that moment, or how he had found
himself confronted while absent and, coatless and desperate, sent
out into the snow.
He could teach Crissand, he thought, how to reach that place
where concealment was very difficult. He was sure Crissand_s
gift was strong enough. But to set Crissand at liberty in that
place& there were dangers in it, dangers in the gift, dangers in
the wandering. Dared he believe Crissand would never venture it
on his own?
But Crissand_s attention was suddenly for a snowy ridge. He
pointed to it and said, with a whitened barleyfield on the one
hand and a bare-limbed apple orchard on the other, that they were
coming to the crossroads.
_There is Padys Ridge, and the shrine and the spring just below
it._
A very old oak, winter-bare, fronted that ancient outcrop, sole
wild representative of his kind in an otherwise tame land of
orchards and small, pruned trees. Just beyond it, still within the
reach of its limbs, snow-covered, was the slight evidence of a
road.
_There_s our turn to Levey, my lord._
_Banners!_ Uwen ordered, as they turned onto that track beside
the oak, and the banners, dark and bright, unfurled.
Crissand had said there was a shrine of sorts. Indeed, with the
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scouring of the morning_s wind, a small pile of man-set stones
was peeping out from its snow blanket. It recalled one near
Emwy village far to the west. That had been summer. The spring
here was frozen where it flowed out of the natural rock, and had
made a glorious mass of icicles.
_Padys Spring and the shrine, my lord. One of the last of the old
places. The king_s men overthrew most, wherever they found
them. I ask you_ll keep it. The village sets great store by it._
_A shrine of the Bryalt?_ he asked, largely ignorant of gods,
study as he would in Efanor_s little book.
_Perhaps older, my lord. Though Bryalt offerings may turn up
here, the king_s law and the Quinalt notwithstanding._ Crissand
spoke in the hearing of Guelenmen, in Uwen_s hearing most of
all, and was surely aware it. _We go uphill from here, a clear,
smooth road, as I recall it, no ditches or pits to fear on either
side._
No track disturbing the snow since the last snowfall, either, but
the blanket sank down considerably in a long line through the
ridge, showing where the road was, and the stone sheep walls on
either side, visible ahead of them, confirmed it. They rode past
old stones, and many of the Guelenmen made a small sign
against harm.
_The farmer folk are staunch Bryaltine,_ Crissand began to say as
they rode past.
But just as they passed under the spreading branches of the oak a
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fierce gust of wind blew past them, driving the banners sideways
and startling the horses with a pelting of snow from laden
branches.
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Chapter 2
«
^
»
Gods!_ Crissand said in dismay, and reined up sharply& for an
old woman stood by the shrine, so gray and brown in her shawl
and skirts she might have been part of the oak in the last blink of
their eyes. She had drawn her shawl over her gray head, but
hanks of her hair flew in the gale and the driven snow. She had a
necklace hung with smooth river stones and knots of straw. Her
skirts were weighted with braided cords and coins, and the
fringes of her shawl flew wild as the icy wind skirled up.
_Gods!_ Crissand said a second time, with an anxious laugh,
soothing his horse with his off hand. _You gave me a fright,
mother. I don_t know you. Are you from Levey?_
She was no stranger and no common woman, Tristen knew it,
and held Gery still: Uwen had halted beside him. So had all the
column behind halted, and the banner-bearers ahead had turned
back to face the woman in dismay.
_Auld Syes,_ Tristen said, for to name a thing was to have some
power to bid it. _What brings you so far from Emwy?_
_Why, I come to bring the lord of Amefel to his senses,_ the old
woman said, and pointed a bony bare arm from out of the clutch
of flying fringes, stark and commanding as the wind continued to
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blow. _Lord of Amefel and the aetheling! Why do I find the
twain of you riding west like common fools, when your road lies
south? South for friends, lord of Amefel, north and east for foes,
and blest the lord who knows one from the other! Mistake them
not again, lord of Amefel!_
North for enemies and south for friends was no news; but east
was Guelessar, and the king& and many another enemy, the
barons not least. Tristen doubted nothing, and listened with ears
and heart. Auld Syes had told him truth before.
And aetheling she said, the lord of Amefel and the aetheling, as
if they were not the same thing& the twain of you, she said, lord
and aetheling_which met his heart with a loud echo of all the
wonderings he had had to himself. The guards who heard might
not have heard that salutation in the same way: the common folk
attributed both titles to him. Perhaps even Crissand failed to
gather that implied duality.
But he did, and sat staunchly holding the red mare still between
his knees, resolved not to flinch no matter the news out of the
east.
_Lord of Amefel I am now. What shall I do for you, lady of
Emwy?_
_Can truly you do aught, new lord? Have you true power, or is it
only illusion you wield?_
A second shot winged home with an accuracy that might miss all
attention but Uwen_s: Illusion was one of the two words
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hammered in silver on the blade of the sword he bore at his side;
Truth was written on the other, in bright letters of long ago, and
of all men present, only Uwen knew what the writing on the
blade signified: Uwen, and this old woman.
Of a sudden he found himself afraid, trembling with the old
woman_s challenge not in the gray space but on the earth and in
it, and under his horse_s feet. The blade he had rarely drawn, that
dark metal presence that generally lurked quiescent at his
hearthside.
Truth& and illusion. He was both, and would she show him the
division in himself?
_If I have power to grant anything for you, lady, that will I._
_The living king at last sits in judgment. South, south, lord of
Amefel, fare south today. And when you find my sparrows, my
little birds, lord of Amefel, warm them, feed them. The wind is
too cold._
His bones shook. He could not obtain his next breath.
_Find my sparrows!_ Auld Syes cried, or the wind cried to him.
_Find my sparrows when you have found your friends!_ A brutal
gust slammed into the banners, tilting them despite the struggles
of the bearers, who swung them into the teeth of the gale. Horses
shied up, some fighting to bolt, but battle-trained Gery danced in
place, head up, ears flat. Auld Syes still stood at the center of the
gale, her fringes and her necklaces flying about her as the winds
circled round and round her, winding her strings of amulets and
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charms, tangling their yarns. Streaks appeared in the snow
around her, short, broad gouges that kicked up new-fallen snow,
passing around and around her like the skips of dancers.
Whatever veil Auld Syes had parted to reach into the world was
closing with a vengeance, and other spirits flowed along the
edges of her power, spirits more dangerous and less wise.
_Lad!_ Uwen cried in alarm, and the wind dislodged snow from
the oak above them, a thicker and thicker curtain of white that
hid the old woman in its heart, a gray shadow.
_Auld Syes!_ Tristen shouted, disturbed by this talk of sparrows,
friends, and kings. _Auld Syes, I am not done with questions for
you! May I hold you?_
_Bid me under your roof, lord of Amefel!_ The voice was fading
now, obscured in the wind. _Dare you do so?_
_Come at your will, Auld Syes!_
_Gods,_ someone breathed. It might have been Crissand. It might
have been Uwen. He himself invoked no more power than
already roared about them as the veil of snow collapsed.
Then the wind slacked enough to clear the air, and to their eyes
there was no woman, only tear-shaped streaks in a great broad
ring, around and around where she had stood. Of Syes_ feet there
was no track at all: pure and undisturbed, the snow lay in the
center of that ring, and the snow that fell now in fat clumps
plopped down onto the stacked stones. A plain clay bowl, filled
with snow, sat atop that pile, as the bowls had stood on the altar
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table in the Quinaltine, this open to the sky and filled with a
winter offering, to what gods was uncertain.
_Gods save us._ That was Lusin, chief of his guards, and Uwen
with a rapid gesture signed safety to them all, a Guelenman, a
Quinalt man by upbringing, asking, _Lad, are we safe here?_
_We ride south,_ Tristen said, turning Gery_s head. _I think that
was what she wanted._ He beheld guardsmen_s faces as shocked
as Crissand_s. Snow had stuck to the sides of helmets and stuck
in the eyelets of mail coats and the coats of the horses, while
more was falling from the sky, thicker and thicker, not the knife
edge of sleet, now, but soft, wet clumps that stuck where they
landed. Banners hung limp, all in the shelter of the oak.
_This is the road to Levey,_ Crissand said faintly and foolishly,
as if his guidance were called in question along with their safety.
_I am not mistaken in this._
_Then our journey is not to Levey,_ Tristen said, and by the folly
of that protest guessed that Crissand was far yet from
understanding Auld Syes or any other spirit that might go about
her, some of them dangerous to more than life. _Ride back to the
town, you and your men, before the weather becomes worse.
Uwen and I will go on, with my guard. I can_t say what we may
meet._
_No, my lord! And the woman said, did she not, friends to the
south? What should we fear?_
What indeed? Much, he answered the question in his own heart.
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_So she did,_ he said aloud, _but I can_t speak to what sort of
friends._
The Guelenmen in the company, his own standard-bearers, and
his four guards, looked more dismayed than Crissand and his
men, and Uwen, who had met Auld Syes before this, bore a
willing but worried frown.
_Last time she came, m_lord,_ Uwen said, _there were no good
event, and men died for_t._
_Yet she never did us harm,_ Tristen said. Truth: a king and a
Regent had fallen, and men had died at her first appearance; at
her second appearance, which Uwen had not seen, he had been in
peril of his own life, but he had found Ninévrisë as a result of it.
Now he saw no choice: Auld Syes warned them, yes, but to his
understanding of her nature she was not responsible for what then
followed. And with a touch of his heels on Gery_s sides, he
threaded the column back through itself to reach the main road.
There he turned south, and Sergeant Gedd and the two other men
carrying the banners urged their horses through low drifts and up
the side of a ditch to get to the fore of him. The Guelenmen were
bound by their honor and the king_s order to go on if he would;
but true to his word and also for honor_s sake, Crissand and his
men did not part their company, either. No more did he forbid
them as Crissand came riding up the slant of the ditch to catch up
with him and Uwen, the Amefin captain trailing him and slipping
on the steep.
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Snow began to fall more finely and more quickly from the sky,
graying all the world as the wind swept down with a renewed
vengeance, scouring blasts that carried so much snow that in a
moment the trees of the apple orchard stood like gray ghosts, and
the low wall was a faint shadow. The standard-bearers had never
yet furled the banners. Now they rode with them tilted doggedly
forward as if they defied the wind itself, a knife-edged and
formless enemy that whisked their cloaks away from their bodies
while they struggled two-handed and half-blind to keep the
banners from being torn away.
_Furl the standards!_ Tristen called out to them, dismayed at such
gallant folly. What did they think they fought? he asked himself;
and the next gust shook even the horses, and in better sense than
their masters they tried to turn their backs; but riders forced them
around into it by rein and heel. Meanwhile the imperiled banners
came safely in, and the banner-bearers snatched their cloaks
about their bodies. The cold had grown bitter. Crissand struggled
with his coif and the reins and an escaping cloak edge, and
Tristen was glad of both coif and heavy cloak.
_We_ll be off the road in another such,_ Uwen said through
chattering teeth. _An_ fallin_ in the ditch an_ not found till spring.
I hope to the gods ye can see our way, m_lord; I can_t._
Tristen knew his way, sure at least that he knew where south was,
but he pitied the men and the horses. He had never truly dared the
gray space with Auld Syes, and only for his men_s sake and
justice did he try it now. _Auld Syes!_ he said aloud, here and
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there alike, to whatever might be listening. _We_re doing as you
wish! What more will you? Is this your doing, Auld Syes?_
The wind had a voice, and it spoke, but not so any man could
understand it. What Auld Syes would and would not was without
care for mortal discomfort or men_s lives& so he feared: Auld
Syes had made her effort and had left them to their fate.
But one there was not immune to pity.
_Seddiwy!_ he called out. _Speak kindly to your mother!_ For as
he thought of it, Auld Syes_ daughter might well be in this
capricious upheaval of the elements, a shadow, certainly, if she
still played skip and raced about the old woman_s skirts. The
wind itself might be a child_s game, a game of shadows,
sometimes prankish, sometimes deadly to her mother_s foes&
small willful child in dangerous company.
But potent child, for all that.
_Seddiwy! Cease this!_
It seemed someone heard, for the gale fell away so suddenly that
the wall of wind against which they leaned was suddenly absent.
Gery threw her head up, whinnied at the empty air, and gave a
little skip in startlement.
Crissand set a hand behind him and looked all about, as if
looking for apparitions or worse.
_She_s a shadow,_ Tristen said, _a little girl. She means no harm
to us. The elements are overturned with her mother_s goings and
comings, at least that may be the cause._
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_A little girl!_
_A mischievous one. But good-hearted._
_I take you at your word, my lord._ Crissand_s voice was hushed
and thin, and no less than the guards and the other captain, Uwen
looked warily about him& justly so: more than a child might
manifest about Auld Syes.
But now that the gusts had ceased, the snow began to congeal in
great soft lumps as it fell, so that now they could see the road and
the roll of the ditches alongside it quite clearly through a veil of
fat, white puffs.
_There_s a moment,_ Crissand said at last, breathlessly, in their
apparent rescue. _There_s a moment I shan_t forget so long as I
live. Good gods, you keep uncommon allies, my lord._
_She_s Amefel_s ally,_ Tristen said, for so it had always seemed
to him. The air was less cold where they rode, now, yet a glance
confirmed a shadow, an impression of dark in the all-enveloping
gray, boding storm in the west. _Uwen_s right that she_s warned
of ambushes before now. She spoke to me in the woods at Emwy
near such a spring, and it may be, such a shrine._
He suspected he had never told that to Uwen, and did not explain
now, but brought all his faculties to bear on the road southward,
searching through the white distance and testing within the gray
space unseen to the rest of them whether there was any presence
on the road behind or ahead.
He felt all the cold-stung men beside him quite clearly, the faint
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and distant presence of what must be Levey village away and to
the west.
He felt Gery under him and the horses around him, and he felt the
dim presence of living things out across the orchards, small
creatures, perhaps a rabbit in its burrow, or in a brush heap. Auld
Syes spoke of sheltering birds; but he knew it to mean something
else, and urgent, as he distractedly hoped for the safety of his
birds and all creatures who had set out so blithely unforeseeing a
storm such as this.
He had not foreseen it. Emuin had not. And all the wizard-sense
he owned felt something ominous in the west this hour,
something that otherwise should make them turn now and fare
home quickly, to put themselves behind walls and wards.
And now he recalled how he had felt foreboding even before he
had set out from Guelessar: a sense of threat, from a hill above
the king_s forest.
Do you find anything amiss? he had asked Emuin today, and had
no answer, only talk of beeswax candles.
And why? Why indeed? And why no warning of storm or magic
today, when the like of Auld Syes arrived out of the winter with
warnings and directions to venture out?
He was not comforted, even while he pressed red Gery forward
in the snow.
_Do you hear me, sir? he asked Emuin. Do you yet hear me?
Do you know what_s happened?
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Was it anger that moved him? He was close to it, beset like this
and taken without warning. He had found baffling Emuin_s
deserting the king to come with him in the first place, and yet
never having advice for him, nor even traveling with him on the
road.
He found Emuin_s dereliction more and more portentous and
troubling in light of Auld Syes_ appearance just now, and still he
rode through this storm telling himself that, of course, wizards
had their ways and their necessary silences.
Oh, yes, Emuin had warned him& warned him Emuin feared his
wishes and his will, and wished him to use either as sparingly as
possible. So it was perfectly understandable that Emuin kept
silent on all manner of things.
But something, perhaps even the extremity of the effort, had sent
Auld Syes away with an appeal to him to invite her past the
wards that surrounded him, and now violence boded in the west,
and still Emuin said nothing, though others had acted. This was
beyond prudence regarding what he would do. This silence
encompassed what others intended, and he grew vastly out of
sorts with it.
Conversation had meanwhile ceased among the guardsmen
behind him, except the Guelenmen asked in the quiet of the fall
was there ever the like, and the Amefin swore they had never
seen anything to equal this weather.
_Are we still in Meiden lands?_ Uwen wanted to know, and, yes,
the Amefin captain said, they were still in his lord_s lands, but
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only scarcely. Past the next brook Meiden_s lands ceased, and the
aged earl of Athel held sway.
It was a distant sound to him, their talk, in the strange quiet of the
snowfall, like the floating silence of a dream, as if some magic
had made an isle of calm around them and kept the dark of the
storm elsewhere at bay. Seddiwy_s lingering mischief or merely
the troubling of nature Auld Syes had wrought, flurries of white
appeared, but confined themselves to the hills and the horizon,
small opaque patches beyond which they could not see.
They rode thus for an hour, at least, in such gentle snowfall,
meeting no great accumulation on the road, which seemed
unnaturally spared of the drifts that deepened on the hills, and the
men_s wonder informed him that, no, this was not the ordinary
conduct of snowstorms.
They began to ride out of their area of peace as they rode into the
sheep-meadows of the southern hills. A wind almost as fierce as
the first stung their faces with sleet like icy sand and made the
horses go with half-shut eyes and flattened ears.
_How far shall we ride?_ some guardsman complained, and
Uwen said, _Far as His Grace wishes it, man. Bear wi_ it._
Soon now, was Tristen_s increasing conviction. And now it
seemed to him that the opposing storm was not all troubled
nature, but that someone, somewhere, troubled nature
deliberately, opposing Auld Syes, never wishing her to speak to
him: she had asked his summons, his leave, which opened his
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wards to her, as a fugitive might ask a door be left unlocked.
It was dangerous, what she had asked; so was what he had
granted; and yet thus far the only penalty of his venture was a
dusting of snow and the chill that numbed and made decision
difficult. Someone else, someone opposed to Auld Syes, instead
of Seddiwy, might have roused this weather to make things
difficult, but had no power or no desire to make it worse, and that
someone else might even be master Emuin, angry at the venture,
but he did not think so.
With sudden sureness, however, he knew the friends Auld Syes
had warned him of were just the other side of the hill. Awareness
of a presence reached through the gray of his Sight and into his
heart& a faint glow about Crissand and another such glow of
presence in the storm-blown haze ahead of them, blue and soft,
advisory of wizard-gift.
There, his heart said. It was someone uncommon.
And a friend? Almost he dared guess, and his heart lifted.
Welcome, he said to the white before them, and just then, on a
hill made invisible by the blowing white, shadows of riders
appeared as if in midair, three riders who approached them, each
with a second, shadowy horse at lead.
Then came four, five, and two more out of the white, men whose
colors were the snow and the storm themselves.
Gray cloaks and mingled gray horses, the foremost horse near to
white. And, yes, here indeed were friends, Ivanim, from the
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province neighboring to the south.
Perhaps they had set out north as a courtesy to him, once the
news of his accession in Amefel had reached Ivanor: that was the
natural thought.
Yet did something so simple come heralded by Auld Syes, at
such effort?
Clearer and clearer they came, both sides continuing to move,
and the foremost rider proved no less than the lord of Ivanor
himself, Cevulirn& who should not have been in the south at all,
but eastward, in Guelessar, with Cefwyn.
That portended something in itself ominous.
_Ivanor!_ Tristen called out, though the men with him made
pious gestures against ghosts and shadows.
_Is it Tristen?_ came the answering shout.
There was no need to break out the banners for reassurance in
this murk, but Gedd had done so; and now the banners of Ivanor
came forth, the White Horse; and Crissand_s own, Sun on a blue
whitened like ice.
_Welcome,_ Tristen called out to the lord of Ivanor, as their two
parties met. He offered Cevulirn his hand as they met, the clasp
of gauntlets well dusted with snow and frozen stiff with ice.
_Welcome, sir. But how does Cefwyn fare?_
_Safely wedded, so I had word. I lingered at Clusyn monastery to
know, on my way home. And how are matters in Henas_amef?_
_Very well. Very well, sir._ It struck him only then that other
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courtesies were due, and he made them, self-conscious in his new
lordship. _Your Grace, Crissand, Earl of Meiden; our friend, the
duke of Ivanor._
_I_ve seen you in hall,_ Crissand said, _but as my father_s son.
Lord Cevulirn, count me your friend as devotedly as you are my
lord_s friend._
_Your Grace,_ Cevulirn said. That Crissand was earl had told a
tale in itself, one Cevulirn would have no trouble reading: a
father_s death, the son_s accession to the earldom, but there was
no leisure here for asking and answering further than that. The
wind tugged at cloaks and pried with icy fingers into every gap,
and they were standing hard-worked horses in a chilling storm. _I
take it your journey is to me,_ Tristen said above the buffeting of
the gale, for there was nowhere else of note this road led, before
it came to Henas_amef. _You_re very welcome, you and your
men. Shall we have the horses moving?_
_Indeed,_ Cevulirn said, and they reined about and Cevulirn with
them. The wind came more comfortably at their backs as Tristen
began to thread his own column again back through itself, and
Ivanim sorted themselves out among Guelenmen and Amefin.
_Does His Majesty need me in Guelemara?_ Tristen asked, first
and clearest of his worries once they were faced about and
headed home. _Are you here because things are going well, or
because they aren_t?_
_Well and ill. His Majesty sent me south for my health. It_s high
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time His Majesty_s friends put their heads together._
Cevulirn did not readily give up words, not before strangers,
most of all. He only knew that Cevulirn had purposed to stay by
the king this winter, to report to the southern lords any untoward
demand of their rivals of the north, and to make it clear to the
ambitious north that the south would not see its interests
trampled. Yet Cevulirn had heard of the wedding only from the
vantage of the monastery at Clusyn, and had come home contrary
to his firm intentions.
So whatever had happened in the capital, it was not according to
plan.
_Earl Crissand is trustworthy,_ Tristen said. _What do you mean
we should put our heads together?_
_The northerners are rid of me,_ came the answer. _As they are
of you, and yet they could not prevent the wedding. So at least
half their plans came to naught, but gods know what Ryssand_s
done._
_Surely lightning hasn_t struck the Quinalt._ He was half in jest,
but that was how the barons had been rid of him: he could not
imagine how they had proceeded against Cevulirn, who was one
of the greatest men in the land.
_Would lightning had struck Ryssand. No. But I struck him a
grievous hurt, hence my ride south, hence a winter for us to
arrange things more to His Majesty_s liking. Hence my visit to
you. How have you fared here?_
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There was far too much to tell, and much of it bitter to Crissand,
of whose witness he was entirely conscious. _Well enough,_
Tristen said, _considering all that_s happened. Meiden lost a good
many men. There were Guard killed. I sent Lord Parsynan out
afoot, since he stole Uwen_s horse; and I sent His Majesty_s
wagons to the border to fortify the bridges_or I had sent them
this morning. The weather may have prevented them going._
_Have you, indeed?_ Cevulirn_s tone was flat, implying neither
approval nor disapproval, only, for him, query. _Has there been
difficulty there?_
It was another matter that touched heavily on Crissand_s pride.
_My father, sir,_ Crissand said before he could speak, _had
correspondence with Tasmôrden. The rebels offered to come in
to support rebellion, and rebellion there was, to my father_s grief
and misfortune, sir._
_But no sight of Elwynim,_ Tristen said. _Yet I fortify the
bridges, and kept the Guard, having no Amefin troops. The
wagons& Cefwyn can spare them a fortnight more, so I hope, if
nothing happens northerly._
_A fair risk,_ Cevulirn said after a moment of silence, leaving
Tristen less than certain Cevulirn approved all he had done.
_Cefwyn told me,_ he said, _that he wishes to attack Tasmôrden
from the eastern bridges and not the south, for glory to the
northern barons. And I_ve no wish to take any glory at all, or to
have another battle at planting time, when the last was at harvest._
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So Crissand had just told him, but Crissand was by no means the
first to explain that with men drawn away from their farmsteads
season after season, no crops grew and the lambing this spring
would already go hard& he had not drawn men off the land, not
yet. Amefel_s losses had been heaviest, at Lewenbrook, a muster
of peasant farmers and herders, where other provinces had sent
well-trained troops.
_So I don_t intend to cross the river,_ he said, _but I intend they
shan_t cross here, either._
_His Majesty_s plan is to set Murandys and Ryssand and
Guelessar in the field, all the heavy horse and all the gear,_
Cevulirn said. _It_s the warfare Guelenfolk know. And I_ve urged
His Majesty have a thought to the light horse, and getting a force
over those roads, which by all Her Grace has said are none so
fine and broad as those in Guelessar. Mud. And difficulty for
those wagons His Majesty sets such store by, with all that heavy
gear. March to Ilefínian and bring them to bloody battle& with
all respect to your good captain, Amefel: the heavy horse will
suffer in that plan, every league they travel. It_s too far a march,
too many hills that give vantage to archers._
_A bloody passage it_ll be,_ Uwen said in a low voice, for
Cevulirn he knew well. _An_ I agree wi_ Your Grace, and wi_ my
lord, I_d send the light horse._
_I_ve said the same,_ Tristen said.
_But that_s not the king_s wish in the matter,_ Cevulirn said, _for
his Guelenfolk. So bloodily they_ll win through, granted Ryssand
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doesn_t stab our king in the back. The king sets all hope on
Ryssand and Murandys, where least it should rest, and here am I
in the south, where least I should rest, and His Majesty never so
in danger from a knife in the dark when he was sleeping in
Henas_amef, his guards notwithstanding._
A great deal was amiss. Tristen heard that very clearly as they
rode. Cefwyn had wished to set Ninévrisë on her throne with no
war at all, deeming the rebels broken at Lewenbrook. But a lesser
lord, Tasmôrden, had leapt to the fore of the rebellion, and the
rebels that had not yet crossed into Cefwyn_s battlefield had
simply swept aside and fortified a camp inside Elwynor, raising
an army out of the stones there, as best they could surmise:
certainly it had taxed the villages hard to raise the force it was
now.
Set Ninévrisë on her throne Cefwyn would.
But Cefwyn averred he had no choice but exclude the south from
the war and call this time on the north. Ryssandish folk and
Guelenmen were the heart of his Guelen kingdom: the south was
of tainted blood& had he not heard it from Cefwyn_s lips?
And did that not still shiver through his memory? So thoroughly
had Cefwyn remembered he was Guelen, and wanted their favor,
when he could have called on the likes of Cevulirn and Sovrag.
Having Cevulirn and Sovrag with him, he had sent home the
Olmernmen; and him; and now Cevulirn?
The gray space remained untroubled; Tristen_s heart did not.
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Was it a visit without meaning, that Auld Syes guided? He
thought not. They two were the king_s friends, and Crissand had
pledged himself through him, and so all the earls of Amefel, and
Auld Syes herself had heralded Cevulirn_s coming to him. Was it
without meaning?
He was Lord Marshal of Althalen, Lord Warden of Ynefel, titles
all but lost in his assumption of the dukedom of Amefel&
meaningless and vacant of inhabitants, men said.
Men said. But might those be the honors Auld Syes called him to
attend& when she as good as hailed Crissand aetheling?
The King he come again, she had said to Prince Cefwyn in his
hearing, and that lanced through his memory like a lightning
stroke.
Had not Uleman, who stood for a King, Lord Regent of Elwynor,
also come to Amefel, and died? Young king, Uleman had called
him, when he was dying, but in the gray space all things had
questionable meaning. Uleman had charged him with defense of
the innocent, Uleman, who lay now in ward of Althalen, a power
not quite departed from the earth. Cefwyn made him lord here, in
Amefel& the keystone in the arch that held Elwynor off
Ylesuin_s soil.
_Look, will ye?_ he heard Uwen say as they passed the hill and
rode down past the road to Levey, and all through the ranks men
blessed themselves or spoke softly to their gods, for the old oak
had fallen, its roots uptorn from the muddy ground, great clods
fallen all about, and the branches cracked and ruined.
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_Ain_t no wind might topple an oak wi_ that girth,_ a Guelenman
said. _Gods bless, here were sorcery._
_Quiet wi_ your _sorcery_!_ Uwen said sharply. _Wet ground an_
a gale an_ an old tree, aye, and a wizard-woman, but sorcery_s
another thing altogether. My lord don_t dabble in that, so careful
how ye use words._
_Gods bless us all the same,_ said Crissand, and Tristen regarded
the uprooted oak, the very symbol of Amefel, asking himself
whether wind could in fact have done it.
_An uncommon sight, to be sure,_ was Cevulirn_s judgment.
_So the witch that foretold your journey stood there, Your
Grace,_ said Crissand, _and warned us to look for you, and now
see the ruin of the tree._
_There_s nothing here now,_ Tristen said, _nothing harmful,
nothing of threat. It_s a very great tree to be rooted up. But the
lady of Emwy is no slight matter either. Ride by._
That they did, and curious as he was and questioning in his own
mind what might have befallen the oak, he did not unsettle his
men further by turning in the saddle to gawk like an innocent. He
was the stay of the guardsmen_s confidence and their courage to
confront strange things, and there were strange things enough for
a week of gossip once they all reached town.
There was one more strange sight on the other side of the next
hill, for their tracks, hitherto utterly blotted out by the snowfall,
reappeared, never covered by any fall there, nor all along that
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earlier part of their road. The storm had never reached there, and
they could see all the land before them from that height, with a
thick snowfall behind them and none before.
_Not a natural storm,_ the soldiers said with anxious looks at the
west, which still showed dark. _There weren_t nothin_ natural
about it._
_As we met fair weather,_ Cevulirn remarked, _until an hour
before our meeting._
_I think the carts must have gone out, after all,_ Tristen said, for
he had been convinced until now that Anwyll_s party could not
possibly have set out into the teeth of that storm.
But nothing here would have prevented it.
_Master Emuin? he asked the nearest wizard he knew. It_s
snowed, have you noticed? Or did snow fall at all in town? I
think it did not.
_Have you ever seen an oak overthrown, master Emuin?
Some might take it for ominous, and surely the soldiers do.
What shall I tell them?
No answer came to him, but that was, lately, no great surprise,
though disheartening. At the same time he heard Lusin and Gedd
saying to each other, with better cheer, well, that was a relief, no
drifts between them and a warm fire.
It was a leaden sunset in the west and a blue evening in the
northwest shot through with fire as they came up to the walls,
over the tracks of farmers and the heavy tracks of the departed
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wagons.
They rode through the gates in close order, Lord Crissand
making quiet, last-moment converse with Lord Cevulirn,
explaining the streets were quiet and peaceful, and their visitor
should fear no rebellion. They were well within the town, before
the gatekeepers, caught by surprise, began to ring the bell that
advised the hill fortress of visitors.
Then the curious began to peer out of shops and windows. The
return of their party from a venture all the town had seen go out
might not have drawn any but the hardiest out of doors on a
frosty evening. But the bell drew attention, and the banners had
unfurled, the White Horse of Ivanor among the banners
belonging to the town and its own lords, and townsfolk threw on
cloaks and mittens and came out into doorways, or peered out
from well-situated windows, for not since summer had the White
Horse banner been seen in the streets, when Cevulirn among
other lords of the south had camped in that broad expanse outside.
Loaded carts had gone out for the border, where war was bruited
about, a great lord had come guesting with their new lord and the
new lord of Meiden& it surely made for talk, on an evening
remarkable only for a light snowfall.
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Chapter 3
«
^
»
The herald trumpets faded tremulously from the air, the harpers
harped, the pipers piped, and the king and Royal Consort, settling
on their dais in the great hall, looked out over the assembled
nobles of Ylesuin, as happy as a bride and groom might be, who
knew what all their guests were thinking. The king sat above the
stone Ryssand had installed under the Dragon Throne, a lasting
and symbolic legacy of Ryssand_s attempts to prevent the
wedding. That stone remained, though Ryssand was gone at least
for a season; that stone would acquire the voice of baronial
anguish if removed, for removing that handbreadth height would
lower the king of Ylesuin to the height of his bride_s chair of
state, and that would unravel all the convolute and, in the end,
bloody agreements that had let the court accept the marriage.
In Cefwyn_s glum reckoning, the presence of that stone would
only grow more, not less, a necessity, wearing itself into habit
and memory until the damned thing was all but sacred. The
majesty of Ylesuin must sit higher than his wife Her Grace of
Elwynor, or northern baronial noses would be sorely out of joint,
and when the barons_ noses were out of joint then the barons
would gather in corners and whisper, which at the moment and
only of very late date, they dared not do without careful smiles
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on their faces and occasional sweet-faced bows toward enthroned
majesty.
So all in all, the cursed stone was likely to remain, preserving
Guelen pride and making it clear that the woman beside the king,
his wife, his consort, his bride, and the love of his heart, was not
the queen of Ylesuin.
In fact ever since he had come back from Amefel and the fighting
at Lewenbrook to inform the barons that his father was dead and
he was king, and that he had, moreover, betrothed himself to the
daughter and heir of their old enemy, the Regent of Elwynor, he
had met a resistance not only greater than he had anticipated, but
more clever and dangerous than he had imagined. He had thought
these men simply agreeable to his late father_s unpleasant
opinions, had realized too little and too late how very extensively
these men were accustomed to having their will of his father and
directing those opinions& and nowadays he wondered how
many of the worst decisions of his father_s reign had been his
father_s and how many were in fact Ryssand_s instigation.
Certainly he had come to court in blither certainty and confidence
of the world than he held now. Yet it was Ryssand, ultimately,
who had rued the clash of wills& and Cefwyn could congratulate
himself on having had his way in all meaningful things. Save this
one.
Save this one, for at last, on the eve of the wedding and with the
Quinalt granting all else and reconciled to performing the
ceremony, he had slipped in the word queen, and a small
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delegation of lords and priests had presented him in turn the last,
the most stringent and inflexible objection of the clergy: royal
expectation aside, there had never quite been a queen of Ylesuin,
even counting his father_s mother and his, and Efanor_s, and the
Quinalt had come armed with chapter and verse to prove its case,
a veritable parade of clerks and clerics.
It was true. It might be Cefwyn_s argument that the omission was
never intended for precedent, only that his grandmother had died
before his grandfather_s rule began and his mother and Efanor_s
mother had both been of Guelen burgesses and not royal, only
wellborn. It was circumstance, not intent, in his argument, that
had kept Ylesuin from having a queen, but that mattered little,
when down to the day and in the toppling of all other obstacles,
they had come to dicing words and titles and listening to long
recitations of clerkly records. Facing the possibility of another
disaffection of the Quinalt Patriarch, whom he had bought in
costly coin of favors given, Cefwyn had had to admit that
perhaps the reluctance to crown the king_s wife was not an
insurmountable slight to his bride, who would reign in Elwynor
with or without the acknowledgment of Ylesuin, and who was,
moreover, pleading with him to accept that slight and get on to
the wedding. What she wanted for herself and her people was the
alliance, and an army potent enough to drive Tasmôrden from his
siege of her capital. She wanted no delays and she wanted that
army to set its first contingents in order at the bridges
immediately after the wedding. To that he agreed, for the
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situation in Elwynor had been growing grim then and was
growing grimmer to this hour.
She would reign, indeed, as he willed: as they did not make her
queen, so they could not trammel up her claim to the Regency of
Elwynor, and he would provide_was providing_the army even
tonight with his first forces camped on riverside.
And it would be her kingdom, separate from his. That was the
unfortunate seed in what his barons had done: they had made it
impossible for him to persuade her, win her, contrary to the
provisions of the marriage treaty, to an early union of their
kingdoms. She had insisted on her independency and her own
lordship over neighboring Elwynor in the nuptial agreement&
and that, most precisely, she had, thanks to the barons, without
any possibility of argument on his part. Reign she would, in her
land, during the summers, so they planned, leaving winters to a
vice regent in her land, and gods hope they could ply rowboats
between often enough or they would both go mad.
The raising of armies and the defense of their separate kingdoms
aside, they loved one another madly, passionately, and to the
edge, but not quite over the brink, of complete folly, and their
passion had not abated since the wedding night. There was no
having enough of one another. They were entirely happy in their
nest upstairs. They would neither one act to the detriment of their
separate kingdoms& but their fingers met whenever they found
the chance, and had he ever seen eyes light as hers did whenever
he came within her presence?
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Gods, how had he lived his life this far without her?
They still walked through their dream of candlelight and flowers,
at least in private. They still existed in the singing and the bells,
and saw the garlands and the bright banners that were all he in
good truth remembered of the wedding& well, there had been
the satisfying and uncommon sight of certain of his unhappy
barons trying valiantly to smile through the ceremony, and the
equally uncommon sight of the Quinalt Patriarch_s cousin
Sulriggan, Duke of Llymaryn, positively aglow with happiness:
Sulriggan_s return from near exile having been the coin for the
Patriarch_s acceptance of Her Grace, the two were not unrelated
circumstances.
That glow on Sulriggan_s countenance continued to this very
hour.
Looking out over the barons who were in attendance this
evening, he saw the same sources of discontent, and expressions
of gloom on those he had destined for retribution when he found
the means& policy, not utter self-indulgence: the barons would
learn him, or by the gods make way for those who would.
One of those acts of retribution, in fact, he would deal out this
very evening, and contemplating that prospect, he could sit on
the cursed stone and smile down on his court in honest
contentment. Conspiracies to overthrow him would come to
nothing, while he held a certain damning letter and while he had
the loyalty of such as Tristen of Amefel and Cevulirn and the rest
of the lords of the south. Even the middle lands had gained
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courage from the resolute muster of the south this summer_s end,
and might see their own affairs as safer in the hands of a strong
monarch than in the hands of the northern tier of self-serving
barons.
Unlikeliest allies of all, he now had the Patriarch and Lord
Sulriggan to draw upon& securely bought, and safe so long as
they stayed by the agreement: perhaps intruding just a little far
upon his patience, but they were learning one another_s limits.
Sulriggan was clinging close to Efanor, whose friendship he
again courted& and would not win. Efanor was once betrayed,
and would not listen. Dubious prize as Sulriggan was in most
points of courage on a battlefield, however, in the conflicts
within the court the man was as agile and as clever as one might
ask. That generous nose of Sulriggan_s could gather impending
shifts in the wind with great sensitivity, and his cowardice in the
field manifested as a sensible discretion of utterance once he
knew his own interests were at stake.
Most central to all considerations of behavior, the lord of
Llymaryn had learned once and for all that his wastrel prince
would not sit the throne as a lax and tolerant sovereign& having
not his father_s inclination to agree to every document that
reached his desk, some unread.
Nor, Sulriggan had discovered, did his prince, now king, like the
sight of unwarranted expense, even extravagance of dress, when
he had a war to fund and lords obliged to arm and equip their
share of it.
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Accordingly Sulriggan, the bane of his stay in Amefel, the lord
who had mortally offended him, was modestly dressed tonight, a
Quinalt sigil piously and ostentatiously displayed about his
neck& clearly to remind everyone who his cousin was.
A marriage banquet was a time for forgiving and forgetting. And
Sulriggan was not the only member of the court to return to
grace. Tonight marked another act of royal clemency and courtly
redemption.
Oh, indeed Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys, was here&
Prichwarrin, whose niece, Luriel, was that second matter of royal
compassion tonight. Luriel had indeed arrived in Guelemara, in
court, and on this evening, all exactly as her sovereign had
requested. Luriel would have walked here barefoot through
snowdrifts at that invitation, Cefwyn was quite sure, quite as
surely as Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys would have walked
barefoot through hell to prevent it.
The pipers played a lively tune, and Cefwyn, reaching aside for
his bride_s hand, met eyes (gray with a deception of violet) that
danced with candlelight. What more than such a look could a
man want, and what need a king fear from any former love, when
love so sure and serene looked back at him? If there was anything
more than love a man dared wish in a bride, he had it all in
Ninévrisë, and the thought of offense to her was the only
consideration that remotely gave him pause tonight.
Not queen, indeed, but Royal Consort& the Quinalt and the
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barons had denied her the queenship, but in a last round of
argument had agreed to royal, acknowledging the difference
between burghers_ daughters and a sovereign with her own lands
to rule. It was not queen, and the lords were satisfied; it was a
distinct precedent, and he was satisfied, for Ninévrisë had, in the
absence of good Quinalt records, no proof of any royal
descent& a ridiculous objection. The house of Syrillas, her
house, might be a lineage older than his own& a lineage older,
and magic-gifted and gods-knew-what-else that the orthodoxy of
the Quinalt had rather not know or acknowledge it knew. But the
house of Syrillas had not been listed in the Quinalt_s documents,
so it had not been royal until the Quinalt wrote it down, sealed,
and incontrovertible in Quinalt records for all cases yet to come.
So her dignity was assured in whatever challenges his quarrels
with the barons might bring& safe as the sanctity of the
Quinaltine Patriarch, such as it was, purchasable as it was: lo,
Sulriggan, now beaming with his restoration, and perhaps about
to advance to the throne at this very moment to express his
gratitude.
Appalling sight, and one he had as lief not face. He stood, to
forestall that predatory advance, drew his Royal Consort to her
feet, and called to the musicians for a romantic paselle. With
Ninévrisë he descended the dais to the floor, and the heraldic and
festive array of the court spun slowly, gracefully, beautifully into
a pause before him.
The music sparkled into the courtly and intricate dance, as
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couples bowed aside from them and gave them the floor to
themselves.
Ninévrisë danced with grace and delighted assurance. Cefwyn
counted himself at least no discommoding partner; and the
sparkle and flash of dower jewels by candle-gleam scarcely
equaled the amused flash of her eyes as the dance wove them
past one another and arm in arm and hand in hand and out and
back again in this public display, this challenge to the interests
that had tried to prevent this night. The single petticoat which
had so scandalized the court did so again, with the king as willing
accomplice, and Ninévrisë was the center of all attention, all
gossip, all estimation& what would she do? What would she
say? ran the hall like a current under the music.
And when the dance was done he lingered to bestow on his bride
a very public and passionate kiss that wrung first a murmur of
dismay and then laughter and applause from no few young folk
of the court. Laughter of that sort was their friend if they could
countenance it without blushing; and along with the wilder, less
pious young folk, it was the burgess wives that most accepted
Ninévrisë_s royalty, they, and the rural lords and their common-
born ladies, most older women, wed above their station in a day
when customs were more forgiving than in this modern
narrowness of doctrine. Many of the old midlands couples
understood a lovers_ kiss within marriage, and approved and
applauded with the young folk; and many knew, too, what the
great lords of the north had done to prevent the marriage.
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Certainly the northern lords_ applause was late and limp and brief.
_This is my bride,_ he said defiantly to the assembled court,
holding forth their joined hands. _This is my very dear bride,_ he
said as they ascended the dais a second time, and he turned to
face the court. _My bride whose forces fought beside us at
Lewenbrook&_ It was not quite so, since her few men had
perished before the main battle, but it was a good turn of speech
and true as far as noble sacrifice. _This is our neighbor, this true
and pious and puissant lady, sole heir of the house of Syrillas,
joined in love and amity to the Marhanen line. Peace, peace and
an end to the wars that have been the rule of all our years; peace
on our borders, good hope to our descendants, justice to the
righteous, and reward to the pious&_ This last was for the
priests. _Gods bless Ylesuin!_
_Gods bless the king,_ was the appropriate response, which came
from one throat first, then in a general murmur that might cloak
any less enthusiastic recital on the part of, say, Murandys.
Ninévrisë_s black-robed priest yonder, so conspicuous in his
darkness by the pillar, saluted them, too, wine cup in hand, gods
help them& not that he had lacked a full cup at the common
supper. Father Benwyn was a Bryaltine, that one priest given
sober charge of Her Grace_s soul in spiritual counsel; a male
priest, most specifically, from a creed at least recognized by the
Quinalt records. It satisfied the Patriarch, gave him a way to
avoid admitting the priesthood of women, and necessitated no
further bending of the already ravaged rules. Get me a Bryaltine,
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Cefwyn had said, in haste and urgency on almost the last night
before the wedding, so we can sign this damned agreement.
But, good gods, Cefwyn thought, could they not have found me a
sober one?
Gods bless the king, indeed. There might not be another
Bryaltine within the court, except this one& maybe not another
this side of Assurnbrook: Bryaltines did not prosper among
Guelenfolk, and did not expect converts. That one existed at all
had been a relief.
He signed quietly to a page, leaned forward. _Bid the guard assist
Father Benwyn to his quarters. Give him a pitcher there._
That would keep him safely in the room and snoring until dawn,
gods willing.
And that cleared the way for the other loneliest man at court:
Prichwarrin, who occupied a place by a column, and not a soul
willing to come close to him and converse, either.
The king and Royal Consort had had their dance, and satisfied
custom by public celebration, proclaiming the royal marriage a
sennight old and, by implication, consummated. This exhibition
of the blissful couple was the Guelen custom, from throne to
village commons, in varying degrees of drunken revelry& hence,
too, the ready applause of the country gentry, whose tradition
was all but bawdy. The rustic romantics of the court, none of
them, alas, in ducal office, had come in their simplicity to sigh
over their happiness, the sots like Father Benwyn had come to
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sup wine and eat& the young folk had come to dance and show
their finery; and the great dukes who had survived the royal
betrothal with their influence intact had gathered to plot next
steps around Prichwarrin_s fate.
For something had to happen. The king had paid many of his
debts, but not the one that was on carefully shielded lips and in
the whispers that ran beneath the music. A lady had come to this
festivity, ostensibly to celebrate with the rest, but was not in the
hall& and now, now or surely soon came that matter of
retribution and satisfaction. The whole court knew that the king
had summoned his former, unwed, and disgraced lover to court
to meet his bride on this festive occasion, a matter for the
delectation of every scandalmonger and gossip in court.
And it lent some hope of seeing Ninévrisë of Elwynor offended:
that, too, in the harder, colder eyes of the great ladies of the realm.
But Ninévrisë smiled and talked to a page who offered her water
in a crystal vessel. The pipers and harpers, following custom, had
immediately begun a dance in which all could join. Movement
swirled through the hall, the glitter of jewels and the rich color of
festive finery as couples made their lines, still casting looks
toward the dais to be sure they missed nothing.
And sure enough, amid the flash and gleam of brocades and
velvets Cefwyn coldly caught Prichwarrin_s eye, and this time
beckoned, the slight crook of a finger, the true potency of a
crowned, wedded, and lingeringly angry monarch. The second
most powerful lord in the north cast his king an anxious look, as
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if there could be any doubt of the summons, then slunk forward
from the side of the room, past the dancers, doubtless hoping for
anonymity beneath the music.
But lords and ladies about the fringes of the hall spied that
movement and their hawk-sharp stares attracted others, so that
heads turned in a moving silence that spread across the hall. Even
the dancers craned and maneuvered for view amid their turns,
then slowed, and the fine order of the complex dance was broken.
The pipers, just having begun, squalled off to silence.
Silence and attention was not what Lord Prichwarrin had wanted.
The lord of Murandys had rather be snowbound in a drift twixt
here and Sassury as standing before his monarch, the cynosure of
every conversation and movement in the hall.
Cefwyn reached to the side and across the arm of his chair to rest
his hand, publicly and pointedly, on his Elwynim bride_s hand,
while Prichwarrin, at the foot of the dais and standing even
farther below his king by reason of the stone block his ally,
Ryssand, had insisted on, looked as if he had something caught in
his throat, something he foreknew would be indigestible&
perhaps even fatal.
_Lord Murandys._
_Your Majesty,_ Prichwarrin said, and such was Lord Murandys_
disarray and so deep was his isolation and his fear at the moment
that he even added, _Your Grace,_ for Ninévrisë, and nearly
choked on it.
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_Lord Prichwarrin,_ Cefwyn said, his hand thus set on
Ninévrisë_s. _We were anticipating your lovely niece. We were
given to understand she had come from your capital. Is she here?_
_Yes, Your Majesty._
_Then in what doubt does she delay?_
It was all a show of relative powers, his, and Prichwarrin_s. He,
Ninévrisë, and everyone in the hall knew very well that Luriel
had come to court, and why she had come to court, and under
what cloud she had come to court. As his Lord Commander of
the Guard, that black crow, Idrys, had informed him from the
very beginning of the evening, the lady was awaiting a summons
in the outer hall, but the great lords of the north and their ladies
behaved as if they truly believed their king and his bride were
ignorant of her presence and her waiting.
He might at any moment choose to become so, of course, thus
wrecking the lady and setting Prichwarrin in a yet more
uncomfortable position, one from which he must defy the king or
deal with the scandal in his house.
Perhaps, the listening courtiers must think, that was the intent
here, and they were about to witness a destruction& perhaps Her
Grace_s revenge on a rival.
Yet Lady Luriel had traveled to Guelemara on her hope and on
her high pride, bravely so, for there was no private royal
assurance what her welcome would be, whether cruel, public
disgrace, or (some even whispered) to take up her former
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position within the court and within reach of the king_s bedroom,
to the bride_s sure discomfort. Certain women and certain men
would not believe otherwise, by their own natures; and the
supposition was even reasonable: the king might have his foreign
bride and yet maintain a northern Guelen mistress to keep
Murandys close to his side& if he were so inclined, or less in
love with his bride.
Even to this hour Murandys was not utterly sure of his intentions,
Cefwyn was sure, and he enjoyed every instant of it, modest
recompense for the damage Murandys had done in his obdurate
opposition to the marriage. That opposition had not stopped short
of slander, which was why Lord Ryssand was home mourning a
son this winter season; but since Murandys had gotten off alive
and unscathed, and vengeance was yet unvisited, Murandys was
learning that the king, like his grandfather, observed,
remembered, and had very sudden limits to his tolerance.
_Shall I bring her?_ Prichwarrin asked faintly, not loudly enough
for the satisfaction of every listener leaning forward to hear, and
Cefwyn cocked his head on a side, affecting not to hear, himself,
so Prichwarrin said it again, clearing his throat. _She accepts
Your Majesty_s gracious invitation._
Oh, there still was a defiance. Indeed, and depend on it, the bitter
bile could still from time to time seep out of Murandys& not a
grand, battlefield sort of spirit, rather a mean dagger on the stairs
sort of courage.
Luriel, his niece, had both kinds.
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_Invitation?_ Cefwyn echoed him, casting mild aspersion, loudly
enough to be gossiped about, and gave Prichwarrin no chance to
amend himself& fool, to challenge him here, and under the
circumstances; but Prichwarrin had not proved himself the
keenest wit in court, and the lack of Ryssand_s guidance tonight
was evident. _Bring your niece in,_ Cefwyn said, _yes, pray do.
Let us see her._
_Your Majesty,_ Prichwarrin said, his face quite rigid, and turned
and walked through a widening gauntlet of spectators toward the
doors. A small whisper of anticipated misfortune followed him.
The doors opened, and the hall stayed fixed on the sight of
Prichwarrin going out, and immediately on Prichwarrin coming
back, not escorting his niece, rather stepping aside as if he had
just admitted the plague.
Luriel had evidently waited cloaked, for a moderate gasp went up
as she appeared: the lady came not in modest repentance, but in
jewels and a russet gown that blazed in the soft candle glow of
the hall. Her fair hair was swept up in braids and pinned with
gold; her cloak was trimmed with fox and embroidered in gold
thread.
Fox-colors to cover a vixen heart, Cefwyn thought, well
remembering that wonderful hair tumbled on a pillow, and that
silken body luxuriant by faintest candlelight& how could a man
not recall those nights, even a man faithful and sworn? Luriel
wore the russet gown like a bright blazon in a hall listening and
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watching for her destruction. She wore it before all the good
Quinalt women who would die rather than yield the virtue she
had freely abandoned in a Marhanen_s bed; and she wore it
before all the good pious Quinalt men who now longed to breach
that defense for themselves. She was a battle cry in motion as she
walked to the steps of the dais, and there with a pale, set
countenance, she bowed her head and sank in a deep reverence
from which majesty alone could bid her rise forgiven or damned.
_Lady Luriel,_ Cefwyn said, _rise. We delight to see you.
Welcome, most happily._
_My lord king,_ she said, looking up and rising indeed with a
high flush on her cheeks. He had not been king when last they
had seen one another, when she had left Henas_amef in grand
dudgeon and ridden home& all because he would not pass last
winter in revels and spend the Amefin treasury on her gowns.
She had hated the provincials of Amefel, calling them heretics,
hated their rusticity, and despised the generally dark-haired
Amefin lords and their ladies, calling them peasant farmers no
matter their ancient blood.
Luriel now looked up at an Elwynim woman, the Elwynim being
closer kin to the Amefin than not, a dark-haired, gray-eyed
woman who was her rival in beauty, who had every motive to
detest her, and who sat where she had hoped to sit as a crowned
queen.
And what bitter and foreboding thoughts might not pass through
Luriel_s heart? Or seeking what redress had she written those
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letters asking him to bring her to court, when her uncle_s order
held her immured in his hall, in disgrace for her adventure?
Of all the ploys her uncle had used to prevent the wedding of him
with Ninévrisë, however, her uncle had not brought Luriel_s lost
virtue into it, and with reason: Luriel hated her uncle Prichwarrin
from childhood and would take any opportunity to set him at
disadvantage. The question in everyone_s mind, however, was
not Lord Murandys_ view of his niece: power lay in other hands
at this moment. Cefwyn maintained a studiedly calm
benevolence as his bride and his former lover first crossed
glances.
_Lady,_ Ninévrisë said, and gallant and wise as she was, even
held out her hand, bidding Luriel come toward her. She rose from
her lesser throne as Luriel mounted the steps like a prisoner to
the scaffold. The whole great hall held its collective breath as
Ninévrisë took Luriel_s hands to prevent her second, confused
curtsy.
To a stunned murmur from the hall, Ninévrisë leaned down and
kissed Luriel of Murandys on either pallid cheek.
No one might ever have gotten the better of Luriel, her weak
father_s and feckless mother_s despair in all her life, certainly the
thorn in her uncle_s flesh; but Luriel stood eye-to-eye with
Ninévrisë, and found not a word to say, beyond a faint, _Your
Grace,_ as the court maintained its deathly hush.
_How lovely you are,_ Ninévrisë said. _I shall look forward to
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seeing you among the ladies in my court. No, better still, I
command it._
_Your Grace,_ Luriel said again, blushing, actually blushing in
confusion and perhaps in dread of women_s vengeance. Thus
released, russet skirts gathered, she ebbed down the steps, having
been publicly welcomed at highest authority into the society of
the consort_s court, women who must under other circumstances
ostracize her for her breach of rules; a society which, perversely,
would have welcomed her with discreet silence on her sins were
she to become the king_s mistress, and under the king_s
protection. But absent the king_s furtive approval, she could not
enter that society without the consort_s express invitation or some
man_s patronage. Her kinship to Murandys was not sufficient for
a woman under such a cloud. She would have had to find a
connection or a liaison, probably furtive, likely less than her
station, so that she could breach that female society on someone
else_s privilege.
And lo! instead, acceptance and respectability was handed her in
her own right, without struggle, from her enemy_s very hand, and
Luriel was confounded and indebted to the Royal Consort at one
stroke. As she backed from the foot of the dais perhaps her hard
little heart even beat in gratitude; Cefwyn dared entertain that
hope& at least of a calculated, weighed, and measured gratitude
mingled with fear, for Luriel was, in terms of her own safety, no
fool.
Her advantage most certainly now lay down a different path than
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she must have envisioned when she had written him letters
pleading for royal rescue, and she must see that, either in
gratitude or in fear& unless her scheming had turned one more
corner than he had yet discovered.
His invitation to court was not a summons back to his bed, above
all else. From the time they were lovers he had known that her
true and deepest passion was for the throne, and that only
Luriel_s mirror ever saw love in those blue eyes. No, no one
touched Luriel_s well-armored little heart, no suitor ever so much
as dented it, and no one could be more aware of that quality than
her former lover. It was perhaps tragic that she was incapable of
wanting power in a useful and sensible way, for what power itself
could do_ move armies, build cities, leave a legacy to the
ages& but alas! all that wit and cleverness bent toward the
trappings of power, the jewels, the music, and the festivities. She
was no wiser than her mother in that respect.
But as of this moment and by reason of Ninévrisë_s action
possibilities of such luxury lay before Lady Luriel, an entire
array of possibilities which had not existed before she was
bidden join the consort_s ladies: respectability, acceptance,
clothes and music, festivities, the attention of handsome men, all
the things that were Luriel_s life& all the ambitions that made
her so cursed boring once the sun rose.
The eyes of various gentlemen about the room, too, had kindled
with interest, unmarried men and married alike, poor bedazzled
fools. And Luriel when she retreated from the royal presence did
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so with all her powers of charm and wealth newly restored about
her, a serpent having shed its old skin, leaving it now in the dust
of her former disgrace. She glowed. Her uncle Prichwarrin now
came seeking her hand, oh, yes, eager to assert he governed Lady
Luriel, and ruled her fortunes. She had been damaged by her
willful daring, and now was repaired and shining new. Lord
Murandys had a marketable commodity again, granted he could
bid his niece with any better success than before.
But almost before Lord Murandys could claim her hand, there
was, yes, Rusyn, second son of Panys, offering his.
It was no accident. Panys had agreed, when offered royal
blessing for a swift and successful courtship, and the lad was
more forward than even Cefwyn had anticipated, eager, his
royally commanded act of chivalry now become the public and
swift appropriation of a prize many men envied.
And though Panys had never been overly friendly with the lands
above Guelessar, young Rusyn immediately entered into polite
converse with Prichwarrin and the lady, pressing his respects on
the king_s former mistress with vigor and bright determination.
Marry her, was Cefwyn_s private word on the matter. Marry her,
bed her, and keep her from further scandal and rest assured that
great estates go with her. A married and well-disposed Luriel, he
had assured Rusyn_s father, would enjoy high royal favor& and
a son of Panys would be in the approved line of inheritance in
Murandys_ much larger lands and honors.
_Well-done,_ Cefwyn said to Ninévrisë under the general buzz of
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conversation, and the uncertain start of musicians who first
thought and then doubted they had received a royal cue. He gave
a second, indubitable, and added, _I love you._
_And is this Panys_ younger son?_ Ninévrisë asked.
_Yes. That he is. Rusyn is the name. A scholar and a fine
horseman._
Whatever could he have seen in Luriel? He swore he had been
ten years younger last year, a fool defiantly posed in his own
perverse folly: rebellion from his father.
Yet he had escaped marriage with Murandys_ niece. That was
some credit to his wit.
He had unraveled Heryn Aswydd_s treachery.
He had lived to be king, against all odds, and to the barons_ great
disappointment, who had hoped for gentle, biddable, devoutly
Quinalt Efanor.
But one remarkable year had seen him bed Luriel of Murandys
and Heryn Aswydd_s twin sisters& and fill his nights now with
the woman he truly loved, whose name and image he could not
put in the same thought with that unholy threesome.
The music brightened into a country dance, the son of the lord of
Panys dancing a wild turn with Luriel amid the whirling ranks of
the young and breathless.
Solitary and out of sorts, Murandys went off to scowl by his
column.
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Chapter 4
«
^
»
Servants set out supper, prepared plain glass goblets& not Lady
Orien_s cups, to be sure, although her dragons supported the table
and loomed insistently from the ceiling of the ducal apartment,
brazen, silent listeners recalling to any who knew her the
presence of a woman and a household less than friendly to
Cefwyn Marhanen, or to Mauryl. Tristen had ordered new cups,
new service, and replacement from unquestioned sources for any
foodstuff that might be about the place, all this before he would
consent to live in this apartment; and plain pottery would have
served him very well. But Tassand had come up with sturdy
pewter plates and the green glass and argued it was more fitting a
duke_s private table.
The furnishings, however, had remained what they were, massive
and costly and part of the ducal trappings that were,
unfortunately so in Tristen_s opinion, the pride of Amefel. The
furnishings, the drapes, green velvet, he longed to replace, to
exchange Aswydd green and gold for the proper deep red of
Amefel.
But as he had said to Crissand and Uwen, the essential matters of
his rule here did not involve the color of the drapery. An army of
workmen was already underfoot repairing the expensive scars of
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his accession, and the presence of a few dragons and green
drapes seemed tolerable and harmless, oppressive as they might
be to his spirit. Accordingly he resolutely pretended the dragons
were his, determinedly found a certain beauty of line in the
snarling strike of scaled bodies, and told himself that green,
besides being the Aswydd color, was the color of forest and hills.
Now he prepared to receive a guest, dragons and all& had asked
Cevulirn to come here, rather than to the great hall, on the excuse
of Cevulirn_s exhaustion. But it was the privacy he courted, a
chance to talk outside all hearing& while gossip flew through
the town and in and out among the great houses. Everyone
wanted to know what dire circumstance had stirred Ivanor out of
Guelessar. The earls of Amefel (and by now everyone in
Henas_amef) knew the same thing: that, alone of the southern
barons, Cevulirn had stayed in Guelemara to promote southern
interests; and now he was here, conferring with their new lord.
An urgent message from the king?
A breach between the king and the south?
Were the Elwynim about to pour across the river, taking
advantage of what they might deem was still a valid agreement
for influence in Amefel? For the town by now knew that the
rebels in Elwynor had agreed to come across the river in
Edwyll_s scheme. Were they across and was the duke of Ivanor
come as a prelude to a winter war?
All these tales Uwen reported from his tour of the stable yard and
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kitchens on their return. Uwen was deft at sifting rumors out of
the very air: more, he was a common man good at talking to
common folk who heard them, and gaining the truth from them.
_Bid the soldiers not gossip,_ Tristen had said to Uwen from the
moment they had come home, but as well bid the pigeons not to
fly and not to profane the Quinalt steps. The soldiers simply did
not understand and simply could not refrain.
So he took for granted the soldiers would in an hour or so have
spilled all they saw and half what they imagined (they would
have some discretion) in the barracks and the kitchens to persons
of great trustworthiness. From there it was an easy step to the
taverns. And back again, by servants, to the noble ears& which
would engender more questions.
But the earls would have to content themselves with what
Crissand could tell them, at least until the morrow. He had
Cevulirn to himself. Only Emuin had he asked to be there&
itself a remarkable event. And a private word with Emuin Tristen
earnestly wished for, too, on different but related business.
But as yet there was not a whisper of wizardly attention, not in
the gray space nor at his apartment door. Auld Syes was the name
he had sent hurtling into the gray space when he had reached the
inside of the wards and nearness to Emuin; and after it he had
sent all that Auld Syes had said to him, with hopes that that name
in itself would rouse Emuin out.
To his profound disappointment, no. But for Cevulirn& yes.
Emuin would come.
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Now with a quiet stir at the door, Cevulirn arrived and disposed
his small escort with the guards outside, the four who watched
over his door by night. He came in, modestly dressed, escorted
by the youngest servant.
_Ah,_ Cevulirn said when he looked toward a set and ready table,
and his weathered face relaxed in pleasure as, his cloak scarcely
bestowed on one servant_s arm, Tassand set a cup of wine in his
hand.
_Please sit, sir,_ Tristen said, with a gesture toward the table and
its four places, one reserved for Uwen and one for Emuin. _I
thought supper might come welcome._
_Very welcome, after days of hard biscuit and bad ale. And this,_
said Cevulirn, lifting his wine cup, _is not bad ale._
_I_m pleased,_ Tristen said, as they took their places. He relied
on Tassand for such choices, limiting his own instructions to the
request for something simple and hot, after the freezing ride. _We
needn_t wait. Uwen and Emuin may come, but then, they may
not._ He settled at table, let the servants serve the meal, and his
guest have at least a taste of supper before he began with what
his friends called his questions. _Did His Majesty send any
message, sir?_
_I_ve heard nothing worse than the situation I left,_ Cevulirn
said, and this, in privacy, Tristen took for the whole, if not
reassuring truth. _Say that His Majesty sent me home to Toj
Embrel, and Ryssand mourns a son, hence my wintering at
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home._
_Brugan?_
_Fair fight. Ryssand, however, will not see it that way._ Cevulirn,
a man of few words, found a few more of them. _Brugan and
Lord Murandys came with a document for the king_s seal& Do
you wish to hear this during supper, or after?_
_During, if you will. I shouldn_t enjoy a bite, wondering._
_So, then,_ Cevulirn said. _Brugan and the document. Brugan
came into the Guelesfort with Murandys, bringing this document
which would strip the monarchy of power._
_Cefwyn wouldn_t sign such a thing._
_Ah, but they had a charge to make, if he would refuse. This was
before the wedding, and they said if he wouldn_t sign, they_d
bring proof of Ninévrisë_s unfaithfulness._
_Unfaithfulness? There_s no one more faithful to him._
Cevulirn, soup spoon in hand, gave him a lengthy and sober look.
_I think Your Grace means in the ordinary way of honorable
behavior, in which the lady is unassailable. Their meaning was
the traditional one, men with women, that manner of betrayal._
_Ninévrisë?_
_Your Grace, neither you nor I would think so. But there are
those ready to believe ill of her, as of you. It was never their
intent to besmirch Her Grace_s reputation& no. It was the king_s
signature they wanted, and he_d granted all else they came
demanding. They were emboldened to have it written out, with
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all manner of seals, a guarantee of the Quinalt_s power& but
instead of doing it himself, Ryssand, who has a wit, sent
Murandys and his own son, Brugan, who, denied private
audience with His Majesty, were fools enough to say it all before
me, before Prince Efanor, and Idrys._
Tristen was appalled, not least at the folly of it. But Murandys
had surely counted on Cefwyn and Efanor restraining Idrys, who
would assuredly do whatever served Cefwyn.
Cevulirn had not, evidently, been restrained.
_And Brugan is dead? Directly as a result?_
Cevulirn laid down the spoon and regarded him in great
seriousness. _Let me spread it all out for you, Your Grace. The
precise charge was that Ninévrisë had a lover. Brugan_s sister
Artisane was ready to swear to it& that Her Grace had you for a
lover, plainly put._
_Lover, sir?_ The word fell at first confused on his hearing and
then Unfolded in its carnal nature. He was disturbed enough by
the word. Then he understood the rest of it, and his heart might
have stopped. At very least it skipped a beat. _No, sir._
_I said that it was false,_ Cevulirn continued, _and Brugan
having said it was true, he died. Hence His Majesty suggested I
ride out of Guelemara that night. I would not have assented, but I
feared if Ryssand had my presence to inflame him, he might
press His Majesty with the same charges in public, and then the
good gods know I would have had to remove the most pernicious
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influence in the court. To His Majesty_s detriment, he would
insist, though I have a different opinion. So I honored my oath
and left, against my will, and I have no knowledge how that fell
out or whether the charge ever came public& but I know the
wedding took place, which argues that it didn_t. And of you and
Her Grace, I assure you, no one who knows either of you could
credit such a thing. Unfortunately, many do not know you or Her
Grace._
_Ninévrisë is my friend,_ he said lamely and at disadvantage, he,
who had never had more than a fleeting glimpse of the flesh of
women& and that, in Lady Orien Aswydd, whose allure was a
dark and dangerous one. He failed entirely to compass the
thought, he was so astonished and appalled. _How can they have
said so?_
_Artisane lied,_ Cevulirn said simply, _to please her father._
Cevulirn tore off a piece of bread. _Now are you sorry not to
have had supper first?_
_I think I should be ill. I should go to Guelemara!_
_By no means! The lie, such as it is, is at least silent enough that
I believe the wedding took place. No more can we do. Your
presence there would break it all open again, to what result none
of us can predict. And listen: you will be amazed. Efanor was
willing to draw, he was so outraged._
Efanor. Prince Efanor, who had given him the little book of
Quinalt devotions, which he had by his bed. Efanor the pious,
who thought so much of the gods he would never act
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inconsiderately: Efanor would draw his sword and fight for Her
Grace_s innocence. To such desperate violence the court had
come, and so far had Efanor gone to side with his brother against
Ryssand_s lie.
_I am astonished,_ he said, finding the presence of mind to pick
up his spoon.
_So His Majesty has married the Lady Regent, and I delayed at
Clusyn until I had firmly and clearly received that report._
_Then you went home to Ivanor& and came here._
_Here I wished to come. But I_d been long absent from my own
hall, and things there wanted at least a glance and a question. In
these times, to ride the true road, straight west to you, was to
invite comment& and a certain hazard, for a man feuding with
Ryssand. I regard my men too highly to do that. Yes, I went
home, advised my folk to prepare even against a raid from the
north, or assassins. Then came I here, with no delay, hearing
rumors of unrest in Amefel. I_m glad to find it settled._
Cevulirn_s spies were nothing less than skilled, and in every
court in the land, Tristen suspected, for little as the man said on
most occasions, he always was well informed.
_The rebellion was against Lord Parsynan_s vice regency,_
Tristen said directly. _Earl Edwyll had a promise from
Tasmôrden to bring Elwynim forces across the river to support a
rebellion; but Tasmôrden is still besieging Ilefínian. He only
looked for Edwyll to make war here and keep Cefwyn_s attention
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away from him._
_I_m hardly surprised in Tasmôrden_s actions. Only in Edwyll_s
simplicity. I had thought him wiser._
_He was desperate._
_He died._
_Of accident. In this very apartment, while his men awaited an
answer on their surrender. He_d drunk Lady Orien_s wine& have
no fear,_ he said, at Cevulirn_s lifted brow. _We_ve changed the
cups and drink from no other vessel she ever used. You heard
this evening how Edwyll_s son Crissand surrendered the citadel
to me on a promise of safety. But the lord viceroy killed the men
who surrendered; and almost Crissand himself. So I sent
Parsynan out of Amefel, and retained the Guelen and the Dragon
Guard until I can find Amefin enough to make a guard._
_Prichwarrin counseled Cefwyn to put him in office. He_s of that
faction; I would wager any sum you like that he_s Corswyndam_s
man._
_I have proof of it,_ Tristen said. _Ryssand had sent Parsynan a
message warning him I was to have Amefel, and the messenger
rode to reach here and deliver it before the king_s herald. Uwen
and Anwyll and Emuin all say it_s against the law to do that._
_Treason to do so, unquestioned._
_More, the lord viceroy called in only one of the earls to warn
him, Lord Cuthan, Earl of Bryn, and Cuthan also knew Edwyll
was about to seize the citadel; but Cuthan was Edwyll_s rival. So
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when Parsynan warned Cuthan a change was coming Cuthan
kept both sides_ secrets until after Edwyll had attacked the
viceroy_s forces. Then he told the rest of the earls. That way all
Edwyll_s support failed, and no matter whether the Elwynim
crossed the river to support the rebels or whether Cefwyn_s
troops took the town back, Cuthan would be safe. Some of the
others held back to see whether the Elwynim would in fact come
in, but I don_t mention that to them, and they know now it was a
bad notion. The other earls never hesitated to join me. They
pretend they didn_t know they were supposed to be rebels, and I
pretend I don_t know either, and so they feel safer about it.
Crissand, too: he stood by his father, waiting for a message to let
him do differently, but it never came. At the last he surrendered
to save his men. Now he_s sworn to me, and I_ve had no cause to
doubt him._ That lengthy report drew a long, a solemn look.
_You_ve grown very wise, Amefel. I am impressed._
_I hope so, sir._
Cevulirn knew him to a degree Amefel did not, and knew his
failures and his follies. And Tristen felt his heart beat hard at
Cevulirn_s gray, assessing stare.
_Protect yourself. You must protect yourself,_ Cevulirn said.
_And recall that Aswydd blood runs in both young Crissand and
in Cuthan, just outside the degree that would have seen them
banished in Cefwyn_s order._
He knew. He certainly knew; and Auld Syes_ salutation rang in
his memory. Lord of Amefel and the aetheling&
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_Too,_ Cevulirn said, _the ladies Aswydd are still alive, just
across the border in Guelessar, learning sanctity in a nunnery&
messengers might go between here and there with no trouble at
all._
The Aswydd dragons looming over them and about them seemed
ominous, and the very air grew close, full of foreboding. _I never
forget it._ He gave a glance, a lift of his hand at the dragons.
_They remind me._
_That they do,_ Cevulirn said. _In this very room Orien practiced
her sorcery, wizardry, gods-know-what._
_There_s a difference, sir._
_I am aware there is. She began in one and set one foot in the
other, gods send she tries no worse where she is. But that_s why
we have you and master Emuin. _I trust Emuin is in good
health. I trust that_s not behind his absence tonight._
_In good health, but locked in his tower. He will not see us after
all, it seems._ Tristen forbade himself the peevishness he felt
about it. Anger was not safe for him: Emuin had warned him so,
then provoked him, more than anyone else close to him. _I posed
him questions, several questions. I don_t doubt he_s deep in his
books. Or he_s forgotten what hour it is. Whether he will answer
my questions, I_ve no idea._
_A difficult post you_ve been given._
_Difficult in every point. One I haven_t told you, sir. I_ve
banished Lord Cuthan._
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_Banished him! Where? To Guelessar? To Cefwyn?_
_To Elwynor, which he accepted; but we found the archivist was
dead during the commotion, and someone had both dug out and
stolen Mauryl_s records& we suspect the second archivist. But
Cuthan may have been to blame for it& at least some of the
documents turned up in Cuthan_s house. We searched his goods
that he removed to take with him, but the guards might well have
missed a scroll or two._
_Mauryl_s records?_
_Letters to Amefel. I have the pieces of what they burned, but
they say very little. Others may have said more._
Cevulirn drew a long, deep breath. _Wizard-work. Cuthan
banished. Edwyll dead. Wagons bound for the border. And now
records of Mauryl_s time. Unnatural storms. And you just a
fortnight in office, lord of Amefel. An active neighbor you will
be to my lands, I do foresee it. Well that I lost no more time in
coming here._
_M_lord,_ Tassand said, arriving in the room, and Tristen became
aware there had been doings at the outer door. He had supposed
it was another course of their supper being brought; but behind
Tassand, Emuin came trailing in, late, with one of the servants
still fussing his robe onto his shoulders, and with Uwen briskly
behind him.
_Well, well,_ Emuin said, _all manner of birds before the storm,
and a gray gull from the south, this time. News from the capital?
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They are wed?_
_So far as I do know,_ Cevulirn said. _I rode up from the south,
having visited my hall briefly, and turned north to present a
neighbor_s greetings before the snow fell. _And to see whether
Lord Tristen had levered His Majesty_s viceroy out the gates, or
whether he might need help._ Cevulirn could be urbane and
quick when he wished. Cevulirn also liked and trusted Emuin,
Tristen had no doubt of it, but this was a very brief account,
passing over more than it said. _I_d not bargained for deep winter
in the hills._
Emuin_s face changed, very subtly.
_So Uwen said,_ Emuin replied, and settled at table. So did
Uwen, diffidently, though less abashed in small company, and
the servants served the next course, while the talk drifted
momentarily to the fare before them.
_Auld Syes met me on my way,_ Tristen said, _and advised me a
friend was southward. Then the storm began, which I_m sure
Uwen told you. It stopped when I called Seddiwy_s name._
_I told you what Auld Syes said, he challenged the old man in
the gray space, quietly and close at hand, disturbing as little as
possible. This business about kings and aethelings. And friends
to the south.
_With this great storm about. When wizardry stirs up forces,
some other wizard may nip in and use them. I mislike it. I tell
you I do.
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_The storm came out of the west, sir.
_So does the evening sun, young lord. Does the heavenly orb
belong to Mauryl or any other?
_But who sent the storm, then, sir?
_I_m sure I don_t know. Was I there? Did you consult me?
You did not.
The servants had brought in their meat and served it, and Tristen,
frowning, cut a bit of cheese, out of appetite for dead creatures.
_There is opposition to us,_ Emuin said in a muted voice, aloud.
_I have difficulty determining whence it comes, whether
collective, of many interests, or whether single, directing all. I
cannot say, nor see a way to determine what we face._
_In the storm?_ Cevulirn asked, who had heard nothing of the
lightning flash of exchange they had just had.
_It may be,_ Emuin said.
_Shelter my birds, Auld Syes told me, master Emuin. Yet I saw
no birds. My pigeons flew out and back in safety. They were
about the ledge this evening.
Emuin_s face was very solemn. One trusts those birds, if any,
would return.
_Cevulirn was caught in the storm,_ Tristen said. _He_s killed
Lord Ryssand_s son, and left Guelemara, and come here to see
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whether I needed his help._
_Storms aplenty in this season, between wars,_ Emuin said. _But
they are wed and done with protests, is it so?_
_Charges of unfaithfulness, sir,_ Cevulirn said, _naming Tristen,
which no sane man credits._
_Sanity is not requisite in Guelemara,_ Emuin said. _Only
orthodoxy. So Brugan is dead. Small loss._
_I was about to say,_ Tristen said, _which Lord Cevulirn doesn_t
know, about the letter._
_Mauryl_s letters?_ Cevulirn asked.
_Ryssand_s to Lord Parsynan,_ Tristen said. _Ryssand sent
warning Parsynan I was coming. What I did not say& I sent the
letter to Idrys, in hope it would reach Cefwyn more quickly that
way._
Cevulirn arched a brow, and a slow pleasure spread across his
face. _Oh, His Majesty will be very pleased to have that in his
hands. He has them. He has Ryssand in a noose, by the gods;
and Ryssand will not find this easy._
_I hoped it might be of some use to Cefwyn._
_Of use to him! You_ve secured us all a quiet winter, and
possibly saved Ylesuin. Oh, you_ll be far better a neighbor than
Heryn Aswydd, sir._
Considering Heryn Aswydd, and Duchess Orien, it was certainly
no extravagant compliment, but Tristen felt warmed by that
approval all the same. _I_m very glad to have you for a neighbor,
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sir. I counted on your help in the spring, but I_d no expectation
you_d come here this winter._
_His Majesty was very wise to send you south. As he sent me, I
think, knowing I might find you, and lo, here we are with our
heads together and apprising each other of the actions of our
enemies. If there was inspiration aloft in the lightning that night
that cast you from the capital, it had to be in that stroke. His
Majesty knows how weak his support is in the north, that at any
moment these Guelen reeds he leans on may break and pierce his
hand if not his heart. He won_t grudge you the use of the carts,
not in the least, though for the northern barons_ eyes he may look
askance at it. His Majesty can_t say so, but I think he is amply
warned and wary of just such treachery as you sent him proof of._
_Yet he_ll not have me go cross the river,_ Tristen said
unhappily. _Tasmôrden is assailing Ilefínian at this very hour, or
worse, and you and I and a troop of your light horse could
prevent it; I said so before I left Guelemara. But Cefwyn
expressly forbade it._
Cevulirn_s eyes kindled and shadowed. The lord of the Ivanim
was a man of grays, grays in his dress, grays of hair that reached
to his shoulders, and frosty eyes that had perhaps the faint
heritage of the old Sihhë lineage in them. Perhaps, in the terms
Men reckoned such things, they were at least remote kin, he and
Cevulirn. It was certain they were of like mind.
And in all this exchange, Emuin quietly ate and listened.
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_His Majesty may be less inclined to walk softly past Ryssand
now that he has that letter in his hand,_ Cevulirn said. _Gods, that
was a fine stroke. And were you not so explicitly enjoined
against it, Amefel, I swear I would have my men here in short
order, snow, storms, and all._
_No,_ Emuin said suddenly, and they all stopped and stared.
_No, sir?_ Tristen asked.
Emuin seemed to have spoken on impulse, and now seemed to be
as taken by surprise as they were.
_No,_ Emuin said again more thoughtfully and more slowly. _It
will not be. It must not happen. I cannot see it, and I distrust any
such notion for the two of you alone._
Tristen knew himself for the creature of less than a year, less
adroit than Men, and ignorant. But Emuin had not only
bewildered Cevulirn, he had even astonished himself, to judge by
the puzzled crease of Emuin_s brow.
_Is Cefwyn in danger from such an action?_ To that sort of
subtlety he had ascended, out of his former ignorance. _Would it
set wizardous matters amiss?_
_Matters amiss with the northern barons, without a doubt,_
Emuin said in a distant tone. _But no, their discomfort is nowhere
a concern in what I feel. Something will come, perhaps out of the
north, I have no knowledge, nor can say what, but come it will,
and we cannot be caught napping, or venture too recklessly
across the river._
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_Assassins?_ Such had been known, or claimed, in Amefel, in
Cefwyn_s tenure. So Heryn Aswydd had claimed& falsely.
Emuin shook his head. _I don_t know. Nor even from which side
of the river it might come._
_I put nothing past these northern barons,_ Cevulirn said, himself
a southerner. _They_d slip a dagger in our good king_s back and
have a new dynasty& if Ryssand dared, if Ryssand didn_t know
there_d be war, war within, and war pouring over Ylesuin_s
border. This letter you gave into Idrys_ hands will set the fear in
Ryssand, and it may have quieted him for a space. Treachery
from the Elwynim? Easily aimed at Cefwyn. Or at Her Grace. No
need even to warn His Majesty of that danger. He knows with
whom he has to deal. And as for the rest of the barons& those
who once thought Efanor would be a more tractable king& I
think Prince Efanor would be far other than they once thought
him, if ever he came to the throne. There_s an anger in Efanor
that never yet has come out, and I think if no other has, Ryssand
may have begun to perceive it, that day Brugan died. If anything
should befall Cefwyn, Ryssand would not benefit by it._
Hard words, very hard words, even to contemplate Cefwyn
fallen. Tristen_s heart beat faster, and he saw extremities of anger
in himself he had never contemplated, a door he very quickly
shut fast and barred, holding to the calm Cevulirn spread abroad.
_Cefwyn is my law, sir. If they harmed him, or Her Grace, they
would find me at their door. I_m not Guelen. Nor Ryssandish.
And I don_t care for the things they care for._
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A small silence followed, Cevulirn_s stark stare, and Emuin_s,
alike directed at him, as if they knew that door existed.
_I believe that,_ Cevulirn said. _Nor am I Guelen, or Ryssandish,
for that matter. But make no such threats openly._
_Shall I allow them to plot against him and do him harm?_ He
found it all but impossible to sit calmly in his chair, a province
removed from Cefwyn. _I won_t._
_You would rouse Guelessar in arms against Amefel and Amefel
against Ryssand and have all the realm in civil war,_ Emuin said,
_if you bruited such a threat about. No, indeed you are not
Guelen, young lord, nor Ryssandish, and by the evidence of
witnesses, including Uwen Lewen_s-son, I_ve no doubt you_d
strew dead in windrows if they provoked your anger, but that_s
not what His Majesty needs of you at this pass. No. Contain your
temper and your imagination. I pray you, contain it. There_s no
need for it yet. Only for cleverness and clear thought, which are
in lamentable short supply in the north._
_Do you know what we ought to do? Tell me what Cefwyn does
need, master Emuin, and I_ll gladly do it._
_So will we both,_ said Cevulirn.
The servants were near, but they were his own, Tassand foremost
of them, all brought with him from Amefel to Guelessar and back
again. They were men loyal to him. Uwen, who had come late,
had his meal in silence, and stayed silent throughout, but now
Uwen_s keen glance went to one of them and the other, a wise,
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common man who doubtless was thinking his own thoughts, and
who looked grim and afraid, beyond easy reassurance.
_Yet you left Guelemara not of your own will,_ Emuin said,
_lord of Ivanor. As did Lord Tristen. I_d say you had well-
thought reason to obey His Majesty in that regard._
_If I could have steadied His Majesty_s power by staying,_
Cevulirn said, _I would have done it; but nothing_s served if we
weaken the kingdom in fighting among ourselves. If Ylesuin
stays strong and if Her Grace comes to Elwynor soon, the
common folk across the river will rally to her banner despite her
marrying a Marhanen king. If she fails to come to their relief at
first opportunity, the hope becomes less and less she will ever
come. In that case, support for her cause will fall away to
Tasmôrden quick as the wind can turn. So if we here begin any
dissent that delays Her Grace returning to Elwynor and keeping
her pledge to her people, then anything we do does the king
harm, not good._
It was very clear what Emuin had wished Cevulirn to argue to
him: his reasons, clearly given, to retreat and not contest his
dismissal. And he heard them as good reasons.
_Yet,_ Tristen said with a sidelong, defiant glance at Emuin, _if
we could prevent Tasmôrden altogether& and bring him
down&_
_Even so,_ Emuin said, _gods know where that would lead. To a
rising in the north, very possibly. Very likely the barons_ failure
to answer the king_s call to arms. He might call and they might
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bid the king enforce his orders how he might. No, young lord,
listen to Cevulirn in this. We dare not defy the king, we the loyal
subjects. If we don_t obey him, who will? And if you ride across
the river and take Ilefínian, what in the gods_ good name will you
do with it?_
_Yet,_ Cevulirn said before Tristen could answer, _I have sent
riders to Lanfarnesse and Olmern, and even to my neighbor
Umanon in Imor._
Emuin was less pleased with that news.
_Also,_ Cevulirn went on, _I_ve left my second-in-command
clear instruction to take the dukedom and swear to Cefwyn in the
field should aught befall me untimely on the road: I_ll not risk
my successor by sending him to Guelemara as things sit now. In
good truth, I expect Ryssand to attempt my life before the year_s
out, and I advise my allies as well as my appointed successor to
look to their own backs. To you I came personally, as you see.
To Idrys I have already spoken, and you know his opinion of
Ryssand. To the risk of his own life, Idrys would proceed against
Ryssand and Murandys; but not if Ryssand moderates his threats,
and I understand that reasoning. It_s Ryssand_s compliance the
king needs. Ryssand_s gone as far as the king will permit, and
Ryssand knows his head doesn_t sit securely. Let him worry of
nights whether Idrys will act in absence of orders. It will keep
him out of mischief._
_To the kingdom_s peril if Idrys should take it on himself to act,_
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Emuin said darkly. _There_s no succession in Ryssand now, once
Corswyndam_s gone._
_Tasmôrden has already attempted to divide Amefel from the rest
of the kingdom,_ Tristen said. _And he may well seek some
means to unsettle us. Wouldn_t he rather see Ylesuin fighting
inside its own borders instead of crossing the river in the spring?_
All the uncertainty of the day brimmed up in him like flood.
_And wizardry, if it does work on Tasmôrden_s side, would press
for that. Wouldn_t it strike at the stone that will move, if it wants
to bring the wall down?_
Cevulirn cast him a stark, a calculating look.
_Oh,_ said Emuin, _you would be astonished what
understandings come to our young lord in dreams these days._
_I_ve understood nothing in dreams,_ Tristen said, disturbed even
to think of them. _I dream of dragons, sir. And Owl._
_You don_t dream as men dream, no,_ Emuin said, _yet all the
same you do find curious notions, young lord, and keep me in
continual suspense what understandings you may come by. You
ask advice. In this I_ll give it. Don_t encourage Ryssand to
greater adventures. That_s considerable advice, young lord. Kings
could profit by it. I pray ours does._
_That_s what I must not do,_ he said. _But what shall we do, sir?_
_Why, you both shall do wisely, I hope, as each event demands._
_Wisely._
_But tell you what to do or what to purpose, that I will not, young
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lord, storm as you will. You say I don_t listen to you; I assure
you to the contrary. I have been listening._
_I do not storm, sir!_
Emuin held up a palm to heaven. _I think I felt a raindrop._
_I assure you, sir, I am not demanding._
_Ah,_ said Emuin, and reached for his cup, from which he took a
slow sip of wine in a deep silence at the table. _Then let me be
less humorous, at your pleasure. Cefwyn will ride among the first
troops across the river. Not prophecy: he_s Marhanen, and that
sort of folly is his notion of kingship. If all else went well and if
Cefwyn fell, it would very likely prevent any crossing at all, and
it would make Ninévrisë a widow without a king to enforce her
rights. There is your danger. Against all prudence, Cefwyn will
afford Tasmôrden that chance at his life& if he ever comes to the
river. Yes, Tasmôrden_s made one try here in the south, not a
great one, with no expenditure of men. But I do agree: it shows
the inclination of the man to proceed by indirection and tricks.
He_s more subtle than his predecessor, Aseyneddin. He doesn_t
go straight to his objective, but in a slow and curving path. In
many regards, he_s more dangerous than Aseyneddin._
_The south will not rebel, thanks to His Grace,_ Cevulirn said.
_That_s failed, let us hope, and now our enemy has to take
Ilefínian and subdue it before he can turn his attention to other
objectives. But he has shown the ability to pursue two courses at
once._
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Cevulirn said that, and said something more, but the candlelight
had gone to brass and the sound had dimmed. Tristen sat still,
saw Emuin looking at him, and yet was not in that gray space. It
was as if the ordinary world had slid from under him. He felt his
senses slipping from him, and fought to have them back again&
he was not the youth who had slipped away in sleep when too
great things had Unfolded and startled his senses, but it was like
that. He clenched his hand on the arm of the chair and drew a
deep breath as darkness closed in.
He saw a dim cell that he had known, himself, first of all places
in the fortress of Henas_amef, save the gatehouse. He did not
know what the gatehouse of the stable-court and the west stairs
should have to do with Tasmôrden and sieges and intentions, but
it did.
And he saw the lower hallway, that in front of the great hall, with
light of day broken in where no light should be in the middle of
the night, a dusty great light coming from a boarded end.
He heard a sound like the sound of his own heart beating in his
ears, as if he had been climbing a high, high stairs, into dark, and.
into the gray space, where someone waited for him.
He would not go.
There was that Place.
And there was the cell beneath the west stairs. It was a different
thing. It was related, but only discernible because the lower hall
had disturbed him. Things tottered, chances poised that might go
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amiss tonight, and he felt flaws in his own safety. He had a lump
on his head and had just waked, in fear, and in pain.
_M_lord?_
Uwen_s voice, Uwen, whom he had given the gift to Call him,
Uwen, whose hand seized with gentle strength on his shoulder,
so that he became aware first of Emuin_s presence, bright and
glowing, and Cevulirn_s, dimmer, and Uwen_s, common as stone,
and as inert, and as solid. Of them all, Uwen was plain,
unequivocal earth, strong and constant.
_It_s one of his takin_s,_ Uwen said. _He ain_t had one o_ these in
a while. M_lord, do ye hear me?_
He did, perfectly well, but he could only press Uwen_s hand for
the moment. Then he found a breath. _I_m going to the west
stairs cell._
_The west stairs cell?_ Emuin asked sharply.
Uwen_s face, close to his, showed deep concern, but no refusal.
_Aye, m_lord, if ye will, and shall we do something in particular
while we_re there?_
_I think so,_ he said, and knew that Uwen would keep the rest of
them from thinking him mad, but he had acquired something he
had been looking for, and he refused to let go. He was acutely
aware of Emuin weaving a tight net about them all, a safety
within this dreadful room; and aware of Cevulirn, whose
attention was wary and sure as a sword blade& no wizard, but no
easy venture for a wizard, either, edged with a gift he had never
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himself brought forth into use.
_I_ve seen a shadow of sorts before this,_ he said to Cevulirn and
to the two he trusted readily with such information. He tried to
look at them as he spoke, and yet could not look away from the
brazen dragon that loomed across the entry to the next room; it
drew his attention, and his heart beat in his fingertips. He could
scarcely muster his voice, and had half lost command of his
limbs. The dragon meant something. It had something of its own
to tell him, one more clamor for his attention.
_M_lord,_ said Uwen, and almost pried him from that wide
awareness, but not quite. It was not that he was bound: it was that
it was important, that matter in the cell, inside the wards that
defended them.
_We should, perhaps, go,_ said Cevulirn, _and let His Grace rest.
We were the second encounter of the day, so I understand._
_No!_ Tristen said, then realized that utterance had been too
fierce. He moderated it, with the vision of the dragon in his eyes:
_No. Hear this. Hear it and remember it for me, for I shall forget
once this is past. It_s not the same as the Shadow at Lewenbrook,
but all the same it troubles me. I see it to the east, at times&
mostly east, sometimes to the west, like the storm today. Emuin
says if it_s a storm, it must come from the west, because storms
do, and that_s only sensible: I believe him. But I_m not sure that_s
the only reason or that it_s always the same shadow. Shadows
exist within the wards, in the hall below, too& I saw them in the
first days I came to Henas_amef. Emuin knows what I mean.
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Emuin has seen them. There_s something there. And there_s
another thing in the cell beneath the stairs, by the stable-court._
_The guardroom._
_The cell. We should go there._
_Of course,_ Emuin said with a fey desperation. _Of course we
must, and gods save us all, young lord, what are we looking for?_
_A thief,_ he said, not knowing why he thought so, for it did not
regard Mauryl_s letters, and that search. He was sure of that. He
rose from an unfinished supper, still gazing at the dragon, but
able to look away now, from moment to moment, aware that he
had in Lord Cevulirn a man who had been many days on the road
and who could well do with that supper that to him had turned
cold and unimportant. _I beg you stay, sir, enjoy your meal. This
regards a very small thing I must attend, no present danger,
nothing that will keep me long, I think. I_ll come back when I_m
done, and we_ll share a cup before bed._
Social graces, social words, such as he had heard others make.
But he had told the truth. He knew, at least, that the summons
was brief, and that someone essential, someone looked-for,
waited for him in that cell.
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Chapter 5
«
^
»
Yes, m_lord,_ was the word from the Amefin guard& Ness, the
man_s name was. Ness had followed them unbidden from his
post, his comrade left to stand guard above. _M_lord, Selmwy
and I found _im, only on account o_ the Guelenmen we lost _im&
so_s by Your Grace_s order I got the keys back._
What Ness said made no particular sense to Tristen, and echoed
off the walls of the small area outside the few cells the same way
Ness_s voice had echoed to him a certain night this early
summer, that night when he himself, a prisoner, had sat in the
endmost cell battered and bruised and sadly bewildered.
Then he had been afraid of Ness, and of this place. Now the
tables were altogether turned, and Ness, fearing him, protested
something done or not done by the Guelen Guard, and hoped his
lord would forgive the confusion.
Forgiveness was easy. Forgiveness meant simply putting from
his thoughts all anger toward Ness, who had never been a bad
man, only a hasty one, and who had thought on that day last
summer he was protecting the prince from thieves and assassins.
Now Ness had brought down the keys, which he had fought over
with the Guelens in the hall above, and in trembling haste opened
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the door to show him the object of contention between the two
guard companies.
Uwen, practical man, had brought the lantern down from
upstairs, a shielded light reliable in the gusts that swept these
stairs. Meanwhile, still indignant, robbed of keys and charge, a
Guelen guard had followed Uwen down the steps to watch the
proceedings.
It was a jealous battle of authorities, and within it all, Lusin and
Syllan had posted themselves upstairs, household officers,
deliberately standing between the Guelen Guard, king_s men, and
the Amefin gate-guard, duke_s men, who had claimed the royal
prisoner and written him down as theirs. Emuin had stayed above
with the opposed guardsmen, too, declaring it too much of a
crowd on the narrow stairs.
In fact the squabble of guards and authorities like pigeons over a
morsel of bread, and all of them so earnest, began to be a
comedy& or would have been so, except for the wizard-feeling
trembling in the air, and the fact that, jests and foolishness aside,
the young man in this cell was in peril of his life.
The door opened into dark and showed them the morsel in
question& a small lump of knees and elbows in the light of the
lantern Uwen held high. The lump moved& a boy who hid his
face and squinted at the light, then, vision obtained between knee
and elbows, let out a startlingly pitiful sound and attempted to be
completely invisible. Terror lanced through the gray space, and
Tristen drew in a sharp breath and forbade the boy that
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invisibility, on all levels.
_Be still!_ he said, and now he knew why he had bidden his
guard gather this boy along with all the missing staff. Wizard-gift
was in him.
_M_lord!_ the waif cried and flung himself on his face in the dirty
straw, and there all things stopped, in the gray space and in this
place that stank with a remembered stench, and that held all the
terror he himself had felt here.
_Paisi,_ Tristen said more gently. _Paisi is your name._
_No, no, m_lord, _at_s somebody else._
_Look up. Look at me._
Emuin should have come down, Tristen thought now, because
the wizard-feeling rattled off the walls. But then, Emuin hardly
needed to, for he was there, having an ear to the gray place,
reserving himself from the gusts of fear and alarm that blew
wildly about the cell.
In Amefin blood, the Guelenfolk said, was no little amount of the
Sihhë. And he would not be surprised, in better light, and if the
lad would look up at all at the lantern, if Paisi_s eyes were gray as
old glass.
_Paisi,_ he said again. _Never hide from me._ Had not Mauryl
said something of the sort to him, once?
And indeed the boy did venture half a look, furtive and fearful.
_See, you_re not harmed. You_re not to be harmed._
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Terror still flooded forth, and defense, angry defense, but not
denial.
_Boy,_ Uwen said, at his shoulder, a slow and tolerant voice,
_your new lord_s been huntin_ ye high and low for a fortnight,
an_ set some great store by findin_ ye, so_s ye might as well bring
your head up an_ face _im as near like a good, respectable lad as
ye can manage. Get up, an_ make a proper respect to His Grace.
Ye_re half a man& be all o_ one._
The youth, stung, did get to his feet, but kept his back against his
corner, as if the wall was safety, or needful support.
_What_s the charge again_ _im, exactly?_ Uwen asked with a
glance over his shoulder at Ness. They had heard a confused
account of theft, above, but Uwen asked particulars.
_Pilferage from m_lord_s wagons,_ Ness said.
_A thief,_ Tristen said, recalling his impression above.
_A hungry boy, m_lord,_ Ness said, bravely. _Bein_ afraid to
come to the gate where he usually got a bit o_ bread an_ a meal or
two off the kitchen leavin_s, an_ carry messages for the guard.
We ain_t seen _im since the order went out to find _im._
_And he guides strangers, do you, Paisi?_
_M_lord,_ was all the boy was willing to say, and the fear in the
gray space was overwhelming.
_They been chasin_ _im all the day. An_ was in the way o_
hangin_ _im,_ Ness said. _For theft o_ personal goods._
_They will not hang him,_ Tristen said. He had seen men hang,
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and had no desire to see this boy meet such a fate. _Not this boy,
and no one else, will they hang. If there are thieves or hungry
folk, send them to me._
_M_lord,_ Ness said faintly and fearfully, acknowledging the
order.
Paisi, too, stared at him with the same wide-eyed look the young
villagers in Guelessar had had, burning curiosity and stark fear
commingled. It was a summer and a fall since they had looked at
one another, and Tristen was not sure he would have recognized
Paisi by the look alone& a boy, of what years Tristen had no
idea how to reckon by looking at him. But this was indeed the
boy who had found him wandering in the streets of the town and
guided him to Cefwyn, and now he knew it was no happenstance
that had drawn Paisi to him, though neither of them had known it
then. Ness had been there. And surely Ness remembered.
_How old might you be?_ he asked Paisi: nearly, but not quite a
man, was the reckoning his eye made, and Paisi himself only
shrugged as if that, like other things, escaped him.
_Little as fourteen, much as sixteen winters,_ Uwen said in the
subject_s silence. _An_ he don_t have proper manners for ye to
bring _im into a fine house, m_lord. _E might do well in the guard
if he learnt to stand an_ look at a man._
What should he do with the boy now he had found him? He had
never yet reckoned that part of his search. It had only mattered to
him to know where Paisi was, and to know that he was close to
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him and could not fall into the hands of anyone else. He had
added Paisi to his list of those souls he wanted found, and found
for the same reasons as he would secure wards and latch
windows, gathering the power of the household close in one
place, not scattering it abroad, available to any ill intention that
wandered in from Elwynor.
But he had never, when he had first met Paisi, been aware of the
gift in him. He had been very marginally aware of the gift in
himself, on that confused evening. But he had no doubt at all
now why Paisi of all boys in Henas_amef had happened across
him, and guided him to Cefwyn_s gate. No chance, but wizardry
had brought him to Cefwyn. He had wondered was there
somewhere else he was supposed to have gone, perhaps to
Elwynor or to the Lord Regent& but meeting Paisi now, he
knew it was no chance, and that Cefwyn_s court was where
Mauryl had intended him to go.
That was a profound realization, one that led him astray to Ynefel
and back, so that he needed Uwen_s touch on the arm to
remember what was essential, to find the boy someplace other
than a straw-lined cell.
He did not want the boy loose and unwatched, no more than
Mauryl_s letters or Mauryl_s books or a staff that Mauryl had
leaned on. The wizardry that had sent him into the world had
brushed past this boy and made of the boy a pivot-point on which
so much else turned.
_He might help Tassand with Emuin_s tower, if he were of a
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mind. I think I would prefer him in the house and not out of it._
_He_ll steal the silver, m_lord. He wouldn_t want to, but I fear
temptation_d be too much for the lad. He can_t rightly reckon his
prospects. What ye hold up to _im is so far beyond his ken as the
sun and the stars is, and he just don_t know how to think of silver
an_ hungry folk an_ what he wants all at the same time._
_Nor do I,_ Tristen said, bringing silence all around him. _Yet I
try._ It was firmer and firmer in his mind that with all else
unhinged in the world, any piece of his own left unclaimed could
become an adit for sorcery, a danger as great as a broken ward.
He had not been prepared to find Paisi so urgently claiming his
attention. He had certainly not been prepared to find him in
trouble with the king_s guard and arrested for theft. But he was
not utterly surprised, either. Uwen was right. Paisi was not a boy
easy to love.
In fact he wondered if anyone but Ness had ever cared for him.
And he wondered for what reason outside the common goodness
of Ness_s heart anyone had seen him fed and clothed. He had had
Mauryl when he was foolish and helpless. But who had cared for
Paisi_s needs? And why?
_Is he yours?_ he asked Ness. _Is he kin of yours?_
_M_lord,_ Ness said faintly, unsure, it was likely, what claiming
Paisi might entail, or wherein he might be deemed at fault. _No,
he ain_t kin. He ain_t no one_s kin, that I know. But we an_ the
lads at the gate, we took care of _im, an_ he kind of slipped about
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the streets an_ told us if there was somethin_ amiss._
_Then he has had a use._
_Aye, m_lord, sort of a use. An_ _e ain_t stole except once. Or
twice._
_Has he lied to you?_
_Not so_s ever mattered. _E tells tales. _E_s a boy. Boys do._
_Then take him at least for the night. _Go to Ness,_ Tristen said
to the young prisoner, _and do as he bids you. Have a bath at the
scullery, have something to eat, and I_ll send someone for you in
the morning who_ll tell you what you have to do. You_ve
protected the town before. You_ll go on protecting it. And you_ll
be an honest boy and not steal anything again, or Emuin will turn
you into a toad._
Paisi cast frantic glances at Ness and at him, and at Uwen.
Whether or not he believed the threat of being a toad he surely
knew by now he was deep in wizards_ business, and in danger.
_I have enemies,_ Tristen said softly, _and only honesty and my
service may protect you. Dishonesty will deliver you to my
enemies as surely as if you walked to Tasmôrden_s gates._
_I don_t know about lords an_ wizards!_ Paisi protested, for the
first time finding a string of words. _I don_t know about bein_ in
the Zeide!_
_Learn,_ Tristen said, _and make as few mistakes as you can.
Steal nothing._ He gave a nod to Ness. _Find him a bed. And
supper. I left mine, for this, and left my guest, too. I must go back
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upstairs._ He had only just realized the extent of his dereliction:
strongly as he had felt the need here, he knew now he must go
back and beg Cevulirn_s pardon. _I_ll send Tassand in the
morning._
_Scrub under them fingernails,_ Uwen said, _as don_t seem likely
_e ever has. Show _im how to stand like a soldier and speak up
like one, too. It ain_t so different for His Grace_s servants._
_Aye, Captain,_ Ness said in a hushed tone.
And that was the end of the matter, with Ness and Paisi at last.
Increasingly it seemed he had done the right, the necessary thing.
_M_lor_,_ the young voice pursued him, a-tremble.
He stopped and looked back. Paisi had reached the bottom step,
and came another step up.
_M_lor_, if it_s anything ye wish to hear& there_s talk, there_s
talk I heard._
_And what talk?_
The silence after said perhaps the boy was too eager, foolishly
eager, to prove himself useful; and all he had was dubious. Ness
seemed to think so, too, for he overtook the boy and set a
cautioning hand on his shoulder.
_In the market they said& They said you was goin_ to raise up
the old tower._
_Ynefel?_
_That _un, yes, m_lor_. _An_ ye_d bring back the magic._
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_Who says so?_
_The gran_mothers say_t._
_He means the hedge-wizards,_ Uwen said. _Mostly they_re
midwives. Herb-witches._
He hardly knew what to say to that charge. Likely it was already
true, in the sense that he came from Ynefel. But it was nothing he
wanted bruited about the streets: the Quinalt was not that well-
disposed to him, and Idrys had warned him of it.
_I don_t know,_ he said, _and I know nothing about these
grandmothers. What else do you know?_
_There_s them carts gone out,_ Paisi said, _an_ folk is talkin_
about war and maybe ye_ll call the muster._
_I don_t intend to have war here. It_s far from my intention._
_That_s what I know, m_lor_._
The words were more than the words. The very stones rang with
them& a sense of things to which ordinary men were deaf.
Of a sudden he reached across the gray space and seized on
Paisi_s notice, startling his soul half out of him, and facing him
there, in the gray&
_I think you hear me, Paisi.
_Gods bless!_ Paisi cried, and in the one world fell to his knees
and in this one whirled away on the winds of panic&
flat into Ness_s arms.
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Tristen pursued, a mere step down the stairs, and had him at
close attention.
_M_lor_&
_Don_t lie,_
he said, in this world and the gray one. _If you_ll do a service for
me, ask the grandmothers what they would say to me._
He had Emuin_s attention, and knew it; and Emuin was utterly
aware of the waif, and of him. In that moment Paisi seemed to
see Emuin, for he turned his head all in a jerk and fled.
In the world of Men Paisi missed the step and tumbled to his
knees on it.
_M_ lord,_ Paisi said, trembling.
_Go with Ness,_ Tristen said aloud, and added, _Boy?_ It echoed
to him with Mauryl_s voice, kind and commanding at once.
When had the tables turned? _I_ll never hurt you._
_My lord,_ Paisi whispered, on his knees.
_Send to Tassand in the morning,_ Tristen said to Ness, _and let
him have the run of the town as he has had. I_ve given him
something to do for me._
With that he had done all that was profitable to do, and he turned
and went up the stairs with Uwen.
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Emuin was there, with a handful of the Guelens, Emuin with
hands in the sleeves of his gray robes, beneath the fitful light of a
lantern, shielded light there in the drafty stairs. And even so the
wind gusted the little flame and cast Emuin_s face in ominous
shadow.
_A thief, you say,_ Emuin prompted him aloud.
_And what more? Emuin confronted him in the gray space as
well, and the gray clouds were roiled with the storm of Emuin_s
distress.
_A boy, Tristen answered. He guided me to Cefwyn: should I
leave him loose and unwarded? He_s an open threshold. Now
he_s ours.
_Yours. Yours, young lord. I have nothing to do with him!
Paisi had led Tristen straight as an arrow from the town gates to
Cefwyn_s doorstep, the night he had arrived. Wizardry went for
weak points, and Paisi_s hunger was that; it went for movable
points, and there was none more unstable than a boy with no bed
at night; it went for persons with a glimmer of the gift and no
knowledge how to use it. And if there was malice afoot in the
gray space at large, seeking any approach, any weakness in his
Place in the world, he had just mortared in that stone with strong
wards. He had meant what he said to Paisi: if hostile force
attempted this boy who had so basic and early a connection to his
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presence here, he would know that threshold had been crossed.
But the boy was himself harmless as the old women Uwen
named.
_Harmless! Emuin echoed his thought. Harmless now. Bring
back the magic indeed.
_Is there truth in it, sir? Can you see? I can_t. Who are these
grandmothers?
_The truth, gods, the truth! The cursed truth is the magic_s
worn thin and raising it is work, young lord, wearying work,
until a draught of your presence pours down, and a wizard who
ought to know better finds it headier and headier wine, gods
save me. Gods save us all.
The Guelen Guard, who had lost their prisoner to higher orders,
stood frowning, meanwhile, and all the distressing exchange was
in an eyeblink, leaving him staring at Emuin and Emuin
conspicuously evading his eyes.
_The boy is a thief,_ the Guelen officer said, _and will steal from
Your Grace, if he goes free._
_He will go free& in my service._ Tristen had no idea what the
boy had stolen or whether they had gotten it back. The wagons
bound for the border had been laden with all manner of things,
supplies, soldiers_ belongings, tents and fittings as well as grain
for horses. Paisi, however, would not have made off with a grain
sack. Likely it was something smaller. _Whatever he stole,_
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Tristen said, _have the owner come to Uwen, and I will pay it._
_Your Grace,_ the sergeant said, _it was a man_s kit, an_ we ain_t
ever found it._
_Then Paisi will tell where he hid it._ He saw no profit in long
debate with the officer, and pursued his way doggedly toward the
lower west hall, having learned to disentangle himself from the
importunate: solve a matter and move on, disentangling his guard
and those with him at the same time, and leaving firm orders
behind him.
But even so he felt himself constrained and hemmed about.
_What in the gods_ good name possessed you to ride out today?_
Emuin asked. Not: why have we left a supper upstairs? That he
took in stride. But riding out with Crissand& that was in
question.
_Crissand asked,_ he said simply. _Have you marked it, sir, he
has the gift?_
_As does that boy. This is Amefel. Half the province has the gift
in some measure!_
_Not to that measure._
_No. That_s true._
_I_ve done what I see to do. I ask, sir, this time I ask very
strongly, that you advise me._
_And still, I say I will not__
_I know what you will not, sir! But consider& the harm is out
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across the river. It is across the river, is it not?_
_It seems to be._
_Yet it was a great storm out there!_ He needed exercise no
discretion in front of Lusin and Uwen, who had been there, but
he kept his voice low with great effort, lest it echo to the guards
elsewhere, who surely could hear that they argued, if not what
they argued. _Crissand urged me go, Auld Syes met me, Cevulirn
had been on his way long before I took the notion to ride out. I
say I felt disturbance in the west and you say not in the west. So
where shall I look for it, sir? And what shall I do about it when I
do find it?_
_I_m sure I don_t know. Nor do I care to, young lord. I_ve told
you that._
_And yet came with me back to Amefel._
_Someone needed to._
_And having arrived here, you do nothing, all for fear of
involving yourself in Mauryl_s spells. And what if Mauryl
wished you to advise me?_
_I know he did, young lord! That_s the bloody point! He had the
cursed gall to leave you and me equally ignorant of his purposes
and you ignorant of your purposes, and wherein am I to
substitute mine? If mine were adequate, why am I not ruling
Ynefel at this hour? No, no, and no! I am not Mauryl_s successor,
and I am most certainly not your master! Rail on him, that he
failed to advise you! But on we? Why, I do as he did! I leave you
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ignorant as a new-whelped pup and trust the unwinding of his
spell to inform you of your reasons or his intent& so where am I
at fault more than he, pray?_
Now they were well beyond what the guards should witness,
even Lusin and Syllan, and some consciousness of witnesses and
the echoing halls seemed to return to Emuin, and he moderated
his voice. _Forgive me. But think on statecraft and moderate
behavior, young lord. I_ve every suspicion the knowledge of that
art is in you, and does Unfold at need. You are the lord of
Amefel. Conduct yourself so! Hold audience for your people and
don_t complain of me that I fail to advise you, when you will not
act on the simple advice I have given you! And what do I tell
you? Establish a court! Settle in one place and let entreaty come
to you, not the other way about, none of this haring about the
countryside looking for trouble! We are not yet at that need, that
we must find troubles out by some country shrine._
_I mentioned no shrine.__
There was a moment of silence then, and Emuin did not meet his
eyes.
_You knew. You expected her,_ Tristen said accusingly, _and
never told me._.
_Say I_m not surprised at her,_ Emuin confessed, _since she
precedes trouble, and trouble we shall have by spring, young
lord, so she might as well have the winter_s start on it. I say act
on the advice I do give and then we will proceed to the advice
you complain I do not give._
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_And establish this court, sir?_
_That, for a beginning._
_And spend my days settling the design for carved doors, and
debating with craftsmen? Hard enough to see to the things I need
to._
_Better that than raising storms in the countryside. Stay out of
mischief! Provoke nothing before its time._
_Provoke what, sir? And in what time?_ It was the very question
he pursued, whether Emuin knew there was something on the
horizon, or whether he was equally baffled and casting about for
hints of what opposed them. _Storms may always come from the
west, but Ynefel lies that way, too, and whether the tower is
vacant or not concerns me. I have felt it vacant. I_ve thought that
it was. Do you know?_
_Yes, it is vacant! I am certain of its vacancy, as I am certain
there is no active shrine at Levey, and no hallow nor shadow
beneath the oak that fell, not tonight, whatever may have been
true at dawn this morning. But I_ll be most grateful, young lord,
if you and yours could refrain from poking and prying under
every stone in the province. Follow the advice I do give, and
don_t rush into other things and then run to me for advice, as if I
should have foreseen everything! I don_t. I can_t. I won_t. So
there! I_m out of need for supper this evening, and far from polite
converse. Entertain your guest. I_ll go back to my tower, by your
leave, my good and gracious lord, and let you younger hearts
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plan the downfall of Tasmôrden. I_m weary._
_You_ve not had all your supper. And your advice would be
welcome. Come upstairs with me and have the rest of your
supper. Please, sir._
Another lengthy silence, Emuin seeming distracted and weary.
_You don_t hear me, do you? Nothing_s come to you? Crissand
lured you out there. Crissand brought you to this shrine. And
who is Crissand? What is Crissand?_
_My friend, sir. My loyal friend._ Dread afflicted him at the
hearing. _Do you say otherwise?_
_Not so far as he wills._ Emuin_s lips trembled in the dim light,
as if he would say more, and refrained. _He is Aswydd. And
Amefin. And you are Mauryl_s. And have ever been._Go to
your guest. His arrival, too, is momentous, like this ragabones
from the streets that you send to trouble the wisewomen. I_ll go
to my room._
_You_re angry, sir. I only wish the truth._
_I_m in perfectly good sorts. I want my own tower. That number
of stairs I can climb, none of this traipsing up to yours and down
and up again. I grow weary of this up and down of this stairs, that
stairs, come down to dinner, down to the guardroom, up again,
pray. Your bones don_t know the pains of age, young sir. The
steps yonder are a mountain, my tower equally so, but at least it
leads to bed._
_Sir._ Contrition moved him. He had raised his voice to Emuin,
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and wished nothing more than to have Emuin_s trust, and did not
know how to win it. _I_ll have your supper sent._
Emuin looked at him, old eyes, much the image of Mauryl_s,
worried, and shaded by wrinkled lids. Flesh had fallen away, the
lines had gone deeper since the summer. Emuin looked at him,
however, and there seemed fire in the shadow of his eyes, the
lively dance the candles made.
_Master Emuin, Auld Syes told me things. I_ve tried to tell them
to you. Have you heard me?_
_Oh, indeed I_ve heard. Have you?_
_As much as I can understand._
_Then more than I,_ Emuin said. _I_ll go to my tower, in all
goodwill, young lord._
_Have I done well?_
Again that long stare. _You_ve done very well,_ Emuin said
unexpectedly, and walked away, leaving him to his puzzlement,
but hugging that last as dearly as a cloak against a bitter wind.
The old man looked frail as he walked away, frail and fragile, in
that hallway that had never felt safe.
It did not feel safe tonight, less so than ordinarily. Many of the
candles were out. It was the east wing draft, again, and the
servants battled it, lighting and relighting the candles, and never
yet had they found the reason of it: for years and years, the
servants said, candles there had gone out.
And the stairs to Emuin_s tower equally well suffered from it,
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especially when Emuin opened his door.
_Syllan,_ Tristen said.
_M_lord._
_Go with him. See he_s provided for. Make tea for him._
Tristen was never to be without at least two guards, but Uwen
counted among them. Syllan bowed his head and went after
master Emuin, while he and his armed companions continued up
the stairs.
_Master Emuin_s sayin_ there_s troubles,_ Uwen muttered on the
way up to his apartment. _An_ dangers, an_ what good are we
simple lads when it_s wizards?_
_I don_t think that_s to fear now,_ he said. _The things we have to
fear I hope are all across the river at the moment._
_If that was so, ye wouldn_t need us._
Uwen had right on his side.
_I wish I had been more moderate with him,_ Tristen said. _I
made him angry._ He had been angry himself, and that had never
been his habit. He regarded the past moments with some dismay,
and recalled he had been angry with Parsynan, for good reason,
and angry at the archivist_s murder, and angry at the workmen
underfoot. He had been angry, in fact, for days, and felt as if
never yet had he been able to lay aside the sword& that was the
feeling he had. He was different from Men. He was different still
when he took up the sword, and until he laid it down, and he felt
as if he had taken it up at the gates of Amefel and never since
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been able to let it go.
And now he had fairly shouted at Emuin, or would have, if there
were not the witnesses, and he had cast Cuthan out, and sent
Parsynan on his way afoot, and done very many things that he
would never have done until he had unsheathed the sword at the
gates of Henas_amef.
He did not know what to do about it, save to continue to carry it,
and to defend the town as he had begun to do. But, he said to
himself as he came to the level of the hall, he could not go about
full of temper. He had yet to learn how to carry the sword and not
use it, that was the thing. He supposed that Cefwyn managed,
and that Uwen did, and other men who had soldiering for a
profession& for that he was very good with the sword did not
mean it entirely protected those who were on his side.
Had he not gone alone across the field at Emwy? Had he not
endangered all those trying to protect him?
There seemed a sober lesson in that, and he thought that Emuin
might have delivered that lesson to him without a word, only by
his absence. It was with a far quieter tread that he came up on the
doors where his other guards waited, Aren and Tawwys, with the
Ivanim escort& and the presence of the latter advised him that
Cevulirn had not left, for which he was humbly grateful.
_I need guards against assassins,_ he said to Uwen as they
walked into the foyer. _I think the Elwynim will try, at least. I
fear more for my friends. For you. Be on your guard._
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_Wi_ Tasmôrden in charge over there,_ Uwen said, _I expect
_em, aye, before all_s done; and now ye take in that light-fingered
boy, which worries me for other reasons. He_ll gossip all to Ness,
an_, m_lord, ye ha_ rumors enow._
It was true. And it was worth considering.
Cevulirn sat, done with his supper, a cup of wine in hand, his feet
before the fire& Tassand_s arranging, certainly: Cevulirn_s head
was bowed, and he looked tired; but Cevulirn looked up with a
level and completely wary stare as Tristen arrived at the fireside.
_It_s settled,_ he said to Cevulirn, and sat down in the matching
chair, waving Uwen and also Lusin on to the remnant of their
supper. _Thank you for waiting._
_Will my lord eat?_ Tassand asked, quietly at his elbow.
_I_ve had enough,_ he said, in every effort to answer his staff
kindly; and deftly as a whisper of soles on the floor Tassand set a
cup of wine in his hand and a plate of sweet cakes on the small
table within carry of his hand. _Thank you, Tassand._
_My lord._ Tassand absented himself then. They held the fireside
to themselves, and still Cevulirn asked no questions, but
curiosity& that was in the air.
_It was a boy I_d been looking for,_ Tristen said.
_Ah._
_A boy with the gift. As you have,_ he said to Cevulirn, chasing
a small gray thought into the tangle of intentions. Cevulirn was
one like Paisi, one he was reluctant to give up, a man essential
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also to Cefwyn_s safety.
And Cevulirn glanced down, a momentary veiling of that gray
stare, and that was as much truth as needed be between them.
There was no need to press him. Cevulirn knew why he was here,
knew his own value, at least that he had been moved enough to
act. Crissand, also gifted, had felt ill at ease in the ride, and taken
a small army for an escort. The boy Paisi might deny he had
anything but luck after being taken up by the guard, but all these
things had come on one day: the winds were blowing as they
would and the coincidences of their meeting diminished to none.
And tonight, when his heart searched the gray space and the land
around him, he knew unfinished tasks, unanswered questions&
all these things, and knew the evening had provided him more
essential pieces than he had had in the morning, even in his visit
to stir Emuin forth from his tower. He knew all the gaps in the
wards, both of the Zeide and of Henas_amef; and such faults in
his defense as he could shore up, he had repaired.
But he felt uneasy in Auld Syes_ appearance; uneasy in the
overthrow of the oak; uneasy in the fact that he lacked officers
and lords fit to maintain order while he fared out; uneasy that he
lacked an army at his disposal when the border was a long,
wooded, unobserved river between his fields and Elwynor, and
he had never so much as seen those lands.
_Will you stay with me?_ he asked Cevulirn. _Or must you ride
south again?_
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_I have affairs to set in order in my own land,_ Cevulirn said,
_and a muster to raise, considering the spring: this in the chance
His Majesty will call me._
The tainted south, Cefwyn had said. That phrase would not leave
Tristen_s thinking: wrong, wrong, wrong, it was, and yet there
was Cefwyn_s reasoning.
_And if he will not, and will not call me,_ Tristen said, _yet the
border is my border; and I will not permit Elwynim to fight on
Amefin soil. Cefwyn says the north must win the war; but I say
the south mustn_t lose it._
_Well said; very well said; and if Your Grace wished me to
winter here, and my men and horses under canvas, here or at the
border, that we might do, if you deem it needful& or even
convenient& so the south should not lose the war._
Perhaps it was that hint of wizard-gift he had felt in Cevulirn,
that among the lords of the south and north, he had always felt
greatest affinity for this lean gray man.
_Tasmôrden in besieging Ilefínian,_ Tristen said, _promised the
Amefin aid if they would rebel. But that_s failed. Now I have the
province, and I only wish Cefwyn would let us cross to Ilefínian._
_So I urged on His Majesty and His Majesty_s Commander,_
Cevulirn said.
_I begged Cefwyn send the both of us, but he still said the attack
must come from the north._
_For fear of Ryssand and Murandys._ Tristen shook his head.
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_And yet he relies on them._
_He is Guelen,_ Cevulirn said. _He has that firm idea that heavy
horse and pikemen are the secure heart of his army. He and I
have argued that point long and hard. But that_s what he says to
hide the truth of his reasons& the real reason he went home this
summer. He had dissent within the Guelens. He saw danger in
Murandys, danger in Ryssand_s ambition, and most of all in
Ryssand_s influence with the Quinalt. If we had driven north to
Ilefínian this summer, if we had set Her Grace on the throne and
all had gone as smoothly as we could wish_he would have had
to come home to Guelemara and present them an alliance with
Elwynor which Ryssand would have opposed. And that would
have stirred the north to join Ryssand, and Nelefreissan, Isin,
Murandys for a certainty& the kingdom would have split. He
faced them to fight for the Elwynim treaty and his marriage on
level ground, and by all evidences, he_s won over most of the
lords. Only when Ryssand assailed Her Grace_s honor, then he
would have drawn and broken with Ryssand and Murandys, to
the ruin of all the kingdom if they took up arms. Gods help the
realm_and thank the gods for the letter you sent him. There we
have our hope of being called and Ryssand being sent home. But
we must be ready& ready to move so quickly the north can
muster no objection._
_To stand under arms this winter? Cefwyn forbade us because he
had to forbid us. But might not lords come here to hold a council
_with very large escorts? We border Elwynor. Crissand thought
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it necessary to have a large escort. Might not others?_
_Lord of Amefel, you_ve grown very devious._
The stillness had become so great that the crackle of the fire was
a third voice. From Uwen and Lusin, somewhat removed, came
not a sound.
_What we did this summer, we could do again,_ Tristen said.
_Could we not? Keep the signal fires ready, as we did at
Lewenbrook, have all preparation made, so if Tasmôrden thinks
of coming this way he daren_t. Do we feast at Midwinter? Have I
heard that right? Might I invite my friends to supper? Is that the
way lords conceal their intentions?
_With polite pretenses, none of which anyone of sense believes,
and which no one dares question to one_s face?_
It was what he had seen at Guelemara, and it was heart and soul
of the pretenses he had seen Cefwyn and Ryssand make over and
over again. The practical use of it had Unfolded like a new word,
sure as a well-balanced blade.
_But if we have all those escorts sitting here,_ Tristen said, _and
if we have an army, won_t the northern lords know then we_re
loyal to Cefwyn? And might not Lord Umanon come to us, rather
than to the rest of the Guelens? And if he comes, wouldn_t
Llymaryn and Marisel listen to Cefwyn rather than Ryssand?
And if Tasmôrden had to worry what we intended, might he
divide his attention between us and Cefwyn? And might not the
Elwynim who support Her Grace take heart?_
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Again that small silence. _Your Grace,_ Cevulirn said, _you are
no fool._
_Emuin says I am. So does Idrys. I was a fool only an hour ago,
and made Emuin angry with me. But I know that Corswyndam
and Prichwarrin will lie and do everything to their own benefit
and none of Cefwyn_s, and if Cefwyn has only them to rely on,
they_ll make demands at every moment Cefwyn needs something
from them._
_That_s true._
_So let him have us. Cefwyn says he can_t muster the south for
fear of offending the north. But the north doesn_t approve of us
whether we muster or not. We_ve marched together. We know
our order in camp. We know all those things. We don_t have to
argue the way the northerners argue. We can just set up a camp,
and this spring, when Cefwyn moves, we move across the river,
set our camp on the far shore, and let Tasmôrden make what he
will of it. Cefwyn forbade us to win the war. But he set me here
to guard the border. I_ll guard it_from Tasmôrden_s side of the
river._
_You have Ivanor with you,_ Cevulirn said with the fire shining
in his eyes. _Olmern, Lanfarnesse& all will come._
_Will Imor, do you think?_ Lord Umanon had always stood off
from the others, in his brief experience, and detested the newly
made lord of Olmern. _I_m least sure of him; but it seems he_s
more one of us than he is fond of Murandys. And if we had him
with us, we_d have the entire middle of Ylesuin listening to him._
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_He detests Murandys. That_s certain. Let me send letters. If I
summon them in my name, it won_t forewarn the north. Nothing
unusual at all in my messengers going back and forth& gods
know the northern lords would like to know what we say to one
another, but they_ll imagine far too much if you sent the
messages. _Your health, Amefel._ Cevulirn lifted his cup and
drank deep, here among the brazen dragons and green draperies
that had been the scene of fatality with such cups. _Your long
rule& Lord Sihhë, lord of Amefel and Althalen._
_Never say so._ He felt heat touch his face, ill at ease with
Cevulirn_s fey and talkative mood. _The people do. I discourage
it._
_You are what you are. And fortunate for His Majesty that
you_ve been a faithful friend. I don_t stand in your path, nor wish
to._
_Emuin says the like, and I wish he would. I need his advice._
_I bestow mine. His Majesty is in dire danger, and the danger
isn_t at all that you_re Sihhë, lord of Amefel. The danger isn_t
even that our king is Guelen and wed to an Elwynim. The danger
is that Selwyn Marhanen established his throne on his
blackguardly betrayal of a trusting lord, and Ináreddrin Marhanen
established his throne on the unsatisfied ambitions of his father_s
rivals, both of them playing one lord against the other and one
son against the other all for fear of assassination& exactly what
happened to Ináreddrin, as it turned out; but a man makes his
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fate, and so do kings._
_What do you say?_
_That Cefwyn_s throne, mark you, is set on a stone Ryssand
demanded of him& and never was there a greater mistake than
granting that and granting Ryssand any power. Expediency,
expediency, expediency, grant this, grant that, all in the name of
this marriage, this war, and all on the excuse of dire threat from
Tasmôrden, who has only become a threat worth the name at all
because Cefwyn would not cross the river immediately after
Lewenbrook and take the Elwynim capital for Her Grace. Now,
yes, Tasmôrden has slaughtered his rivals, increased his army,
and will slaughter Her Grace_s partisans such as exist this winter
when the capital falls. Next spring, we will slaughter his, as last
summer, Aseyneddin and before him, Caswyddian, slaughtered
all who opposed him. Another year of this and there_ll be no man
alive in Elwynor but starving peasantry and liars and
weathercocks who swing to every wind that blows& no fit
population for greatness, that. There, Amefel. I_m not reputed a
man of many words, and I_ve just spent my entire store, the
distilled opinion of six months in His Majesty_s close company._
_He does regard your opinion._
_Regard it he may. But His Majesty has had my good advice,
Idrys_ good advice, Her Grace_s good advice, and your good
advice, and ignored it for bad, all to please Corswyndam of
Ryssand, who had a kinglike power in the last reign and to no
one_s wonder is our monarch_s rival for authority in this one.
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There is the man who will yet do us greater harm than
Tasmôrden, mark me. His Majesty believes he may subdue that
man by wit, not force, and I say a stout fence is the only solution
to an ass that will not keep its pasture._
He had heard the truth. Everything he had himself observed said
that Cevulirn told the matter fairly, and reached some conclusion
of his own.
_What does a good lord do with the like of Ryssand, sir?_
_To whom is it necessary that a lord be good, Amefel?_
_To his people, sir._
_So say I. And Cefwyn knows the answer. He only hopes the
answer to Ryssand_s defiance will be something different if he
can be more clever tomorrow. But the plain truth is, his good and
loyal subjects should not be subject to Corswyndam_s spite
today. The king has his bride and his treaty now. He has no more
leisure to temporize with a self-seeking baron, and his people
have none for him to do so._ Cevulirn set down an empty cup.
_I_m well content to have Ryssand for an enemy. I prefer that
man facing me, not at my back, for my people_s sake as well as
my own. Would Cefwyn would come to his senses._
_I understand everything you say, sir,_ Tristen said. _And I
agree._
_So share a second cup, and I_ll go tamely to my bed, having
committed treason enough for an evening. I_ll stay with you the
few more days, go home to set things in order, and by
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Midwinter& ride back here again, with all necessary force if you
aren_t in jest._
_I am not in jest. Henas_amef will supply you with every need,
firewood, canvas, grain, whatever you will have. I have a
hundred of the Guelen Guard and two hundred of the Dragons,
who must go back when spring comes. In the meantime they_re
at my orders. Lord Parsynan did nothing to raise a muster, and he
did nothing to replace the weapons and equipage after
Lewenbrook._ He had not intended to enumerate Parsynan_s
failings, and went instead to his point. _My promise to Cefwyn
didn_t mean letting Tasmôrden cross before we stopped him.
We_ll have the bridges in our hands._
Something in the exchange pricked Cevulirn_s odd humor.
_Indeed,_ Cevulirn said. _And before I go& perhaps I should
have a view of those bridges myself._
Tristen had no idea whether Emuin had listened to what he and
Cevulirn said, but it was his impression the old man had
withdrawn from all of it in truth, shut the door to his tower and
held aloof from lords making plans he would not advise.
Uwen, however, had heard everything.
_Is it folly?_ he asked Uwen, in consequence, after Cevulirn had
left and when Tassand and the servants were disrobing him for
bed. _I think he means nothing but good to Cefwyn, and I don_t
think he_s a fool. I trust him._
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Uwen had long since inured himself to questions of that nature,
and passing judgment on what Uwen called his betters. Uwen
would do it, in private, and quietly. _He ain_t a fool, that _un,
never was._ But the look Uwen gave him after was still troubled,
something unsaid, and Uwen waited, gazing into the small fire in
the bedchamber, until Tassand and the servants, trusted as they
were, had left the room.
So Uwen would do, if he had something to say in absolute
privacy, and Tristen gathered a robe about himself for warmth
and went to the fireside. The light cast a fire glow over Uwen_s
face, brightest on the silver of his hair, which nowadays he wore
clubbed, growing longer after the fashion of a man of rank.
__At boy, an_ his lordship the earl, an_ Cevulirn,_ Uwen said, _is
all of a piece, m_lord, that woman an_ all& the witch._
_Wise or not wise?_
Uwen_s face turned profile to him, eyes set on the fire. _Wisht I
knew, lad. I ain_t th_ man to advise a duke._
_You called me lad._
_That I did, an_ beg pardon. I shouldn_t have done_t._
_Call me that, and tell me the truth. Am I a fool?_
Uwen_s gaze swung back to him, earnest, surreal in the firelight
and shadow. _I ain_t th_ one to say that, m_lord._
_Uleman called me king. Auld Syes said the lord of Amefel and
the aetheling; and the second she meant was Crissand. I know it
was. Crissand is the aethelings_ heir. She meant he should be
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lord here. And what should I be? What should I be, Uwen?_
_What she said was a lot muddled,_ Uwen said soberly, _but
there ain_t but one king in Ylesuin, and anything else is treason,
lad, just so_s ye know_t. I_d follow ye at any odds, but so_s ye
know, I don_t think His Majesty wants to hear any king in
Amefel. I don_t think His Grace of Ivanor wants to hear it either,
and His Grace of Ivanor won_t follow you over that brink. I
would, but he won_t._
It was dire to think of any king but Cefwyn; and he would not
think it. _I know that. And I would never do anything against
Cefwyn._
_Yet I think His Majesty has his own idea what ye are, lad, an_
His Majesty_s Commander ain_t in doubt._
_Has Idrys talked to you? Can you say?_
_Oh, I_ll say, m_lord. Ye_re my lord, an_ the Lord Commander
don_t expect otherwise when he talks to me, as I confess he did,
before we left Guelemara._
_What did he say?_
_Oh, reasonable things. Sayin_ I should have a care, an_ not let ye
do anything rash, an_ to watch your back, m_lord. The Lord
Commander wishes ye better _n ye might think. Ye may be what
ye are, but ye ain_t Lord Ryssand, an_ ye ain_t ever asked for
Amefel: it was His Majesty give it to ye, wi_ His blessing an_ His
Holiness_s blessing to boot, so, aye, His Majesty was the one
who made the Holy Father willin_. It weren_t the other way
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around. And ye can rest a_ nights knowin_ His Majesty knows
what ye are, an_ still stands by ye, _gainst Ryssand an_ the
Quinalt and all of _em._
The low music of Uwen_s voice was sweet to him, stilling fears,
allaying anxieties and doubts, and telling him things he longed
with all his heart to believe.
_You don_t fear me, Uwen._
_Ye keep askin_, an_ it_s the same answer, m_lord. Ye should
have answered master Emuin a wee bit softer, but _e understands,
same as me, it_s a man_s weight ye carry now, an_ a burdensome
weight it is: small wonder if ye feel it. Yet ye should answer him
softer._
_I know. I repent of it. I repented the moment I_d done it._
_M_lord, I ain_t findin_ fault._
_No. Fool. Fool is what Idrys would say. And Mauryl. Auld
Syes frightened Emuin. And yet, yet she only warns, by all I
know. What wizards do& that_s another question._
_It_s above me, m_lord. Far above me& what wizards do._
_What I do, what Mauryl_s done, what Emuin_s done& all these
things& tie one to the other. Cevulirn didn_t come because Auld
Syes wished it. And who raised the storm, Uwen? Who raised
the storm?_
_It damn sure weren_t natural, m_lord. An_ whatever happened at
that place, it ain_t what it was when we rode in. That great tree
uprooted& like whatever were there, was all done, old as it was:
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_at was what I thought of. It was old, an_ it was all done and
broke._
_That it was._ He saw in memory the ancient tree, its roots ripped
from shadow to light, out of whatever secret places they had
grown, deep in the earth, under it, among the old stones.
Shadows might well have broken out. They might have followed
Auld Syes, or her daughter. That, too, Emuin must have seen, as
he had seen it.
He shivered, barefoot on the warm stones, beset by the draft in
the room. The dragons loomed above them, and cast fire-shadow
of dragons on the ceiling, all points and coils, enveloping all they
did.
_I should write soon,_ he said. It was scarcely a fortnight since
the last letter, which must move by courier over snowy roads,
and at hardship to man and horse.
_To His Majesty?_
_To Cefwyn, yes. Idrys said as often as I wished, I should write.
The last I wrote was about Cuthan._
_Letters has a way of strayin_, m_lord. And for the sweet gods_
sake don_t write about meetin_ wi_ Ivanor._
_I know._ He was not so new to the world he did not imagine
what Ryssand would do with such a letter in his hands. _I
expected Cefwyn would write to me._
_A man new-married don_t think o_ writin_ letters, m_lord. On
the other hand& maybe he has. The last king_s messenger didn_t
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have all that luck, did he?_
It was true. Edwyll_s men had killed him. Edwyll, Crissand_s
father.
But with Cevulirn here, and the other lords to come& he found
himself wondering what he could say, or should say, and knew
no one he could send who would get a spoken confidence
assuredly to Cefwyn. Even among the king_s heralds& some had
been the old king_s men; and those could as well be Ryssand_s,
even if they came to him. Fool he might be, but he had
understood that.
_I_ll write,_ he said, _such as I can, and wish him to understand
what I can_t set down by pen. I_ll write, when I know how things
stand at the river._
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Chapter 6
«
^
»
Cefwyn_s head hurt, where the crown had pressed on it. On this
bleak, cold morning he sat at solitary breakfast at a small table
near windows which gave far too much light, and craned his neck
painfully askew to look at his black-humored Lord Commander
of the Guard.
_Tea,_ he muttered to the nearest page. _Now. For the Lord
Commander as well. Sit down, master crow, you_re a spot against
the sun._
Idrys drew back one of the three chairs and settled his armored
body carefully on brocade and painted wood. Idrys had appeared
like toadstools in the morning, showing no evidence of headache
or other inconvenience& a countenance that rarely changed, be it
calamity or triumph Idrys had to relay.
_So what_s amiss?_ he asked Idrys.
_Did I say aught was amiss?_ Idrys countered. _There might be
good news._
_And horses will learn carpentry,_ Cefwyn said, _before master
crow bears all good news. Spill it. Out with it. Where_s
Tasmôrden this morning?_
_Freezing outside Ilefínian, to this hour, if luck holds. No, my
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news is not Tasmôrden. Nor even Lord Tristen._
_Thank the gods._
_Luriel._
_I make my thanksgiving provisional._
_No, no, quite appropriate, my lord king. The lady established
herself very well with Panys last night._
_Established._
_Spent the night in his chambers._
Cefwyn arched a brow, in spite of the sun, and meanwhile the
page arrived with the new pot and a second cup. He let the lad
pour, waggled fingers, sent him out of the range of gossip.
_She certainly wasted no time in that siege. Tasmôrden should
employ her._
_Half the men in the hall last night entertained similar ambitions._
_Only half?_
_The rest know Prichwarrin._
_And doubtless some have known Luriel._In his chambers, you
say. Playing at draughts, you say? Discussing sanctity?_
_She does have a certain forwardness,_ Idrys remarked drily.
_Gods. How could I have been so blind?_
_As what? To have entertained a notion of marriage?_
_As to have had the vixen in my bed, gods save me, and gods
save Ylesuin._
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_Panys doesn_t mind. The lady_s dowry will be Murandys, her
uncle_s detestation notwithstanding, so long as she keeps her
head._
_That lovely head is very well protected,_ Cefwyn muttered, and
grimaced at the bitterness of the tea. Or was it the headache? _A
wedding is almost certainly in the future, then, and agreeable to
the lady as well._
_It would seem so._
_So master crow becomes the messenger of weddings._ He
furrowed his brow against the glare of sun. _I thought it was a
dove._
_A crow is quite enough for Murandys,_ Idrys said, buttering a
bit of bread. _The lady_s dear uncle is not utterly pleased. His
niece won_t easily forgive him her sojourn in disgrace& little
likelihood of any reconciliation there until it_s to the lady_s clear
advantage, as we both know of this lady. There_s every
likelihood that the lady will divulge all manner of his secrets to
her new love, who, though young, is no fool. He_ll bring them all
to his father, and his father will most likely approach Your
Majesty or Your Majesty_s duly appointed representative, with
all manner of these tidbits, in due course. This, granted Murandys
finds no way to buy his niece_s silence. Yet what can Murandys
do but put a good face on it? His one offspring gets only
daughters. And he_ll no more beget another heir himself than
horses will fly. Once Luriel produces a son, he_ll put as good a
face on it as the lady will allow._
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_She_ll spend Panys dry and move on to her uncle_s treasury._
_Your Majesty_s support would, of course, sustain Panys against
the lady_s depredations& and make sure whose ear those early
reports find._
She would not spend rustic Panys completely dry, to be sure:
their wealth was in apples, not gold, and her tastes were
extravagant, requiring other than cider barrels: the orchards were
Crown grant and could not be sold. But she would drive Panys_
offspring to an importance within the royal councils and a
passion for trade and gold that Panys could never otherwise hope
to attain& and that was good for the monarchy, for Murandys
linked with rustic Panys instead of Ryssand would guarantee him
a far more tranquil reign.
Could he justify the expense of a gift to Panys, say, an
establishment of some additional income, and cloak it from
Murandys_ objections?
_The lady herself is no fool,_ Cefwyn said. His own liaison with
the lady had been, at that time, a practical necessity, the heir of
Ylesuin with the niece of a powerful baron of that unholy
Ryssandish alliance, until the marriage had shipwrecked on a
riskier, more advantageous match with a better-dowered woman
he also loved, deeply and passionately. _What more can we ask?_
Idrys took a sip of tea, put the cup down, set his forearms before
him on the table, and looked very sober. _Shall I answer that, my
lord king?_
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This was not good news. He foreknew it, and waved a hand in
signal that Idrys should speak.
Idrys did. _We might ask discretion of Lord Tristen. He_s done
very well in sending the letter that silenced Ryssand, in subduing
the rebellion that prevented a southern war. But my very reliable
informant says charms are sold in the market again, and that the
people hail him Lord Sihhë whenever he rides in the streets._
_So they did when I rode with him. This is nothing new._
_That the son of Meiden knelt to swear him allegiance and hailed
him aetheling._
That was worth a moment of silence, at least. _To spite Guelen
authority. I did read your report._
_The Quinalt there is distressed, and sent a letter to the Holy
Father, who has not brought it to my lord king._
_I trust the Holy Father in Guelessar knows where his safety is
and will reassure this priest. Good gods, the Quinalt in Amefel is
used to witchery. Whence this complaint?_
_Whence, indeed?_
_Ryssand?_
_Oh, his letters also go to the Quinaltine._ Idrys took a sip of tea.
_But far more feet than two leave the Quinalt every day, and I
can_t follow all of them at once._
_Those that go to Ryssand would be a benefit._
_That I have done. Unfortunately, I cannot follow through the
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doors._
_Well find the way! Where is your invention?_
_Time. Time, my lord king. One of Ryssand_s servants met with
mischance, a kettle of oil in the kitchens. Another dead, a fall on
the stairs. I_ve other ears there, but none so well placed, and I
reserve them against greater need than my suspicion that priests
from the Quinalt go to Ryssand_s priest. I know that conduit, and
I assume that sewage flows. Beware Ryssand, I say. Beware his
priests, and watch their actions._
_The damned northern orthodoxy._
_The northern orthodoxy, indeed. I_ve warned Lord Tristen. I
warned him before he left, to make public gestures of favor to the
Amefin Quinalt. More, I advised his advisers._
_Well done in that._ The whole question of Tristen_s innocence
wandering through the maze of Quinalt, Teranthine, and Bryalt
ambitions in Amefel was enough to curdle milk. _I_d suspect
Ryssand_s fingers are inside Amefel in more than Parsynan_s
case. The Quinalt there I never did trust._
_And Tristen is not utterly circumspect. I have also to report,
unless something intervened, Parsynan_s baggage is still in
Henas_amef, and the carts have gone to the river._
_My carts?_
_He sent all your carts to the river, whence reports may be more
scant: he also sent my informant there, who could not, of course,
protest the mission, except to dispatch a man to advise me about
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the orders. I assume they_ve gone._
_And what does he think he_s doing?_
_Dispatching supply to the borders. He_s also declined to send
home the Guelen Guard or Anwyll_s detachment of the Dragons.
They are not delayed. He_s kept them all, and it seems he_s
reinforcing the river border. In all honesty, in my opinion, a
service._
Cefwyn heaved a heavy, a considerate sigh. _He_ll have my carts
stranded in drifts, and then what will we do? But he doesn_t think
of that._
_Or he hopes to banish the snow. Conjure it from his path._
He was unsure whether that was humor. _Reinforcing that border
is no sin, I agree. Good for him, I say, carts and all. And he has
no house guard but the Guelens in the garrison, and my troops.
He_s not the mooncalf now. And regarding this mission to the
river, pray, you never told me. I trust you told no one else._
_At this moment, in Guelessar, Anwyll_s courier knows. But, of
course, the Quinalt father in Amefel knows& which does add
possibilities to the list of the knowledgeable._
_Priests! Priests at every turn. I grow very weary of priests._
_At least the Holy Father has remained constant to his best
interests. But priests disaffected from Your Majesty will not go
to the Holy Father, and I doubt ones alarmed by Tristen_s doings
will go to him._
_Where will they go?_
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_Where indeed?_
_No wide guess, is it? I_ll tell you, master crow, the Holy Father
fears Ryssand; so does Sulriggan._ He considered the alliances
involved and heaved a sigh. _Damn him! _Why am I here, with
all my friends exiled to the south, in favor of fools and grasping
old men in the north whom I little love? Tell me that, crow._
_Your grandfather weeded his garden severely from time to time.
Your father was too complacent. I_ve no idea what you will be,
my lord king, but if you prove complacent, I fear for us._
He knew precisely what Idrys counseled. _There_s Murandys,
keystone of the entire effort in the spring, the staging point of our
advance. Shall I remove him, pray, and have Luriel lead my
forces? Or young Panys, straight from his mother_s arms? I need
these conniving old men, damn them. At least they_ve fought in
the border war._
_So has all the south._
_Yet I rule here._
_Move the capital._
He gave a rueful, startled laugh. _You jest._
_You say your power is in the south. Rule there._
The Marhanen had no welcome in Henas_amef_to parade
through its streets, perhaps. But to rule? _Not for living there,_ he
admitted. _Not possible._
_Then rule here,_ was Idrys_ succinct counsel, _and don_t look to
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do otherwise, my lord king._
Idrys had a way of slipping past his guard with a telling
argument. And therein he did. Rule here. Rule Ryssand. That
was the point wherein Idrys thought he failed as a king. It stung.
Idrys meanwhile finished his cup and rose, unbidden. _I_ve
business downstairs, my lord king. I beg your leave._
_Go,_ he said, but his stare was meanwhile at the white, wintry
light, the frosted panes.
Rule, indeed. As if he did not. Rule here. As if he did not.
Was not Murandys in check, and Ryssand home, disabled? And
had he not set the south firmly in order, with Cevulirn attending
business and Tristen there, in charge.
Gods knew what Tristen would do in ruling Amefel, but he knew
what things Tristen would not countenance, one such being
dishonesty in the taxes and the other being any hostile incursion
into the territory he was set to guard. Any adventure of Elwynim
across the river would turn out to Tasmôrden_s extreme regret,
Cefwyn had every confidence. He had less in Tristen_s
forbearance from magic, but at least it would be magic outside
the witness of Guelenfolk; and by the time the rumors did get to
common lips they would have the flavor of ordinary gossip, a
little less credible by their remove from Guelen lands and
ordinary sights and doings.
Idrys chided him, and advised him to harsh measures, but he had
secured the southern frontier with two broad strokes, not an
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arrow expended. That was the very point of what he considered
wise rule, that things happened quietly and without fuss. Was
Idrys not the master of such strokes, and did Idrys decry his quiet
management of the south, which had defied his father and
ultimately killed him?
No. It was not the south where Idrys faulted him. It was the north
where he had not covered himself with glory, and Idrys was
right, at least in his observation. That Ryssand was home and out
of mischief was thanks to Cevulirn_s sacrifice more than by his
own cleverness; and by that stroke he might have been rid of
Ryssand_s poisonous influence in court for the winter, but he had
lost Cevulirn_s valuable presence, the last southern presence in
his court, at least for the winter, and had a blood feud between
two of his barons as a consequence. Luriel was holding
Murandys in check and keeping him from uniting with Ryssand,
but, gods, that was no stable situation, all teetering on the edge of
Luriel_s whims, her uncle_s spite, and the cleverness of Panys_
young son.
Marry the baggage off in haste, he thought. An estate to Panys, a
royal wedding present to dazzle Luriel and keep her happy. He
had the house of Aysonel in Panys, royal lands his remote kin
had held, fine land, a good, anciently maintained chase among
the oldest oaks in the north. The Crown could ill afford to
diminish its holdings, but the Crown had them precisely for gifts
of state importance: Panys was sensible and loyal, at least in this
generation& gods knew what Luriel_s example could make of
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their mutual offspring in the next.
But by the time Luriel_s descendants were old enough to commit
their indiscretions, the Elwynim question would be settled,
granted the gods_ goodwill.
And there was Panys_ older brother, who would inherit Panys
itself, another sober, reasonable lad, gods save him and his sire
from accidents and Ryssand_s ambition.
He supped down a cold remnant of tea, setting his thoughts on a
second court wedding, as soon as practicable& and the couple
not yet having presented themselves and their request.
_Call Annas,_ he said to a passing page, and when his
chamberlain appeared, even in advance of Ninévrisë_s venture
forth on the day: _Strongly suggest to the son of Panys that I
suggest discretion and haste. Midwinter. Midwinter would not be
too soon._
There was no way to have held the men silent on the sights they
had seen, not with the presence of the lord of Ivanor to inspire
close questions: so Uwen said, and so Tristen gathered of the
things that echoed back to him; by noon of the bright, blue day
after their ride it was certain in every tavern in Amefel that the
men had seen a witch at Levey crossing in flashes of lightning
and claps of winter thunder, that immediately after, ghostly
trumpets had heralded Lord Ivanor and his party, who had left
Toj Embrel only that hour& folly, but the heart of the matter was
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the same: the lord of Amefel had ridden out with the earl of
Meiden and come back attended as well by Ivanor and his men;
and on the way a witch had appeared to them, with portents as
yet disputable.
Meanwhile the earls were all astir to know the meaning of it, and
anxious to see the lord of Ivanor and hear from his own lips the
doings in the Guelen court, as they called it. So it was Cevulirn_s
door they beset, one visitor and another, all of which Tristen
knew, and none of which he prevented.
It left him oddly free of petitioners and questions, so that he
quietly fed the pigeons that came to his window, and even had
leisure to watch their antics for a time, their pressing and shoving
one another, the silly waddle about the ledge when they were
sated. Their wings had quite cleared the snow from the ledge in
that area, and the place below was only the courtyard, which was
free of hazard and remarkably clear.
Boys ran and flung snowballs where lately men had battled and
murder had been done, against that very wall.
How careless they were, he thought; with what lightness of heart
they stalked one another and arranged their ambushes, and how
sorrowful that later age filled their hands with iron. They were
innocent, and thought it all a matter for laughter.
Through their midst, however, came a dark and purposeful
figure, in a course from the South Gate toward the main doors.
An angry man, Tristen thought, and recognized the cloaked and
bundled portliness of His Reverence of the Quinalt as snowballs
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flew perilously close and spattered across the track just behind
the man, prankish disregard of priestly authority.
It could not have sweetened the man_s mood.
He had the least but growing premonition the matter would reach
him. He could think of no excuse to avoid it, and no one to whom
the patriarch of the Quinalt might apply in such anger but to him.
And within a very little time, indeed, he received word from
Tassand that His Reverence had lodged a protest with the provost
and with the guard, and called for the arrest not of the boys with
the snowballs, but of certain women in the market.
He knew what it was, then, and surmised even that the small,
furtive shaft he had launched in that direction had not gone
unremarked by the priests. At very least he had released a
prisoner of the Guelen Guard, he had known he left men
discontent at his back; and Guelenmen discontent and now a
Guelen priest manifestly angry and lodging charges against old
women in the market did assume a certain strange relationship in
his thoughts.
And dared he forget the rumors Uwen said were running the
town? The priest seemed to have said nothing about witches and
storms or the lord of Ivanor, only old women and trinkets.
_Tell Emuin,_ he said, for Idrys in his leaving Guelemara had
warned him about priests, and advised him to cultivate their favor
with gifts. He had made the gifts. He still had an angry priest on
his doorstep& and Emuin was, if somehow not a priest, at least a
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sort of one, among the Teranthine. By his own preference he
would wish to draw in the Bryalt clergy as well, for the sake of
having yet one more priestly opinion to spread thin the Quinalt
sense of absolute power and right to command everyone. He was
not sure Emuin would come, in point of fact, but no Bryaltine
had been near the guard last night; Emuin had, and he wished he
had made the summons more absolute and more urgent. Uwen
was out and about the duties of the garrison, something to do
with the armory, and he was otherwise alone, but for Lusin and
his guard.
So Tassand sped, and dispatched word downstairs to His
Reverence of the Quinalt that there would be an audience as he
petitioned, and went himself to advise Emuin he was urgently
requested.
Meanwhile Tristen called one of the younger servants and
decided on ducal finery& not so much that he cared to appear in
splendor, as that he wished to allow Tassand the time it took to
rouse Emuin out& likely from sleep, for the old man waked
more of nights than by day, and kept his hours topsy-turvy of
habit. In consideration of the priest, he chose not the black of
Ynefel, but his new coat, Amefin red_his only such coat, as
happened, but he counted it wise not to receive the Quinalt
bearing the colors and symbols of a Sihhë lordship he well knew
were anathema to the Quinalt.
And at his own pace and hoping for Emuin_s swift arrival, he
came downstairs with Uwen, to the little audience hall, the old
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one, where servants had lit candles. It had been cold when
Cefwyn had it and it was cold now, where the patriarch waited in
his outdoor cloak, tucked up like an angry winter sparrow. To
Tristen_s great relief Emuin had arrived in greater haste than he
had shown for any business since his arrival in Amefel,
appearing in spotless gray robes and orderly, except the wind had
caught his white-streaked hair and had it standing wispily on end.
_Your Grace,_ said the patriarch in no good cheer.
Tristen walked to the ducal throne and sat down. _Sir._
_I have come from the market._
_I am aware, sir. And from the provost and with a complaint of
some nature regarding women in the market._
That might have cut short half an hour_s oration. At least having
his business set in sum caused the patriarch_s mouth to open and
shut and reset itself, while Emuin tucked his hands in his wide
sleeves and looked for all the world like an owl roused by
daylight.
_Your Grace, Your Grace, not merely old women, but a danger to
the town, and I pray Your Grace_s sober attention to this matter.
These otherwise laughable trinket-sellers are out openly in the
square in daylight, with forbidden goods, flouting His Majesty_s
law and canon law alike, and selling poisons and other noxious
powders in the open. I ask Your Grace order the provost to act on
it forthwith._
_Poisons,_ he said. He had expected nothing of poisons.
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_So do I sell them, said Emuin quietly, for rats and mice, given
the snows do drive the creatures out of the fields and into
granaries. They_re generally better than charms, even mine.
_I have come here in all seriousness, Your Grace, expecting a
hearing from a man reputed the friend of His Majesty!_
_I am listening, sir._ It was, in fact, a small lapse he had
committed, in wondering, and master Emuin in answering. He
saw a peril in seeming distracted; but he had no intention of
arresting the grandmothers with their small traffic: if there were
magic, it was nothing that afflicted anyone that he could tell.
_These women, Your Grace, generally they are women of
dubious station and practice&_
_Widows,_ said Emuin. _Earning a small living from herbs and
cures, and the poisoning of rats._
_If it please you,_ the patriarch said sharply, _allow me to speak
in my turn and you in yours, brother cleric._
_I take your reproof,_ Emuin said, hand on the Teranthine sigil
which hung in view on his breast. He made a respectful little
bow, or half of one. _Pray inform His Grace about the poisons.
He has no knowledge of rat-killing._
_For rats or whatever they be!_ the patriarch said in great
vexation. _The good gods know how they_re commonly used, to
rid wives of unwanted husbands, or granaries of mice. Mice are
not in question here. Witchcraft is._
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It had been fair weather in Henas_amef, given the cold. The
trinket-sellers he had seen in his limited faring out in the town
braved the cold in far thinner cloaks than His Reverence wore for
this room. And His Reverence had walked down the hill the
morning after he had set Paisi at liberty. That coincidence
seemed less strange beneath than on the surface of matters.
_Wizardry is not forbidden, either by king_s law or by the gods_
law,_ Emuin said. _Your Reverence mistakes the law._
_We speak here of witchcraft, of sorcery&_
_Witchcraft and wizardry are one; it_s Guelenfolk, not wizards,
who_ve made that division, and the king will support me in it, I
well know the law and the rule of my order, Your Reverence:
trust that I and my order know whereof we speak. And sorcery?
These pitiful women couldn_t raise a sot from his slumbers, let
alone master a shadow of any potency._
_They trade in forbidden coinage, in which His Majesty surely
has an interest._
_Only in seeing good silver come out of hoards and into his
revenues, if it were traded, which it is not. The amulets are half at
least fraudulent, copper, brother, mere copper, which raises the
worth of the copper, but the silver when they do find it is
commonly melted and worn for bangles and rings here, as by
your long tenure you might know._
_The king_s law forbids that traffic! As you should know in your
tenure in the capital, sir!_
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_The late Lord Heryn enforced the king_s law only when the
king_s son was in the town to see it, and the king has no interest
whatsoever in confiscating trumpery trinkets and piddling rat-
charms. Ask where half the Amefin treasury found its metal.
There_s your question._
_This is pointless talk! The issue is the law, brother, however
blithely your all too tolerant order may wink at sorcery, both as a
concept and a practice!_
_Sir,_ Tristen said. _Master Emuin will not countenance sorcery.
Nor will these women._
_Selling charms!_
_Wizardry,_ Emuin retorted. _Honest wizardry, which is within
the tenets of their faith, recognized by the king and council and
perfectly legitimate, however you disapprove it._
_It_s a thin line,_ the patriarch said stiffly, _crossing right over to
blackest practice._
_No, sir,_ said Emuin, _it is not. It is not a thin line, it_s a gaping
chasm! That_s the very point here, and those women with their
little charms work against sorcery, not for it& as good maintain
a rushlight against the darkest night of winter, but there they are,
these poor folk, to tend a baby with the colic or drive the rats
from a poor man_s store of seed grain. Sorcery destroys. Sorcery
corrupts. Sorcery empowers the shadows and a man whether
gifted or not is a fool, sir, who seeks to reach into the shadows
and gain knowledge. A greater sorcerer is still a fool, who seeks
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to reach there and bring something across for his own benefit.
Greatest of all fools, Hasufin Heltain, who sought to steal
himself from the shadows and have them all, the living and the
dead, in the clutch of his greedy fingers!_
The walls rang with Emuin_s anger, and silence followed it, a
deep, troubling silence. Emuin had never been so forward with
the truth, and Tristen heard it in a profound distress.
No less so the patriarch, whose face had gone red with anger,
then pale with what he had heard.
_And what brings such dangers, but wizardry!_
_The greed of men, of which we have plenty in the world! And,
aye, I practiced wizardry in those days, and do now, brother, and
shall continue to do, whereby we shall not see another shadow
roll down on Amefel, to gobble up the defense of good men and
pious. Your Duchess Orien was the one to look to, subtle and
dangerous, but ultimately evident to us by her workings, as I
assure Your Reverence any sorcery in the lower town would
make itself felt in short order._
_You say so. I don_t have your source of confidence, I thank the
gods for it._
_Thank your young Lord Tristen, who stood between you and the
fall of this province. Thank those of us who detected sorcery in
practice and stopped it! And thank your Lord Tristen and His
Majesty, bearing arms against an invasion that would have swept
through this province like flood. And yes, that was sorcery, on its
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way to Guelessar and all provinces else. It was that near a thing,
this summer, brother, and whether or not you compass it with
your philosophy, those selfsame women with their little charms
likewise prayed with you, along with the incense that went up
from Amefin shrines of every sect, while the Quinaltine sat
ignorant on its hill in Guelessar and knew nothing of the threat
until it was banished. You were a hero among the rest, brother,
along with those who took up arms; you kept the candles lit and
raised up prayers in this province against the danger we all faced.
Stand with us. Let us have no quibbles of old women and charms
in the marketplace, when your temporal lord could well use your
prayers._
_His Grace is Sihhë,_ the patriarch said in a faint voice, as if that
argued all; and perhaps it did: Tristen heard, and knew that,
Prince Efanor_s little book availing what it could, this man had
set him on the side which that little book called evil.
_I shall never,_ Tristen said, _work any sorcery, sir. And these
women are not our enemy,_ he added, to have that clear. _I read
your book of devotions. His Highness gave it to me. Doesn_t it
say that the gods made all the world and the rain and the
mountains? So surely they made Sihhë, too._
He had hoped to turn the patriarch_s sure conviction at least to
some doubt; and saw that he had had effect, at least that the
patriarch seemed taken aback. So did Emuin, which warned him
that it might not be the effect he had hoped.
_His Grace will attend the matter,_ Emuin said. _I assure you no
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sorcery will have effect in this town, nor anywhere His Grace can
find it. He may be Sihhë: that remains unproven; he is certainly
Mauryl Gestaurien_s successor, legitimate and a friend to the
realm, and will not permit harm to the souls or substance of
honest folk._
_These things bring no good fortune,_ the Quinalt father said.
_His Grace can have little sympathy in such practice, himself, but
for the sake of the common folk of this town who have no
commerce with wizards and who petition me with prayers for the
safety of their souls, I beg you ask His Grace, since you have
influence with him, to honor His Majesty_s well-thought and
reasonable laws and forbid the display of such symbols._
_Difficult, since the ducal arms contain them, at His Majesty_s
gift._
The patriarch drew in a breath. _Within the religious context, sir!_
_No common coin will damn any of your flock, father, nor lead
any astray to Bryalt beliefs except they be Bryaltine from the
cradle, which Your Reverence must admit is tolerably common
in Amefel._
_I beg you take this seriously,_ the Quinalt father said. _And lead
His Grace at least as strait and seemly a path as may be._
_His Grace has all manner of favor in His Majesty_s eyes, and
the approval of the Holy Father in Guelemara, who blessed him
at his oath-giving, and commended him to Your Reverence_s
hands in all good faith. I will tell you, brother, for fair judgment
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and care of your flock_s rights and dues, and for keeping the less
savory influences& wizardous and sorcerous alike& from out of
the dangerous marches westward, you should be grateful to him.
There_s none of the haunts and unhallowed goings-on as might
find opportunity here, considering the very injudicious activities
of Her now deposed Grace Orien Aswydd._
_We have never countenanced Her Grace_s doings._
_Well enough, since she let the very fiend into the apartment His
Grace has now warded beyond any opportunity for such
maleficent spirits. I_ve tested his wards, and they are subtle and
wonderfully made& should you wish to know?_
_I do not!_ It was strange to stand to the side and hear himself
discussed and argued about. But now the Quinalt father looked at
him with a wide and distraught stare, and matters had gone
askew from what was prudent, and at Emuin_s hands, none other.
_Sir,_ Tristen said with a nod and a will to placate this distressed
man, _if I have done anything amiss, I will always hear you, and
tell me, tell me if I do wrong. I don_t think Cefwyn ever feared
the women in the marketplace, and I know there_s no sorcery that
I can feel. But if you have misgivings, I_ll certainly walk there
myself and see if there_s any cause for alarm._
_Your Grace. In your gifts, in your observance of protocols, I
find no fault. But I doubt Your Grace will take alarm in such
small matters as frighten my flock._
That last was pointed and sharp-edged: he was not so naďve as to
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miss it. _His Highness instructed me and gave me a book of
devotions. He said it was good I read it, and find the gods, and
avoid evil. I agree. I by all means wish to avoid evil._ He had
asked himself why the priest came to him now about the market
just when the market and the grandmothers had entered his
concern, and if it was not magic that made the connection, it was
Men. _There was a boy, wasn_t there, Your Reverence?_
_A boy._
_It was mischief for Paisi to steal a soldier_s kit, but it was
greater mischief for that man to come to you and suggest there
was something amiss in the market, when the truth was that he
wished someone to die for the theft, when it wasn_t even his kit,
as I understand: it belonged to a man of the Dragon Guard._
_I know nothing of any of this, Your Grace!_
_Didn_t a soldier come to you?_
_He by no means told me about any boy._
_I doubt he did. But you should ask him what the truth is._
_Your Grace,_ the patriarch said, as if he had taken a dismissal in
that, his case in disarray and his words turned back on him. But
the patriarch blessed himself with a gesture, as Uwen would
when he saw wizardry or magic. Clearly the patriarch wished to
leave, and Tristen wished just as strongly that this priest would
go away. _I shall ask, Your Grace._
And with a bow and a murmured courtesy, the man edged toward
the door until, with a second bow, he was out it.
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_Uwen,_ Tristen said.
_M_lord._
_I_ll speak to that soldier. The sergeant._
_Aye, m_lord._
_I could almost tell you the man_s name,_ Emuin said. _And
you_re quite right, young lord: it wasn_t piety that moved His
Reverence. Well guessed, and I guess exactly as you do, with
small wizardry about it_but I fear His Reverence believes you
just worked sorcery and stole it out of his thoughts. You_ve
frightened that man. And you_ll frighten the man you bring in to
question, never doubt it._
_I guessed, sir. It was not by magic._
_Damned for the one time it wasn_t,_ Emuin said. _But in the
Guelen garrison, there_s a captain who doesn_t want to be in this
town or in this province. He followed Parsynan_s orders and had
them overthrown, and hasn_t been happy since, if you want my
further guess. And that sergeant and no few of his men think like
him. I may live in my tower, but I_m not deaf to what goes on in
the yard._
_I wish the patriarch were in Guelessar,_ Tristen said, _if I could
choose. But the soldiers in the garrison wouldn_t be happy
without him. I wish I might send the sergeant and all those men
back to Guelessar, but he_d be at Ryssand_s ear, do I understand
how he would act? I think I do._
_I fear ye understand very well,_ Uwen said, _an_ master
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Emuin_s right, too. I_d have set that sergeant to the watch on the
bridges, an_ let the troublemaker tell _is notions to them as has no
way to send back to Ryssand, but soldiers is in a surly enough
state in winter, wi_ nothin_ to do but pass rumor, as is. There_d be
toads rainin_ from heaven in the rumors they_d have about ye,
m_lord, an_ wi_ the captain of the Guelens, too, who, by me, ain_t
any better. I_ve tried to reason wi_ this man, and I know this
sergeant. I wisht I_d found a place to set this fellow where he
couldn_t find mischief. I_m sorry it got to His Reverence._
_I wish I might send all the men home._
_An_ defend the land wi_ Ivanim?_ Uwen asked.
_That is the choice,_ he said. They equally well knew the choices
he did have. The Amefin villages would have a hard winter, a
harder spring and famine in the fall if he mustered the men to
winter camp. For half a century the king_s law had allowed no
establishment of men-at-arms in Amefel, entrusting the defense
of the province to the Aswyddim_s personal guard, and to a
garrison of Guelen Guard, of the four Guelen companies the
roughest and commonest. Now at urgent need and with the
Aswydd guard fled across the river or back to their local lords for
fear of Cefwyn_s justice, Amefel had no men of its own but an
irregularly armed peasant muster that belonged to the earls, and
them needing to do their planting and lambing at the time the
army would be engaged across the river.
Therefore, among other reasons, he had retained the Guelen
Guard. But now he had evidence of Guelen disaffection, not an
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unreasonable discontent: the weather had turned, they were held
here against expectation and in disgrace from their service with
Parsynan, and now faced with the rise of Amefin to positions of
authority, when it was Amefin they had once held in check as
Parsynan_s iron fist. They were not the guard he would have
chosen. Was he at fault? Might another lord have managed better
than he had done?
Certainly Parsynan had not improved these men; and Uwen had
pleaded for them, saying only a better lord could redeem them.
They were Uwen_s old company; and they, Uwen argued, had
been misused and misled.
_I will speak to their captain,_ he concluded. _Privately._
_You should do so,_ Emuin said, _privately. But you see the seed
of discontent in these men, young lord, and it comes of slighting
them._
_My slighting them?_
_And no few of the lords and burgesses. Where might they learn
anything of your intent except from rumor? Become
approachable. Hold audience. Do more in public._
_I speak with a half a score of them every time I venture the
hall._ He had rarely failed to answer chance questions, and on
this he was very sure he was on firm ground. _I speak to soldiers
and to workmen and servants in the kitchen. All these folk, as
well as to the lords. I answer their questions._
_Yet make all decisions in chambers. Therein you are at fault.
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You asked advice: now I advise you._
_I_ve called the earls for supper._
_Hold audience beforehand and hold it today. This is where you
fail. The people believe in you while the sun shines and they
have enough to eat; but when things go harder, they have to
know their lord to follow him. Worship is not enough, young
lord. Care for their concerns. Care for their fears. Hear the quieter
voices. We have His Reverence on our doorstep with rumors and
accusations; but what more should you hear? You must sit a
certain time every day in the great hall, no more of this dealing in
the hallways of the Zeide and granting this and granting that to
the loudest and most importunate. You_ll miss the quiet and the
desperate. Yes, ride out to the villages, and hear them as well.
And don_t neglect Henas_amef and your own court._
_His Grace already don_t sleep enough,_ Uwen said. _Where_s he
to rest?_
_And you, Uwen Lewen_s-son, you have your own fault in this!
You are not Lord Tristen_s body servant or his guard& you are
his captain. Give me no excuses: take command of the Guard,
march them up and down until they have no breath for gossip._
_Uwen does very well,_ Tristen said.
_Well is not good enough. And you, young lord, must be
approachable for your people other than in the hallways, or
prepare to do the business of the province there, on every chance
approach and by all comers. You should never have been
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summoned by His Reverence to come down to hall, as if you
were some truant lad with a lesson to read. I find it outrageous in
him, and I find you far too accommodating of approach on the
one hand and far too secret and unapproachable on the other.
What you will tell to the earls separately, tell to them all in
common council. Hear debates, once and together, not once for
each man. Sit in state, and let petitioners see how their business
weighs against other appeals to Your Grace_s resources. If the
matters they bring are trivial, they may take shame of it and ask
less. Two problems may be each other_s answer. And I will tell
you Cefwyn could benefit by that advice. He cannot rule from his
chambers. Indeed he cannot. He avoids the likes of Ryssand by
shutting himself in chambers, but he fails to hear the town reeve,
and this with a war in the offing. He is the worst example._
_Have you told him so?_
_I told his father, who had the same fault: oh, deal with every
man in private, tell one man one thing, another the other, and
thus Lord Mistrust rules all! Idrys, the most furtive man alive,
Idrys concurs with me in this.
Ylesuin cannot have the ghost of the last king presiding over it,
no more than Amefel can have Suspicion for a duke and Rumor
for leader of its armies. You have His Reverence listening to
sergeants of the Guard and soldiers whispering with the gate-
guard, and gods alone know what tales they obtain from the
kitchens. But fault none of them until you demand and they
refuse. Captain Anwyll and his command left yesterday to sit and
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endure the snow on the river& good riddance, say I. Anwyll will
never say good morning but he asks permission for it of
someone. Of him I expect nothing but good compliance; but you,
Uwen Lewen_s-son, you_ve waited last night and all morning
long and not seized the Guelens and shaken them into order.
Seize command!_
_Aye, sir._
_And, young lord, duke of Amefel, until you assemble your court
and rule it with a firm hand, I look for you to be a profound
concern to your captain, who knows your kind civility with fools.
Lordship does not bind you to give away the treasury or to
consent to every request. I saw hope in Lewen_s-son last night; I
see it today. What of you?_
_Is that why now you advise me, when since summer Cefwyn
and I alike have asked and asked and gotten nothing? Can you
fault me, sir, when of your advice I_ve had precious little come
down from the tower? You say I should leave my chambers and
sit in hall. Cannot you come down and stand by me?_
That drew a tilt of Emuin_s head and a wary look. _I advise as I
see to advise. Now I see a stirring of will, young lord, in you and
in your honest captain. Employ it._
_I have the earls_ goodwill. The Guelen Guard is a harder matter._
_Parsynan appointed their officers, m_lord,_ Uwen said, _an_
master Emuin_s right, best we can do to keep _em out of mischief
is march _em up an_ down. Ye daren_t send a man of _em home:
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they_d be straight to Parsynan wi_ gods know what tale. If ye
wisht my soldierly opinion, it_s the captain an_ the seniormost
sergeant is the poison in the cup, him in the hall last night.
Gellyn_s the sergeant_s name. I suspect he was the one went to
the patriarch: and maybe ye can put the fear in the sergeant, but
small hope for the captain, say I, who_s a Quinalt man, an_ a hard-
nosed Quinalt at that. _E won_t change, an_ it ain_t right you talk
to _im before me. You want the men that leapt right quick to
Parsynan_s order to slaughter the prisoners, m_lord, it was this
captain an_ this sergeant, an_ the rest was swept along wi_ what
they had no heart for, otherwise._
Emuin had come forward with advice, and now Uwen was stirred
to report to him, when before he had been swathed in silence.
And it was no shocking news, what Uwen said about difficulties
with the Guelen officers: he had heard it before in bits and
pieces. But now Anwyll was out of the town, and his learned and
lettered Guelen efficiency was neither a restraint on the Guard
officers of the garrison nor on Uwen_s command of them. He had
worked for a fortnight to have Anwyll out the gates; and lo! now
all the stones that had refused to move tumbled at once.
_I do hear,_ he said, _and I_ll take your advice, yours and master
Emuin_s. I_ll have Tassand teach Paisi how to beg the soldier_s
pardon, for the soldiers_ sake, so they understand and he
understands. He mustn_t do it again._
_That comforts me,_ Emuin said. _By this afternoon, do you say,
Tassand is to have wrought this miracle?_
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_I take your advice, sir,_ he said, for it seemed to him a little
salve for the soldiers_ pride and for grudges might mend
something of what was amiss with the Guelen Guard: a better
lord, Uwen had said the night of the slaughter, might let these
men regain their honor.
But gaining what he had of advice, and being told to establish a
court, he pressed further on forbidden ground, this time with
Emuin. _What of Auld Syes, then, sir, if advice is possible
today?_ He abandoned fear of asking or saying anything at all
before Uwen, or even Lusin. _Have you advice on that, sir, and
what when one of the earls asks me who she was or signifying
what? I know the men have spread it about. And what do you
think I should do about the sergeant?_
_Advice? Advice now, when you_ve gone out and stirred up the
spirits of this land? Gods save us, say I, gods save us all.
Discipline your sergeant or march him and his captain out to join
Anwyll; set up a second camp with the discontents and leave
Uwen sole captain here._
_Can they?_
_Can they what?_
_Can the gods save us? I_ve found nothing in Efanor_s book to
say so._
_Oh, young lord,_ Emuin said with a sober look and a shake of
his head, _that is not the question. Certainly not in this matter.
Set things in order. That_s what you_re here to do. Set all things
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in order that Parsynan and Cuthan disordered. All you know
should tell you the danger in disorder. And with that, I_m back to
my tower and my shuttered and warded windows, young lord.
I_ve said enough. Order is what_s needed. Order is the only
saving of us. I pray you, establish one soon, any sort of order you
like, so long as it_s no one else_s order._
Something in that, touching on what they both understood,
breathed a cold breath out of the gray space.
_Do you see sorcery, sir? Or have you seen it?_
Emuin turned again and looked at him, but it was in the gray
space that answer came to him, not aloud.
_Does it not always seek the crack in the wall, young lord?
So ruin had begun at Ynefel, subtly, an old, familiar crack
beneath his own small window; and from that small fracture of
the stone, grown greater, all calamity came. He could not but
remember it, for the thunderclap that had riven the Quinalt roof
could have shaken him no worse than did Emuin with that one
word.
Yes, the Zeide_s heart had many cracks, of every sort, not least
the bloody rift between Meiden and the Guelen Guard.
Now the Quinalt, at a Guard sergeant_s instigation, came lodging
complaints aimed at Amefin.
_No more dare I say,_ Emuin proclaimed, and began to go his
way.
Emuin denied him again, again stopped short of the whole truth;
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or perhaps it was all the truth Emuin had now to give him.
Uwen gave a twitch of his shoulders and a shake of his head, and
began to say something. But all the light had gone to brass, and
the gray space was all but with them.
He could reach out and have Emuin_s attention from here. He
asked himself what he would say when he did, what authority he
would seize unto himself, and do what with it?
Invade Elwynor? He had Cefwyn_s authority to raise an army
unprecedented in the dealings of Ylesuin with Amefel; but
Crissand pleaded the summer war had left the province bereft as
was. Yet Cevulirn happened to come to him.
Who has done this? he asked the unresponsive void, and the old
man who was by now walking back to his tower, with feeble and
arthritic steps.
_Who has done this, Emuin? Have you called Ivanor to me?
_Wizards is pricklish folk at best,_ Uwen was saying, in the
world of substance and color and the smell of candles, cold stone,
and the incense that lingered where the Quinalt had been. _I_ll
find the boy an_ I_ll find the one who talked to the priests, as ye
say, m_lord. Master Emuin_s entirely right to chide me: busy
soldiers is better soldiers, an_ the sergeant and the captain_s better
shoveling snow in the river camp. Ye_ve given _em fair trial since
they went again_ your given word; an_ if they_ve been behind
your back a second time, don_t gi_ _em a third chance. The river_s
the place for _em, an_ a warnin_ to Captain Anwyll to go with
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_em._
_What orders you see fit. At any time you see fit._ Yet it seemed
unfair to him, to damn a man unheard. _But before that, I_ll hear
the sergeant_s reasons, and if I have no good answer from him,
then send them all to Anwyll_s camp._
__At_s just,_ Uwen agreed. _I_ll bring _im, sayin_ ye want to have
a word wi_ _im. And I_d ask did his captain approve what he did,
m_lord, that I would, but I suspect I_d already know the answer.
The poison there ain_t all the sergeant. The sergeant wouldn_t be
what he is, _cept for the captain._
_I trust your advice,_ he said. _Bid the sergeant come to my
chambers, and after him, the captain, in private. And send to the
earls. Say I_ll hold court today._
Such was the plan; and so the sergeant was due to come at
midafternoon, and the captain of the garrison directly after him,
but by somewhat past the expected time, Uwen came to his
apartment to say personally that there was no sight nor report of
either man.
_It ain_t ordinary the captain should be unfind-able,_ Uwen said,
_and right now I_m inquirin_ in the lower stables._
_As if they should have fled?_
_Or should be attendin_ of their horses or pretendin_ so,_ Uwen
said. _It_s the only thing a soldier_s got need of, wi_out orders to
be out an_ away from the garrison. If they ain_t drinkin_ or about
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the town& an_ if they ain_t at the stables, there_s the whole damn
town to search._
_Inquire,_ he said. The gray space might have told him
something, if he had well known the men they were searching
for. Ranging through the whole population of the town and
finding soldiers was like searching for certain kinds of pebbles in
a pile of them& it would mean sorting a good many other
pebbles in the process, disturbing them and discovering more of
their privacy and peace than seemed just, and taking time, that,
too.
_Do you have the Guard searching for them?_ he asked.
_I ain_t ask_t it, let alone ordered. It_s their officers, m_lord. I_m
inquirin_ by way o_ the Amefin guard an_ the staff. An_ talkin_ to
the undersergeants, the while, just getting the look o_ men I used
to know, m_lord, an_ I do know some of _em._
_But not all?_
_The Guelen Guard comes from more _n Guelessar, m_lord.
Panys, Murandys. Murandys_ province. Any second and third
son, as ain_t apt to inherit, that man_s apt to come to the standing
companies. The lords_ kin_ll go to the Dragons or the Prince_s
Guard, but the common lads& an_ them as ain_t quite lads, like
me& they_re for the Guelen Guard. An_, aye, some of these I
marched to Amefel with; an_ some I knew when His Majesty was
here; an_ some I knew for scoundrels, too, the senior sergeant
bein_ no better._
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_But some you don_t know?_
_A good many_s come in since summer_s end, when His Majesty
marched home to Guelessar an_ Parsynan came in. Some are
good men an_ one an_ the other I_ve me doubts of. All_s Quinalt,
but some_s too Quinalt, if ye take my meanin_, m_lord, an_ don_t
like Amefin._
_Set the garrison in order,_ he said. _Marching them to the river_s
not all the answer. Have the captain and the highest sergeant
gone off and left no one word where they are? Or are men not
telling?_
_Seems, m_lord, they left no instructions of who is in command,
_cept as there_s seniority. The man who_s second senior, he ain_t
informed where they are, an_ I think I believe _im. An_ Your
Grace is right: it ain_t the way it ought to be._
_Did Anwyll allow such things?_
_Captain Anwyll didn_t interfere much._
_You command the garrison,_ Tristen said. _And all the Zeide.
Set them in order._
_Them_s His Majesty_s troops,_ Uwen said distressedly. _I can_t
just dismiss His Majesty_s officers, m_lord. I ha_nt the authority,
wi_ all goodwill. I begun in the Guelens and came to the
Dragons, unlikely as ever was; and then I could ha_ ordered _em:
a Dragon sergeant can order a captain of the common companies.
But I left the Dragons an_ come wi_ you, m_lord, which means
I_m provincial an_ not a king_s man anymore. An_ if them troops
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hadn_t got a captain, I could, if you ordered, in your province.
But not so long_s there_s a king_s captain in charge. Anwyll could
have ordered _em. But ye sent him to the border._
That His Majesty_s troops did as they pleased and did wrong to
Amefin folk within a stone_s cast of the Zeide was not tolerable
to him; in his mind the captain had forfeited his command the
night he had obeyed Parsynan_s word against his. When he and
the senior sergeant disappeared at the same time, leaving no
orders behind them he knew what to call it: irresponsibility was a
Word he had learned in one place and another. Treason, he had
learned very well, here in Amefel.
And with the town_s well-being and Amefin justice resting on the
garrison_s proper conduct, Anger rushed up, twice in two days,
now.
Uncommon, he thought. And that, the anger, he carefully lifted
out of its place to examine later, in some quietness of heart. To
have anger give the next orders was unwise, even if it was just.
_Do you hear? he asked Emuin, across the insulating weight of
stone. Do you know that the captain and the sergeant have
disappeared, and do you count it coincidence, good sir? Shall I
be angry about it?
There was no answer, as he had in his heart expected none. Oh,
Emuin heard. Unquestionably he heard. Emuin was settling into
his chamber, poking up the fire, which had gone to embers, and
gave him attention, but no answer.
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He had, he recalled, said to the patriarch himself that he guessed
the source of the advisement about the trinket-sellers.
And was it unreasonable that the patriarch should have sent word
to the sergeant, who might have told his captain? He himself had
had little dealing with either man, and it was still the matter of a
search after pebbles among pebbles; but he began to suspect that
the pebbles in question were no longer in this heap.
_Perhaps they_ve taken horses,_ he said to Uwen, who waited
quietly for his answer, _and then you would have authority._
_I am askin_ that,_ Uwen said, _an_ word ain_t come yet._
_Only from the bottom of the hill?_
_There_s a lot of shiftin_ about, especially wi_ the Ivanim in wi_
sixty-odd horses an_ them needin_ room; master Haman_s got
lads movin_ horses out to the far meadows and makin_ winter
shelter. It_s over an hour_s ride out an_ back to some of them
places, an_ till we_ve counted, an_ horses tendin_ to wander off in
copses an_ stream cuts for windbreaks, even when ye built _em a
fair shelter&_
_We won_t know by evening,_ he said, _unless the captain turns
up before that._
_I asked the gate-guards, too. An_ they just ain_t sure whether the
men is in or out. They don_t much notice the soldiers comin_ and
goin_. I put it to _em they should notice such things an_ look
sharper. They are under my command, and I apologize for that,
m_lord._
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If the captain had taken horse and gone, there was no question
where he had gone: to Guelessar, to Parsynan, to unfriendly ears.
_We won_t know, then, until we hear from Haman,_ Tristen said.
_And the lords are coming, within the hour?_
_Aye, m_lord. Word_s passed._
He had been remiss in letter-writing. Idrys had bidden him write
often, very often; and now in Uwen_s report he thought he should
write that days-delayed letter.
_Go do what you can do,_ he said, _but be back when I go down
to the hall._
_Aye, m_lord._
So Uwen went off to find those he was now sure were
unavailable and well away, and Tristen sat down at the desk with
dragon legs and under the brazen loom of dragon jaws, and took
up pen to warn Idrys directly of all that had happened. He was all
too aware now that along with the Dragons he had dismissed all
his most reliable Guelen messengers, except his private guard.
The Amefin guard would not be able to traverse Guelessar
unquestioned or unremarked, and might not so easily reach Idrys.
He had retained not a one of the Dragons at hand; and under the
circumstances, trusting the Guelens to report ill of their own
officers seemed folly. There was Gedd. He might well send Gedd.
Uwen, however, might well find an honest man or two in the unit
of which he had been a part as late as midsummer. Not all of
them had marched home, of those who had fought at
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Lewenbrook; and, Cevulirn_s help notwithstanding, he could not
afford to dismiss the Guelen Guard. Honest men must be the
heart of what he should have done by now and must now
urgently do with the Guelens: depose or assign elsewhere officers
who had carried out the massacre. Now that the sergeant and the
captain had fled, if that was indeed their course, then all the harm
their reports could do would have been done& and he was
increasingly convinced that they had fled, and that the Quinalt
had warned them.
Overtake the fugitive officers on the road, frighten the horses
from under them& that he might do, as he had done to Parsynan.
But it had not prevented Parsynan getting to Guelessar, as he was
well sure Parsynan had done; and he found himself more than
reluctant to invade the gray space with such a reckless assault.
And when he realized that in himself, he let the pen pause, asking
himself why he did hesitate.
Fear of killing: there was that. There was no guarantee how they
would fall, and a fall was chance and chance was the realm of
wizards.
There was no guarantee such an act would in any wise prevent
the gossip arriving at a bad time; when it arrived was now a
matter of a horse_s strength, reasonably certain. But to bring it
into the realm of chance also laid things as open as a window
flung wide to whatever influences might be seething just out of
reach of his inquiries.
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There was Ivanor& arrived the very day he sent the Dragons to
the border.
And arrived on the heels of portents and omens, word of lords
and aethelings, himself and Crissand and prophecy.
Now Paisi, a waif detestable to the Guelens and sheltered by the
Amefin gate-guard, had become the cause of upheaval in the
Guelen Guard, the garrison that was Amefel_s surest and readiest
defense.
His hand trembled somewhat as he dipped the quill in ink. The
thoughts that came to him were not quiet ones, nor assured in
their direction. Emuin_s sudden spate of advice to him and to
Uwen assumed the character of a milestone reached, a point at
which Emuin would speak; and now, now he was aware of
Emuin_s eavesdropping.
_You know, he said to Emuin, and had nothing but Emuin_s
retreating presence, refusing to utter a thing.
Anger came back, a blinding anger, and he smothered it, quickly,
as some foreign and hostile thing.
To find Emuin standing at distance, watching him.
Watching, saying nothing, power intact.
Emuin could still keep secrets from him.
Had not Emuin always said he would not stand in the path of his
intentions? Yet Emuin did exactly that, refusing his demands,
keeping him from leaping from one stepping-stone of advice to
the next, distracting him& leading him, by his frustrated
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questions, to examine things for himself, letting things Unfold to
him. And leading him yet again, by his affection, by his anger, by
his very conviction that Emuin held secrets from him&
While he had no answers from Emuin& he delayed acting.
While he delayed acting&
He found other courses to take.
The anger subsided, grew cool. Master Emuin still said not a
word to him, but he stood in the winds of the gray space and
detected a certain small satisfaction wafting on the winds.
_Is that your tactic, sir?
Emuin did not ignore him, rather watched him warily, and he
ignored Emuin, mostly, at least, aware that time was short and
the earls would be gathering.
He wrote, in the time he had. And paused, the feather brushing
his lips, and gazed at the candleflame, recalling how, in the
mysterious ways of wizards, once at Mauryl_s hearth he had been
allured by fire. His hand still bore that small scar. He never
forgot that he could not grasp the flame, only feed it or
extinguish it.
Such was wizardry. Such had been Mauryl.
Such was Emuin, uncatchable, even by such a power as he had in
himself. If his power was the wind and the whirlwind, Emuin_s,
like Mauryl_s, was the fire, small as a spark, leaping up to
consume whole houses, and moving aside from a curious finger.
And had not Mauryl been very like that? Mauryl, whose half-
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burned letters still contained only requests for supply and
observations on the weather? A murderer had thought to find far
more in Mauryl_s writings, and yet& what could they learn of
Mauryl or any wizard in the small exchanges? It was the long
work that said more, the persistence of the little spark smoldering
outside its hearth, the one, slight, unnoticed act of chance.
_I respect you, he said to one he was sure had his ears well
stopped and his heart warded. I respect your working, sir, nor
am such a fool as to ignore it. When I transgress, you will not
tell me; but should I transgress against you, sir, I beg you
continue to call me a fool. I fear the silence more than the
shadows.
I will to do good, sir. But we are, are we not, something
different one from the other? If I am the wind, you are the fire,
and may burn, but mine is the stronger force.
I am Sihhë. Is that the lesson I am finally to learn, that I am
not a Man and that I should not practice wizardry?
If that_s so, sir, it would seem I need you. I need you very much.
The captain of the Guelens has very likely fled, and mischief
will come of it, and wizardry might prevent him.
But do you say I should not wield it? That magic is my skill,
and I should avoid wizardry?
He listened until the ink dried on the quill tip, and he heard no
answer, none, at least, in words.
But there was a sense of presence grown more peaceful, a touch
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softer than the feather and more subtle than a word. The dragons
that loomed over this place threatened that peace: creatures of
fire, reared in angry postures.
Yet was the carving oak, or horse?
Was the image bronze, or all that a dragon might be?
The nearest of them loomed, a spell in its own right, and warred
against the peace. It leered across his shoulder, flanked him,
stared outward with him, with its bronze and dreadful
countenance, an Aswydd beast, witness of all that had happened
here& and trying, so it seemed, to be his ally.
Do I command the dragons? he asked that silent, wizardly
witness, with none but an afterthought to the king_s men who
bore that name, or to the arms of the Marhanen, the golden
dragon on the red field, which was the emblem of the kingdom as
well. His immediate question was to what extent he could reach
back into Aswydd power, and rely on it; but in the way of such
questions, it answered itself differently.
The echo of understanding the question raised in him was that the
Aswydd dragons extended their reach into Guelessar, and that
they backed the Marhanen throne, not Sihhë emblems& never
the Sihhë emblems. The dragons were solely the emblems of
Men and kings and lords of Men. This room he had never felt he
owned. This room he had warded by his presence, as much as
lived in it. It was useful to everyone_s safety that he lived here
and kept the wards.
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Yet it came to him, yes, he did command the dragons, now, and
only so long as these creatures of fire and passion failed to rouse
his anger, or his passion, or his fear. That long, and only so long,
did he command them, and only that long did he command those
who were their masters.
The dragons and those who commanded them must not break
that condition. They must never break it. With wind and fire alike
they could deal, but never break that condition. He was writing a
message to the Lord Commander, with the local garrison in
disarray; he was facing a meeting of the lords of Amefel, to sit
and do justice, and the dragons loomed above, reminding him
their anger was fire, and his will was wind.
He felt that silent and wizardly witness to his musings, sealed as
he was, and deliberately withdrawn from the soundless sound in
the silence that lapped about this room of his refuge. This, too,
Emuin witnessed.
The quill when he dipped it and wrote scratched like claws on
stone, as if the dragons stirred on their perches. Shadows, the
tame ones that had a right here, lurked and crept under tables and
in the folds of green drapery, within cabinets and in corners as he
shaped his report.
He owned magic as his birthright. Having it, he knew he must be
careful of it. He never loosed the shadows that belonged here,
never, in fact, allowed the lights to be extinguished: candles
always burned here, and he never shut the drapes by day. The
ones who had died in this room were not wholly his men; but
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they were faithful to Amefel, and he willingly lived under their
witness, conscious of their leanings, and sure now, as in Auld
Syes_ salutation to him and Crissand, that he held what would not
forever be his.
Emuin heard that, too, and tried very quietly to slip away. But
Emuin could not elude him now: often as Emuin might have
watched, unseen, mistrustful of him before this, he was not
unseen now, and might never be again.
_Know that, Tristen said, wounded, and know I have heard at
least one and two of your lessons, master Emuin. And because I
have heard, I_m about to hear the demands of stonemasons and
of the earls. I wish the Guelens and the house of Meiden will
not go at each other_s throats.
Why, why, master Emuin, do wicked purposes seem to slide by
so easily, and these men escape me to do mischief and Mauryl_s
letters burn, and reasons for all this wickedness slip through
my fingers? Is this the way of things in the world? Or is there
cause aside from me and you?
Is that the reason of your mistrust?
And is that mistrust of me the reason you came here, after all?
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Chapter 7
«
^
»
There was no miraculous word of the fugitives by the hour the
court convened& and that was not to Tristen_s surprise or
Uwen_s. The readiness with which the court assembled did
somewhat surprise Tristen: the summons had gone out to the
earls to come early and present their petitions, such as they had,
before the banquet& a feast which had already been planned for
their guest for the evening, and on which Cook had labored since
yesterday evening, to a mighty shouting and commotion around
the kitchens. That event Tristen expected would see no tardiness.
But the earls all came, every one, even earlier than the requested
hour; and so Cevulirn attended the audience of his neighbor
province, dressed in his plain, serviceable gray and white, yet no
lord in the hall was more dignified by his finery than Cevulirn by
his demeanor. He drew every eye by his mere presence in hall,
and stood at the side of the steps of the dais to give his account of
doings at the court, the marriage of His Majesty and Her Grace,
and the death of Brugan, son of Corswyndam, Lord Ryssand.
There was no restlessness at all in his hearers, and all hung on the
account of a man who doled words out like coin, well weighed
and sparingly.
_What shall we do?_ Drumman was quick to ask, when he had
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heard Cevulirn_s account of his dismissal from the king_s court.
_This is an attack on the south and on all of us, our privileges,
our rights, soon enough our land. We have in king Cefwyn a
monarch who at least respects our soil and look how these
damned northerners deal with him!_
_Aye,_ said no few, from among the ealdormen of the town, too,
for Cefwyn had ruled Ylesuin from Henas_amef for some few
weeks.
_Let _im favor us in the least and here_s the barons with their
noses out of joint!_ someone shouted out of turn. _Earl Drumman
has the right of it. We fought wizards and the Elwynim at
Lewenbrook, and buried our sons, where we could find _em, an_
where_s bloody Ryssand?_
_Safe,_ said Cevulirn, in a fleeting still moment of the shock of
that forwardness. _Safe, sir, and hopeful of comfort and power
for himself, which does not come with a marriage to Ninévrisë of
Elwynor, who will strengthen Cefwyn Marhanen. You see very
clearly. Ryssand is my enemy. I assure you he is the enemy of
your lord as well._
_Lord Sihhë!_ someone was bold enough to call out. _Lord Sihhë
can teach Ryssand a lesson or two!_
It was not what Tristen wished, this stir about the northern lords,
and he saw matters sliding away from his hand in the very first
moments of the audience Emuin had advised him to hold. He
knew that was not by intent, nor by Cevulirn_s intent, and he
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lifted his hand from the arm of the chair to seize a breathwide
silence.
_I am the king_s friend. All I_ve done is to establish Amefel_s
borders, and prevent war from coming here again& which I
don_t permit and which I don_t think Cevulirn will permit._
_We will not permit it,_ Cevulirn said staunchly. _But that_s my
tale, such as it is, sirs._
_Long live the lord of Ivanor,_ Crissand said, and everyone said
the same.
It was a high beginning, the matters of kings and the doings of
barons. But it was not all that waited attention: _My lord,_ said
Tassand, who had a list of things they should see to in the
gathering, and brought it to the steps of the dais, _the matter of
the Guard, the search after the officers. The dereliction of the
command of the garrison: Your Grace_s captain_s come with his
report._
_Are they found?_
Tassand ascended a step to lean close. _The lord captain_s taken
the sergeants,_ Tassand whispered, while every ear in the hall
attempted to overhear. _And has them all an_ some of the soldiers
with him, an_ Paisi& all to come in the hall, my lord duke, at
your order._
_Bring them,_ he said, reluctant to have all this spread before the
earls and the chance carpenter with a request for supply: but so
Emuin had advised him he should rule. He settled himself for a
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lengthy proposal of the case, and the debate of the earls on every
point of it, including Paisi_s requisite apology.
But he had not reckoned with Uwen Lewen_s-son, who marched
in the soldiers in proper military order, saw them stand smartly to
attention, and had Paisi trailing all with a hangdog look and a
bundle in his arms. And then he said to himself that by Emuin_s
advice he should let his men speak, in public, and do business
under everyone_s witness.
_Uwen,_ Tristen said. _Captain Uwen. What do you have to
report?_
_First is the justice wi_ this lad,_ Uwen said, not at all abashed,
_m_lord. An_ he_s to give the property back to the man in good
order. Jump, boy. Do it!_
_M_lord,_ Paisi said in a faint voice, _I can_t. He ain_t here._
_And where is he?_ Uwen asked the foremost of the men.
_At the border,_ said that man.
_Then give the kit to him in trust,_ Uwen said, _and apologize
like a man, on your lord_s order._
Paisi all but ran to bestow the kit on the Guard officer, and blurt
out: _On account of I was wrong, sir, an_ will never be a thief,
an_ I beg your pardon, sir, for the captain_s sake and m_lor_s._
_Given,_ came the short response, not entirely in good grace.
_He_ll do duty for a fortnight,_ Uwen said, _an_ stand wi_ the
guard at night, besides _is duties in the house. An_ when the
Dragons march home again he_ll come an_ get that kit and beg
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pardon again, an_ lucky I don_t send _im to the border to carry it._
_Sir,_ the soldier said, in far better humor. There was, as it were,
a breath and a shifting in the ranks, even at attention, as if every
man had found satisfaction in that.
_Yes, sir,_ Paisi said.
_ _At_s one thing,_ Uwen said, and strode along the polished
pavings in boots a little short of absolute polish, unlike the lords_,
and with his silver hair windblown out of its tie. But in his broad,
work-hardened body and use-scarred armor and the brisk
sureness in the orders he gave, there was no doubt at all this was
a man sure of his authority. _There_s honest men in this
company. But, m_lord, the captain an_ the senior sergeant is very
likely bound for Guelessar wi_out leave, which is a disgrace an_ a
shame to these honest men, especially as they did it only hearin_
ye wisht_ t_ speak to _em. An_ while it_s true there_s some good
men find this a hard duty an_ ain_t happy in Amefel, and some
has been forward in sayin_ so, I told _em on my honor an_ your
authority, m_lord, they was free to follow the captain an_ the
master sergeant and take their horses an_ all an_ leave wi_ no let
nor hindrance nor slight to their honor, on one condition: that
they have the face to come here an_ stand on two feet an_ ask
leave of the lord of this province like soldiers, not desertin_ like
some damn band of brigands. So_s here_s a fair number o_ decent
soldiers what ain_t content to be here, an_ if ye_ll grant _em leave,
they_ll go. An_ here_s others as is content and proud o_ this
company, an_ will stay. Also, m_lord, here_s a sergeant I served
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with, Wynned, who_s come to ask leave on a different account,
on account of his mother is ailin_, an_ he wants leave to see _er,
an_ he_ll come back soon_s he_s paid his respects an_ seen to her
wants._
_What Uwen says,_ Tristen answered quietly, and not without
careful looks at the men, _I do agree to, and if you will go, go
with whatever supply you need._ The gossip was already sped
and the harm was done; and he was glad to know Uwen had
sifted the garrison for chaff.
_Your lordship,_ one said, _horses and lodging on our way._
_Horses and lodgin_s is fair,_ Uwen said. _Seein_ the weather.
Tents an_ the packhorses is needed here._
_What Uwen says, I support,_ Tristen said.
_They stood their part an_ discharged their oath,_ Uwen said,
_an_ by me they_re free to go._
_Go, then,_ Tristen said, _and bear my goodwill to the Lord
Commander. I wish you good weather._ And, Wynedd, I wish
your mother well._
_Your Grace,_ the man named Wynedd said, blushing bright red,
and Tristen thought to himself that in Wynedd Uwen might have
found his messenger.
_They_ll be on their way in the hour,_ Uwen said. _Face! An_
turn! An_ bear yoursel_s like soldiers, no farewells in the taverns!
_Lewes!_
_Sir._ One man stood fast as the others left, and Uwen waved
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him forward.
_This here_s Corporal Lewes, who_s a likely man, and who I_d
set in a sergeant_s place, among this list here. Lewes is Wynedd_s
corporal; an_ I_ll name others, by your leave, m_lord._
_As you see fit,_ Tristen said. He was amazed. Uwen, so shy and
soft-spoken with him and within lords_ gatherings was something
else entirely in the field; and, it turned out, in a gathering of
soldiers. He did recall that when Idrys had dealt with the Guard
in Cefwyn_s court he had not quite summoned such a large troop
of them, but he had seen very, little of court: he found the entire
matter of the Guard dealt with and disposed of in far shorter a
time than seemed the rule of things in council. His newly
assembled earls looked with wonder at this public exchange and
the trading of appointments in the garrison.
But had not Emuin said to proceed in public? There was good
reason the province should know the quality of the men who kept
order in the town, and no one looked displeased to witness the
departure of the disaffected men; and not displeased at Wynedd_s
reasons or Lewes_ recommendation, either, or with Uwen_s
handling of matters. There had been talk behind hands, but more
for politeness and quiet, it seemed, than hostility.
__At_s my report, m_lord,_ Uwen said in conclusion, as the noise
of soldiers faded in the hall.
_Well-done,_ Tristen said, and looked to the rest of Tassand_s
list, which proved thereafter the small business of petitions, the
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sort that had overtaken him in the hall, and requests, one for a
marriage of a ducal ward.
_Am I in charge of this person?_ he asked, and truth, as Lord
Azant explained, the ducal ward was a relative of Lord Cuthan, a
young girl, as Tassand knew and interjected, left behind in
Cuthan_s flight. Merilys was her name, and she was twelve years
old.
_Twelve,_ he said. Ages of Men eluded him, but this seemed
young. _A child._
_Indeed, my lord,_ said another, elder man. _In need of guidance
and direction, and protection of the estate she can in no wise
manage._
_And you, sir?_
_Thane of Ausey, Your Grace. Dueradd, thane of Ausey,
betrothed to the lady in question._
_My lord,_ Earl Azant said, edging forward. _I stand remote kin
to the child. In the absence of the earl, and his dispossession, all
obligations of kinship are fallen on Your Grace. The marriage__
_The marriage is contracted by the lady of Idas_aren,_ said the
groom, _and agreed and sealed by the earl of Bryn, as m_lord can
see if he will be so kind&_
_All agreements by the earl are abrogated,_ Azant said, _and this
marriage is not in the girl_s interest._
_Not all the earl_s agreements are abrogated. His market
agreements are being honored&_
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_The lady of Idas_aren is not a heifer at market, and her mother,
my cousin, is against this union!_
_What does the lady of Idas_aren say?_ Tristen asked, lost in the
back-and-forth of rights and arguments.
_My lord, she_s too young to know her advantage._
_Then until she_s old enough to know her advantage&_ Tristen
said. He found all sympathy for a young soul tossed and bartered
about without her understanding or her consent. He had no idea
of marriages. But he did, of being set about and ordered here and
there. _& may I have the marriage wait?_
There was a murmur, and Tassand, a mere servant in Guelessar,
and now in charge of the household, said quietly: _I_m sure Your
Grace can do whatever Your Grace pleases._
_Then I say let the marriage wait until she_s older and can say
what she wishes._
Azant made a small ha! of triumph, and the thane of Ausey
retreated with a mutter of angry protest, drowned in the murmur
of the hall. No one else looked unhappy, and no few looked well
satisfied.
Meanwhile Tassand read out the next matter, stone for repair
near the gate, _& requiring,_ Tassand said, _only Your Grace_s
word to pay the workmen, which seems justified here._
_I give it,_ he said, as he had agreed to a hundred such requests.
Had he done justice to the young girl? He felt a motion of his
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heart and he did as seemed right to him. He assented to what for
some reason needed his assent. The other matters were as
mundane as the request for payment& a request of the town
clerks for Zeide records, and that, he knew was impossible.
_They_re likely lost,_ he said, and saw the Guelen-born clerk who
had come with him from the capital come forward, just to the
edge of the gathering. _Are they not?_
The clerk gave a little bow. _M_lord, there_s progress, but I beg
to say, no, my lord, we still can_t provide all the records. It_s
property and inheritance the magistrates want, and it_s all a
muddle, for reasons Your Grace knows._
The archives had been kept in disorder, or at least the semblance
of it, even during Lord Heryn_s life, so no king_s clerk could find
proof of Heryn_s doings, that was what Cefwyn had said. Now
the disorder was real, for Parsynan had done nothing to set the
place in order that he could detect; and the senior archivist who
might have kept the whereabouts of important papers and books
set in memory was dead, murdered by the younger, who had fled.
_We make lists as quickly as we can,_ the clerk said, _but to tell
the very truth, Your Grace, two more clerks or even a boy to
carry and climb would speed the work; and Your Grace to rule on
disputes, supplanting records._
_Tassand,_ Tristen said, out of his own competence.
_I_ll inquire, m_lord,_ Tassand said, and he trusted it would come
to some good issue, or Tassand would report to him. He had no
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idea what it cost to pay clerks, but he knew the books, which now
were jumbled in towering stacks on tables, exceeding the shelves
that existed, needed better care than Heryn had given them: not
only inheritance and tax records, but works of philosophy, of
history, of poetry, all gathered into one confused pile. There were
treasures still in that place, he was convinced of it, and no
knowing what Lord Cuthan might have destroyed or taken. As he
understood, they had hardly a list of what the king of Ylesuin
might have taken& nothing would Cefwyn destroy, no question
there. But Cefwyn had certainly taken the tax records, and a
history or two.
Cuthan had done the worst.
And wondering about Cuthan_s dealings with the library led to
other questions, and the welfare of Cuthan_s people, which, if he
had arranged the matters under discussion, would have been the
foremost thing to do. But it seemed a discussion more
appropriate to the lords alone, not to this hour when burghers
from the town and clerks and common soldiers rubbed shoulders.
So when Tassand reported the list of petitioners exhausted and
asked whether he would say anything he found nothing in
particular to say. Now that he had taken up the broom to sweep
difficulties and cobwebs off his doorstep, there was one paving
stone missing from a complete and unscarred structure in
Amefel: there was one outstanding fault, and he had thought of
the man in two problems which had come before him, even in
one audience.
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Cuthan. Cuthan, Lord of Bryn.
Cuthan, Edwyll_s betrayer.
Cuthan, Crissand_s enemy, who had fled to Tasmôrden.
_«o«o»o»_
Interlude
_«o«o»o»_
In the old scriptorium that served as solar in these cold winter
days the consort_s court stitched and gossiped. Lady Luriel was a
primary subject of interest; but Ninévrisë said nothing, only
attended her small, precise stitches, gathering news of Luriel_s
previous and current indiscretions, sure that in her own absence
the subject of gossip was herself, and Father Benwyn, and
Cefwyn.
Luriel found no mercy with these women. There was some
whisper about _His Majesty,_ which a matron swiftly hushed;
but mostly the ladies buzzed like bees about Panys_ sister
Brusanne, a plain, awkward, and myopic girl whose stitching
always suffered from untimely knots. Brusanne was not
accustomed to being the focus of attention, and said, clearly
without thinking, regarding her brother, _His Majesty said he
might have Eveny Forest and Aysonel if he married her._
Every eye turned to Ninévrisë, quick as a lightning stroke, and
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they were all trapped, looking at one another, exposed and
naked, on a point of common dismay.
Then Ninévrisë calmly snipped a thread. _What a nice notion,_
she said blithely, feigning ignorance. _She_s been so unhappy.
Murandys is a rocky place, is it not? And Panys is full of forests._
_Yes, Your Grace,_ Brusanne said, blushing deep red.
_I look forward to her joining us here,_ Ninévrisë said. _She_s
very well read, so I hear._
_I think she_s sleeping late,_ said the shameless widow of
Bonden-on-Wyk, and there was a general stir.
_Madiden!_ said the Lady Curalle, thoroughly Guelen, and
staunchly virtuous.
_Well, so she may be,_ said the widow. _She_ll be wed, never a
doubt. That one_s set at marriage and escaping her uncle_s hand,
and would not I? Would not you? Small wonder._
_Well, I_d dance with Murandys himself!_ said Byssalys with a
wicked look. _Jewels can excuse every fault else, oh, and that
man has treasury._
_His last wife had a lovely funeral,_ said the irrepressible widow
Madiden.
Perhaps another lady of highest rank might have stilled the
unseemly gossip, but Ninévrisë listened, and gathered
knowledge, of Murandys, of Panys. It was a court far more
tolerable, and more informative, with Lady Artisane in retreat. It
informed her, as she listened, that Murandys was indispensable
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to Cefwyn_s plans, and yet was not a man worth leaning on or
relying on. Here was a man whose treatment of three wives was
in question, whose management of his tenants was notorious, and
she was distressed that Cefwyn tolerated this man& habit, and
his father_s policies, all that aside: if she were king of Ylesuin,
she would not tolerate him.
But events had not made her a reigning monarch, nor even a
reigning queen, and she could not claim that Elwynim nobility
was in any regard better. A third of the lords of Elwynor had
rejected her claim as a daughter to succeed her sonless father,
Caswyddian and Aseyneddin had tried to marry her by force of
arms, and if not all of the lords of Elwynor had rebelled, and if a
brave handful had died in her defense and a brave handful more
still held Ilefínian against Tasmôrden, still she could not say that
Murandys or even Ryssand was a worse lord. She would have to
take the Regent_s throne by blood and iron, with Guelen troops.
It would not come to her on a waft of love and tossed roses.
Her needle pricked her finger and a spot of blood welled up. She
evaded the bleached linen, but it stained the thread, and she
sucked the finger clean and snipped the spoiled thread, tasting
copper of blood in her mouth as she looked up to an arrival in
the doorway.
Luriel had indeed come to her small court, and made a deep and
formal curtsy.
_Your Grace,_ said Luriel.
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_Lady._ She impulsively extended the wounded hand with the
damp finger, and Luriel came to take it and to bow again in a
rustle of fashionable petticoats, a cushioning flower of velvet and
wool blossoming about her. Ninévrisë smiled on purpose when
Luriel lifted her gaze to meet hers; and, reminiscent of the night
of the fox-hued gown, she saw a strong-chinned countenance
with brows like soaring wings, eyes full of cautious wit and
defense and hope.
_Welcome,_ she said, not altogether a matter of duty to Cefwyn:
in some part, in a dearth of sharp wits in her small gathering, she
indeed held hope of this woman Cefwyn had once thought of
marrying. _Have you brought your stitching? Make room, make
room for the lady, all of you._
It was in immaculate consideration of precedence, who moved
aside and who did not, and Luriel found a stool between Bonden-
on-Wyk and Brusanne of Panys, who cast her curious,
shortsighted looks, and above Dame Margolis, a knight_s lady,
common as the earth and as generous.
_And how was the journey?_ Bonden-on-Wyk wanted to know,
and Luriel, delving into a fashionable little sewing basket, gave
the widow a bland, curious look.
_Very well, Your Grace,_ Luriel said. _As any return must be. I
have no dissatisfactions& not a one._
Did she not? Brusanne was not quick as some, but counting the
rumors of last night, she blushed rosy pink.
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Oh, indeed, Luriel was no dullard, no starched Quinalt virgin.
This was the girl who would very gladly have been queen, and
who was far from blind to the substance and the claim in her
remarks.
_How fine that a thaw preceded your arrival,_ Ninévrisë
returned the shot. _And how fortunate._
Their glances crossed like rapiers, and her husband_s former
mistress engaged with a look sober as a salute.
_I found it so._
_Confusion and bad weather to my enemies one and all, and kind
winds to my friends that come to this court: is that linen you
have? What a lovely shade! Let me see it._
Luriel brought the frame close to her, and for a moment they
were very close. _Your Grace is very kind._
_To my friends. I value loyalty very greatly._
The others had fallen silent, listening to the passage between
them, and Bonden-on-Wyk said, _A winter wedding, will it be?_
_Madiden!_ said Olwydesse.
_Well, will it?_ Bonden-on-Wyk asked, and Luriel gave a small,
fierce smile.
_Ah, gossip never waits an hour in this room, does it?_
_Well?_
_He_s handsome,_ Luriel said, gathering her frame and setting it
toward the light, _and has very fine prospects._
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She did not say, in this room, what those prospects were.
Ninévrisë saw the glances and the lips nipped shut just in time,
the widow Madiden_s head tilted like a wise carrion crow_s
above a likely morsel.
Oh, Cefwyn, Ninévrisë thought, feeling still the prick of the fine
steel. Lucky escaped, lucky this one_s not with child.
Jealous? No, not of such a narrow escape: he knows, he well
knows this lady. Cold steel for a bed-mate, this one: not one ever
to trust.
Nor to envy& why should I ever envy Luriel? She had her
moment and lost it, and is wise enough to take charity from me,
while it profits. I would I could like her, but she is only wiser
than Artisane.
Give me my kingdom, give me land across the river from
Murandys, and we_ll see whose fisheries supply the court; give
me an army at my beck and call and see if Ryssand_s daughter
brings another lying accusation of me.
Needles in and needles out, gold flowers and green leaves on the
linen while winter frosts the glass and the heavens glow white
with fire. Winter weddings and springtime war.
Give me the soil of my land underfoot, and let my husband see
he_s married no fool. Meanwhile I smile on his mistress and let
the vixens in my hall wonder for a season: they see my husband_s
foreign wife, but not yet my father_s daughter.
My father, sealed in stone in Althalen_s ruined walls, my father,
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who wards the seat of kings from strayed Amefin sheep and
attends shepherds in their wanderings& father who saved me
from marriages to cowards and to his dying hour helped me to
the husband I have. Wise father, brave father, see me sit and
stitch so patiently, making wishes with every thread. Luriel has
until spring to win my friendship: I will allow her that fair trial.
Father, who had the Sihhë blood and passed it down to me, bind
wishes in the threads that make meadow flowers in this cold
white day. Bespell me the bright blue of the Lines you keep, the
palace you ward, all Lines and light. I do not forget. How could I
forget?
Father, Uleman, Regent for all these years, I love him. I do love.
I forgive him all the past, all his grandfather_s works and all his
father_s: I love, and forgiving is natural for one who loves. I
make him these silly flowers, I stitch the meadows of the spring
when we will go to war, he and I, and when I pray the people
believe in me. I stitch the blue Lines for a border, your palace of
light, dear Father.
They give me this silly, sotted priest, Father, because the Quinalt
fears my skirts, have you heard this foolishness, where you lie?
Or has a rumor of it gotten to you? You said I had the Gift, in
small part. If I have it, in small part, however, small, I sew my
wishes into this linen cloth, smiling at my husband_s mistress,
and thinking we must be allies, we two, against the folly
abundant in this room.
I sew wishes for an early spring. And for your easy rest, and for
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the rest of the dead at Ilefínian, for there will be many, many
dead. Give Tasmôrden no peace and the faithful dead at least the
hope of rescue.
I sew wishes that Tristen be well, my husband_s best ally, and the
one he dares not regard. He would cross the river and my
husband forbids it, all for Murandys, and Ryssand, who threaten
him: when I am Regent in Elwynor, I will remember all of this
against them.
The sun passed the edge of the glass, just, and light grew less
intense.
_I don_t like this green,_ said Bonden-on-Wyk. _I think a
brighter shade._
_Too bright,_ said Panys_ daughter, who was a creature of pale
shades about her dress, always faded.
_Not too bright,_ said Luriel. _Add a darker for contrast. That
other green. There_s a match. _What do you think, Your
Grace?_
The girl who had worn vixen colors to reconcile with the king
asked her opinion.
_Oh, I think you_re quite right,_ Ninévrisë said, willing to be an
ally. Give her a run at the leash, and see where she went,
Ninévrisë thought, and consciously smiled. _I approve._
_Well, well,_ said Bonden-on-Wyk, peering at the combination of
greens. _Who_d have thought those two would go together? _
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BOOK TWO
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Chapter 1
«
^
»
Two lords of Ylesuin rode out under a sky filled with scattered
clouds, a heaven pasturing fat, misdirected sheep. It portended
fair if fickle weather as they went out the gates of Henas_amef,
two lords with a mingled guard of Ivanim and Guelenfolk& a
mixed guard, and a startled flock of pigeons, winging out and out
toward the still-sleepy west.
Hold court, Emuin had said, and that Tristen had done, if hastily.
Take account, Emuin had said, and that accounting, given
Cevulirn_s brief but essential personal presence, had seemed the
most pressing thing.
Other matters were already attended: the garrison flag flew atop
the hill they had left, no longer under the same captain, but
firmly in the hand of Uwen Lewen_s-son, who had some distress
at being left behind this morning, but there he was.
_I ain_t troubled for you, m_lord,_ Uwen had said last night, _as
ye manages things right well when they come to ye, but ye do
have this way o_ findin_ the trouble in a place. An_ pokin_ about
the north, lad_are ye sure we_re ready for_t?_
Tristen had laughed, as Uwen could make him laugh even
considering such a dire possibility. But he thought they were
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indeed ready. It was the river he proposed to visit, and Captain
Anwyll, and his intention was not to provoke Tasmôrden.
_I fear worse if we leave Bryn to its own devices even another
day,_ he had said to Uwen this morning, just at the top of the hill,
when they were setting out, _and you_ve Drumman, and Azant to
advise you, so you should do very well even if the king_s officers
come visiting. Never fear._
_It_s the Elwynim come visitin_ concerns me,_ Uwen said. And
standing very near him, face-to-face before he set his foot in the
stirrup: _Ye take care, lad. Ye take great care._
_We will,_ Tristen had assured him, and they had parted with an
embrace& no man else would he have trusted so much, not with
the chance that the flight of the officers to Guelessar might rouse
some inquiry. The better men of the Guelen Guard had come into
line once Uwen had walked in with fire in his eye and set the
garrison barracks in order, and indeed, some rode with him now.
Uwen would shake the Guelen Guard until order fell out: he
might have evaded command all this time, but he had waded into
the matter with a clear notion of what he expected, as he said,
from otherwise good soldiers, and he had the loyalty of the
remaining sergeants: that was of great importance.
Accordingly Tristen had far less worry leaving the town than
when the former captain had commanded all the armed might in
his capital, and them a foreign, hated presence. He had no doubt
his letter would reach Idrys, either, in the good sergeant_s
hands& and the Lord Commander, once warned, was completely
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capable of dealing with the Guelen captain.
So he and Cevulirn, Amefel, and Ivanor, rode out together to see
the riverside, taking their course around to the north of the town
and its hill.
There they turned off on the snowy, lesser-used road that wended
through low hills toward the north and its villages. The road they
took now was the same that led to Elwynor, the same that, once
across the river by the bridge Anwyll guarded, led on to Ilefínian.
Theirs was not the only party going out from Henas_amef today.
He had sent Crissand to Levey and to his other villages, and
southward, as his right hand& for the pieces and parts of a policy
had begun to fall into place, and messengers of various sort were
carrying word of decisions taken. Before Cevulirn had come in,
he had feared he might have no choice but to call up men a
second time in a year and fling them against a better-armed,
trained enemy to support the Marhanen king. The Amefin had
faced yet one more unwanted war, if not on their own soil, then
just across the river, with their backs to the water, in no enviable
position and without the strength to carry an attack on foot to any
great distance at all. They would become the anvil to Cefwyn_s
hammer from the northeast.
But with Cevulirn_s promise of defense, came the hope that
southern villages like Levey might keep their sons and plant their
fields and expect to enjoy the harvest of them. Now they had a
chance to bring troops to bear on the riverside, make firm that
defense, and set a camp this spring on Tasmôrden_s side of the
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river. For with the fast-moving light horse Cevulirn could supply,
and with other lords coming in from the south, they would
become a force that could strike hard and deep from such a camp
and, with support from behind and bridges in their control, never
be pinned with their backs against the river.
So, a situation with which he was far better pleased, they were
riding north to inform the riverside villages that Ivanor was with
Amefel, and to let them see with their own eyes that they had a
strong force protecting them.
And, second and not the least reason for his going this direction
himself, Bryn_s lands lay between here and the river. From the
small region nearest the town and for a good distance more had
been Lord Cuthan_s land, a district foremost in Amefel_s
councils, their lord able to secure whatever he wished, even from
the viceroy.
Now suddenly these villagers of Bryn were left as worse than
lordless men, unrepresented in council; they were left with their
oaths of fealty connecting them to an angry and embittered exile
across the river& and they were left, as Lord Drumman had said,
without any confidence in their new duke_s disposition toward
them, whether under a new duke of Amefel they would become
the spoils of some angry rival of Cuthan_s who might be granted
the earldom, or whether they might simply be neglected and set
at disadvantage among the earldoms. At very least, they might
doubt the enthusiasm of their new duke for drawing his firmest
defense to include them.
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That situation of doubt, he and all the council were resolved,
could not continue. Lord Cuthan was now formally dispossessed,
by vote of the council of peers, nothing coerced, and that settled
any claims of succession. So the other earls had taken other
resolutions to sever the ties and the claim Cuthan had on them,
and had those resolutions witnessed and sealed by the Bryaltine
abbot. Those documents also Tristen had in hand, on a very
important purpose of their riding out, if not the only one.
Far faster for a troop of riders to traverse this road to the river
than it was for laden oxcarts. The deep frozen traces they
followed were those of heavy wheels, inconvenient for the
horses, who paced beside the ruts. Their course took them among
low hills and within view of small woods, cut back from the
road. Lord Heryn had removed all potential cover for banditry
from roads and from rides: so Crissand had said. Lord Heryn had
done most of the clearing, having no forester such as Cefwyn had
over the extensive Crown lands, preserving and maintaining the
woods, but simply directing where trees might be cut and where
wood rights might be let to various earls for money. Removing
the woods might have been a mistake, and Tristen wondered
what the land might have been before Heryn; but still, the forces
Amefel might raise were infantry that were accustomed to stand
in lines, not slip through forest. Fighting among trees disordered
their ranks and confused their signals: he had no difficulty
understanding Heryn_s reasons. The forces Cevulirn lent, too,
light horse, were such as might use the Aswydds_ roads to good
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advantage, riding with lightning speed as the Ivanim did, each
with a horse in reserve& overland at need, but at no point
through woods.
Still, if he could bring in Lanfarnesse, who used the woods and
hills very willingly, he might yet bring force through the wooded
lands to the west, assuring Amefel that no Elwynim army could
slip in unseen.
And if he could bring in the help of Sovrag of Olmern, who
could bring supply right to the bridgeheads by river barge, he
could bring daunting force to bear on Tasmôrden_s underbelly,
while Tasmôrden_s face was toward Cefwyn. Tasmôrden would
not like it, not in the least, to be forced to face Cefwyn and the
Guelen heavy horse on Cefwyn_s terms, on the flat ground the
maps showed in Elwynor_s middle.
So Tristen said to Cevulirn, divulging his thoughts in this privacy
of two riders with their guard some little distance behind.
_Tasmôrden thought he could create distraction here in Amefel,_
Tristen said, _and if I have your help, we_ll make it so this border
is no choice for him._
_A very good prospect,_ Cevulirn agreed, while the ground
passed beneath them at a good, brisk clip.
Tristen rode Petelly, with Gery in reserve; and Cevulirn on the
elder of the pair of dapple grays, the best of Ivanim breeding, a
horse near white, gloriously beautiful even in winter coat&
which no one could say of bay Petelly. All the horsemen behind
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were Ivanim, wearing colors of gray and green, on horses mostly
that Crysin breed that was the pride of the Ivanim, light and
quick and docile in handling, intelligent on the trail and willing
and brave in the heat of battle. Even Petelly_s willful
stubbornness abated in the Ivanim_s influence, and Gery went as
calmly as the others at lead. If the Ivanim_s skill with horses was
magic, it was a magic Tristen set himself to learn, but he
despaired ever of teaching it to his Amefin folk, who were
devoted to the earth, kept their feet generally on it, and were only
stable in battle as long as they were going forward. Count the
Guelens much the same, but heavy-armed and deliberate, a great
force once they arrived, but slow. It was the Ivanim which
Tristen envied their lord, the Ivanim whose fast-moving help had
revised all possibilities.
Crissand, he feared, was jealous, left behind, jealous and
concerned, yet proclaiming for himself the visit to Levey.
Crissand went alone and was possibly out of sorts, being no help
such as Cevulirn could be, having no horse, only a depleted
infantry and a store of weapons.
_I_ll assure Your Grace of their loyalty,_ Crissand had said, in the
dawn, _and take them your goodwill._
Clearly Crissand had wished to go where Tristen went, and was
downcast in his hopes.
_I rely on you,_ Tristen had said to him, and, a word he still
found troubling to have uttered, _as aetheling when the time
comes._
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Then Crissand had looked taken vastly aback, and all vestige of
resentment fled his face and his demeanor.
_My lord,_ Crissand had said then, and taken himself off to
Levey, as stunned to have heard it as Tristen found himself,
having said it, riding out with the cavalry he far more coveted,
and with Cevulirn, whose alliance gave him a weapon he could
wield with far greater subtlety than the blunt, brute force of the
Amefin and Guelen foot.
What had possessed him, to have said it?
Yet he had seen the resentment, and felt there was justice in that
resentment, and he knew that Crissand had heard the word
aetheling the same as he, when Auld Syes had said it. So he
brought it into the light, and let Crissand know he had a place
with him, and that he was not dispossessed, either of friendship
or of inheritance. Crissand had ridden off on his mission with a
great possibility in his hands, and he had caught the fear of it as
well as the honor.
But now, this morning, having cast that knowledge into the light,
and riding free and with the Ivanim around him, he felt a
lightness of spirit he had not felt since summer. He had done the
thing he needed do. He had found a missing boy and confirmed a
friend_s place in his heart. The snows of winter lay all about, the
cold made everything difficult, and yet he soared on a sense of
hope, as if this morning important things were at last going as
they ought.
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They made good time in such good weather, such uncommon
cooperation of the heavens. They made change and change about
with the horses, after the Ivanim custom& and they went so
much faster than the oxcarts he had sent out on the day of
meeting Cevulirn that they passed two camps the ox train had
used before the sun stood high over the western hills.
_We may yet overtake the captain,_ Cevulirn said. _He may not
have his camp built yet._
But toward evening, and without overtaking Anwyll, they
reached the place they had aimed for as their way stop& and
their first destination, a small huddle of huts in a snowy
surrounds of sheep-meadow and forest-crowned hills. The huts
centered around a rustic, modest hall with a stubby stone tower at
its north end for defense and lookout_its sole truly warlike
feature a wooden archer_s gallery around the tower summit. That
wooden scaffold might be the only recollection of the summer_s
threats, a demonstration that these sheds and huts, yes, and the
sheep and the small produce of its summer gardens, would be
defended. Bandits or Elwynim intruders might find Modeyneth
village too difficult a resource.
The snow in the vicinity was trampled, quite thoroughly, by men
and sheep. Of the ox train there was no sign but the continuing
ruts in the road, so they were sure that Anwyll had pressed on,
nothing delaying& commendable in him, Tristen thought, as
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many things in Anwyll were indeed commendable. He had
ordered haste, and haste Anwyll had managed.
But dare he think, far less worthily, that Anwyll had rather camp
on the road than come under a rustic Amefin roof and ask
hospitality of a rural lordling? Guelenmen were not loved here;
and perhaps the place with its archer-platforms had felt too cold
to a company of king_s men.
At their riding in, however, with banners displayed, with the
jingling of harness and the blowing of horses anxious for rest,
first one door and then another cracked and faces appeared,
cautiously.
Then the thane of Modeyneth himself, a young man, ran out into
the yard of the manor, not pausing for a cloak, pale of face and
completely astonished at the visitation& though he could not be
astonished, after Anwyll had passed this way, that the lord of
Ynefel and Althalen now held all Amefel.
And the White Horse of Ivanor informed any eye the other lord
in question was Cevulirn of Toj Embrel, who had never been
anything but a friend& amazing indeed that he was here, but
friendship of the armed men who had ridden into his village was
not in question.
_Your Grace,_ was the thane_s salutation: not my lord, that might
acknowledge fealty, but the Your Grace that any man might pay
to him and to Cevulirn. The Amefin were independent souls, and
the thane clearly reserved his devotion. _How may we serve?_
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He was Cuthan_s man; but he was the best of the thanes of the
honor of Bryn: so the earls all agreed. A young man with a
common wife, he had marched his contingent to join the muster
of Amefel, when by simple expedient of geography he might
have evaded the call. He had fought at Lewenbrook, when Bryn
had otherwise been reluctant and scant of appearance. In the
recent troubles he had stayed to his land and made no requests of
the duchy, nor appeared in court at all during the viceroy_s rule&
or yet come to town during his rule.
_Lodging,_ Tristen requested of the thane, aware as he did so that
Uwen was accustomed to speak for him and he had become so
accustomed to having Uwen do so that he felt uncertain of
proprieties, making himself coequal with Cevulirn, speaking for
himself and the small guard that rode with him. _Food._
_Safety on this house,_ Cevulirn added, at which the young thane
drew a breath, much as if he had doubted their reasons& perhaps
with thoughts of that great convoy of carts that had gone down
the road to the river, the same direction his vanished earl had
gone, right through this village.
_Your lordship,_ the thane replied to Cevulirn. _Your Grace.
Welcome to Modeyneth._ Inevitably, the young and curious had
gathered; but so had their elders, mothers bundled in skirts and
heavy shawls and scarves, some carrying babes in arms almost
indistinguishable from their own bulk; old men, alike wrapped in
heavy cloaks; and craftsmen and herdsmen with the signs of their
trade about them and in their hands. _There_s stabling for a few,
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shelter for more. Come in, let the boys tend the horses, and come
in out of the wind._
The Ivanim assuredly would not abandon care of their horses or
their gear to anyone, and in their example, the Guelens of
Tristen_s guard thought the same, so they all went to the stables,
Tristen as well, settling Gery and Petelly together into the
endmost large stall, with his own hands and the village boys_
help seeing to their food and water.
After that, the manor opened its doors to him and all the
company, and provided warm water for washing by a rustic,
rough-masoned fireplace large enough for a sheep. To the stew
cooking on the other hook, the women of the house added more
water and more turnips and potatoes, while the young men of the
house arranged benches and brought more in from storage,
served up ale and bread to stave off hunger, all in a hall so small
and quaint the rafters were hung with farming implements and
the hounds had worn a small track in the earthen floor, with their
restless circling the table and the surrounding benches against the
walls. The dogs were shameless beggars, and in the way of men
and dogs men fed them morsels and became less the strangers.
In that warmth and ease armor buckles were loosened, men
lounged about the walls on the low fixed benches that embraced
the room, and young folk brought in a snowy table-plank from
outside, with its supports, to add more seats with the lords. There
followed another bustle of preparation, village women in their
aprons and winter wraps turning up at the door of the great house
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to offer additional spoons and bowls from their own hearths, as
Tristen was curious to see& one or two apiece, for this was by
no means the Zeide, and very far even from one of the great town
houses in luxury.
When they sat down it was at a plain, scarred table among
several tables, at the head of the room, and with the dogs hanging
close by their master_s elbow, waiting in tongue-lolling hope as
the young folk brought the pottery bowls and the bread. More of
that was baking, and the ale had already found approval. The
stew went down with comforting warmth, all with small talk of
the day, the weather, and, of greater import to the village, the
news out of Henas_amef: the arrival of the Ivanim, the disaster to
Meiden, and the aid to the southern villages.
That, and the great wagon train that had passed, only using the
well, taking offered ale, but bound resolutely for the river.
_Guelens,_ the thane_s older cousin said, as if that summed up
everything, _fitted out for war._
_And bearing Your Grace_s orders,_ said the thane himself. _And
leaving a great curiosity behind them. Is it war before spring, and
on this road?_
_Not so soon, sir,_ Tristen said, _and if I have my will, not on
this land. I wish to prevent the war from crossing into this
district. Did your former lord advise you, passing through, what
had happened?_
_Our lord,_ the thane said, a man anxious and troubled from
before their arrival: he gave that impression; and having seen
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Guelen forces going through his land, followed by wagons and
supply as of some great force, he had sure reason to regard it all
with doubt. _Our lord, Your Grace, passed in the dawn a
fortnight back, with Guelen soldiers about him, and no happy
look._
_Did he speak?_
_Not that the soldiers would allow. I took it for some mission to
the Elwynim._ Perhaps the thane did not now so take it: he had a
worried look, and his eyes shifted from one to the other of
them& for as it turned out, he knew nothing of what had
transpired to cause his lord_s exile.
_You fought at Lewen field,_ Cevulirn said.
_Yes. I did._ This with a small lift of the head, a motion of pride.
_Those of us who did saw things, did we not?_ Cevulirn said.
_Such things as give a man an understanding of our enemy that
the court in Guelemara does not have. The southern lords were
there, to a man; all the south takes it of great importance to end
this matter with the Elwynim, before some wizard or other finds
Tasmôrden_s side and gives us a far worse enemy at our
threshold. Your new lord attracts that sort of opposition, sir,
being what he is. I think you may understand that, too._
The thane cast a wary look Tristen_s way.
_But it was not a mission to the Elwynim your former lord had,_
Tristen said.
_Our former lord, Your Grace?_
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The guard they had with them along with the thane_s men had
found place on the benches around the sides of the rustic hall,
with ale and wooden platters. Conversation there had fallen away
in a great listening hush so deep even the hounds stood still from
their restless pacing.
_Your lord is banished. There is no lord of Bryn._
All breath in the hall seemed stifled.
_And what then brings Your Grace?_ the thane asked.
_Lord Cevulirn is right: the longer Elwynor fights, the more
likely some force will take advantage of Tasmôrden_s danger&
when the king comes. You_ve not asked me why I dismissed
your lord._
Modeyneth_s face became guarded and still. _It_s in your right
and your gift to do so, Your Grace, and so with us all._
_You have yet to call me your lord. Am I that?_
The hush deepened, if it were possible, and lasted a moment
longer. _For my people_s sake you are my lord, and within your
right._
_Will you swear to me, sir?_ This across the bread and cups of
ale, the remnant of an excellent stew which the thane_s young
wife had provided. _Lord Cuthan hasn_t released you, but I
release you from your oath, and as of a fortnight ago you_ve had
no lord. Will you swear to me, sir, or cross the river to join Lord
Cuthan? I_ll give you safe passage if that suits you._
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_These people can_t cross, with their land and their livestock.
This land can_t cross._
_Lord Cuthan might cross here to take it back._
There was another space of silence.
_Your Grace is asking me for my oath against my lord._
_Yes, sir, for your oath, and your loyalty to me and to whomever
I grant the lordship of Bryn. Lord Cuthan betrayed Meiden and
held knowledge from him which cost his life and a good many
other lives, besides other crimes. Therefore I exiled your lord,
and therefore I took back the title and honor. If you still are
Cuthan_s man, I give you leave to take whatever goods and men
you wish and join Cuthan across the river, to share his fortunes,
whatever they may be. He is my enemy, and he became the
council_s enemy, and Meiden bled for it._
That the thane hesitated long spoke well for his honesty. He
rested his elbows on the scarred wood of the table and clasped his
hands before his mouth, his eyes bright and steady, if troubled. _I
marched behind you at Lewenbrook._
_I know._
_That the king in Guelessar sent you is on the one hand not
astonishing. But it is unexpected, if Your Grace will forgive my
saying so. It bodes better than Parsynan._
_Him I sent away. He was a thief, not alone of the jewelry we
found. That Cuthan worked against him I find no fault at all. But
that Cuthan conspired with Tasmôrden and betrayed Meiden to
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the king_s soldiers, I do not forgive, and will not forgive. Nor
will the other earls he failed to advise that the king_s men were
coming forgive him, either.__
_Did he do such a thing?_
_That, yes. And more._
_So I_ve heard, too,_ Cevulirn said, _from young Meiden, and
others of the earls._
All this the young thane heard with a sorrowful face, and a
thoughtful one, and at that last, he nodded. _Then you_ll have my
oath to whatever lord you appoint. I do swear it and will swear,
and will obey the lord you set over us. How may I serve my lord
duke?_
_Build a wall, between the two hills beyond this village, and be
ready to hold it if trouble comes. Let those hills be your walls._
Modeyneth leaned back from the table with a wary look. _The
king_s law forbids Amefin to fortify, except at Henas_amef._
_The king hasn_t told me so,_ Tristen said, _and I say you should
build a wall, and this is the lord of Bryn_s charge._
_But the lord of Bryn is across the river, Your Grace._
_Is he? I think not. You are the lord of Bryn, sir. You are my
choice._
_I?_ The thane now earl bumped an ale cup and all but overset it.
_Gods save._
_The earls in Henas_amef recommend you. So I make you earl of
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Bryn, and I wish to have all the arms you can find in good order,
fit, if war comes to Amefel. As I hope won_t happen, if you build
the wall I ask for and build it quickly. I am in great earnest, sir._
_My lord._ The thane_s own name was Drusenan; and now Earl
Drusenan, and this rustic place had become an earl_s estate. A
woman who might be Drusenan_s wife had heard and come to his
side, drying her hands on her apron; and the new-made earl was
still pale and trembling. _What shall I say to this?_
_Say that Tasmôrden will not pass,_ Tristen said. _That this road
will be protected. That all the lands of Bryn will have justice and
good advice._
_My lord, they will._
_Then you_ll have done all I ask,_ Tristen said, and the new earl
set his wife beside him, the woman_s face with a hectic flush and
her hands making knots of her apron. She was a lady with work-
reddened hands and sweat on her brow, and by the laces of her
midriff, swelling with child. Tristen had learned such signs. So
the new earl would have an heir to defend. Drusenan, being
young, would be earl for years if he lived so long as summer, and
that was the question for all this district& for the bridge down
the road was a likely place where Tasmôrden_s forces might try
to drive straight for Henas_amef by the shortest route.
_Gods save you and your house,_ Cevulirn said, the sort of thing
Men said to one another, but Tristen had learned he could not
utter it& being, Cefwyn had always said, a bad liar& so he
simply ducked his head and let Cevulirn pay courtesies in a land
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that was not his.
Meanwhile the lord_s men had caught up the enthusiasm and
brimmed over with it; and in very short time the word slipped out
of the small hall on serving boys_ feet& hasting, doubtless, to
pass through the village.
No doubt at all, when men turned up at the door, with ale broken
out and every house in the village having turned out in the snowy
yard. Out of nowhere in particular a piper came to the hall, and
the new earl turned out the dogs and cleared back the tables,
making a small space in which the determined might dance.
It was a commotion about the event which Tristen had not
foreseen, though he said to himself it was foolish not to have
realized how quickly word would spread and how excitedly Men
would receive it. The dancing imperiled the best pots and a
persistent dog, both of which the new earl_s lady hastened out of
the way& and the ale flowed free with noise and commotion
until the mid of the night, or so it seemed to saddle-weary men
with a long ride tomorrow.
But none of the Ivanim was drunk, nor were the Guelens, not
nearly so much as the villagers& for, as Cevulirn had said under
the cover of the noise, _I trust our host, but I don_t know our
host. That says all._
The drunkenness, however, grew noisy and inept among the
villagers, and continued in the yard, after the new lady of Bryn
chased out the celebrants in favor of pallets for the soldiers and a
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bed for their noble visitors.
_We_ve ample place for ourselves,_ young Bryn said. _Take our
hospitality and our bed in the upstairs, and welcome, very
welcome._
For his part, Tristen, and, he was sure, Cevulirn, would have far
rather spread a pallet near the men he knew and trusted. But how
was it possible to refuse when the couple, having received such
an honor from him, was so set upon offering their best? And
when this was the man to whom he had entrusted the sleep of an
entire district of Amefel, should he not cast himself on his
decision and trust the man?
_Thank you,_ Tristen said, and the lady without a word rose and
began to lead the way.
A word, a single word, passed between Cevulirn and his
lieutenant: wariness still, on Cevulirn_s part, and Tristen bent his
attention to the gray space on the instant.
Nothing. Nothing but the sense of Men in the vicinity, some
dulled and sleep-beguiled, others not, and anxious& but how
should Men not be, when their peace was so disturbed? He trod
the worn wooden stairs up to the loft, with the new lady of Bryn
in the lead, and Cevulirn went behind him.
The hall offered a floor for men to sleep on, and so the men
would, but a sort of bedchamber was snugged in as a half loft
above, wooden-floored, and lit and warmed by the light of the
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fire in the hall downstairs. It was a sensible and comfortable
arrangement, assuring warmth and even a certain dim light,
which was not the case in most rooms in the Zeide.
There the lady left them. Cevulirn never needed say aloud that he
was ill at ease in this separation from his men& Cevulirn, who
had a little of the wizard-gift, and perhaps a sense of things in the
gray space, still was a troubled presence.
_I find no threat to us,_ Tristen said aloud, and Cevulirn said
nothing, but cast him a resolutely comforted glance and sat down
and took off his boots.
Tristen did the same, all the while listening, listening, surmising
the anxiousness he still felt was the villagers_ anxiety, and most
of all the new-made lord_s and his lady_s, all disturbed at the
storm that had swept down on their peace. Drusenan might be
troubled at his lord_s banishment and fall; at his own accession to
unexpected heights in the same brief space. He might be mulling
over the instruction to muster and build. All these things were
possibly in Drusenan_s agitated mind, and two wizard-gifts in
their midst could only gather it up with unusual force. And their
concern might cause others_ concern by their frowns.
Yet the house did settle, and the presences in the house went out
one by one as the fire downstairs was banked. Tristen settled
beside Cevulirn in the soft feather bed. For a short time they
talked of the river and the bridges, and then fell away to a mutual
silence, both of them courting sleep in a house which had grown
quiet and dim around them.
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Cevulirn at last dropped off to a faint, drowsing presence, a light
sleep, it was: Tristen was aware of presence, and that meant some
awareness lingered. He himself failed to rest quite as easily, still
uneasy in the unfamiliarity around him and in his
responsibility& and in his daylong separation from Uwen, who
had been beside him or accessible to him almost since he had
come among Men. He found himself wondering what Uwen
Lewen_s-son might be up to in Henas_amef, how his first day of
solitary command of the town might have gone; whether he was
asleep, by now, in his bed, and whether Uwen also missed him.
Such questions he might satisfy. He might reach out to Emuin,
from here, and through Emuin learn at least some things; but a
thought prevented him: that they were a day closer to the river
now, and that more powerful effort meant more exposure to
wizardry than he liked.
He felt strangely unprotected, despite his access to wizardry,
despite the sword on the floor next his bedside, despite the very
formidable companion asleep at his side, one of the bravest and
most skillful fighters in all Ylesuin, and despite all the guards
below. He had not even brought Lusin and Syllan and his
ordinary guard on this venture, but rather his night guard, good
men, all, and brave and loyal to him, taking turn about bearing
the ducal banner. Lusin and the rest of his day guard had come to
have other duties more essential than standing at his door, and
were more and more absent, one or the other managing the
domestic things about the Zeide that they had come to manage
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very well, becoming the extra hands and eyes he had come to
need so much in dealing with the ordinary business of the place.
Least of all could he withdraw those men at the very time Uwen
might need them. And there was no reason to fear for himself,
not with Cevulirn beside him, though the unaccustomed presence
kept him from sleep.
So he rested, gazing at the eye-teasing glow of a distant banked
fire on unfamiliar rafters, beams so low he could all but touch
them. The same beams extended out over the hall where his men
were sleeping, and he watched shadows move among the beams,
tame and well-behaved shadows, as it happened, nothing ill
feeling at all about the house itself.
He looked further into the shadows and saw the Lines that
established the house, all well made, some brighter and older
than others. That meant the house had known several changes,
but each had observed the Lines of the one before, so far as his
sleepy inquiry could ascertain.
He shut his eyes, courting sleep now with a determined wish,
considering how long a ride they had on the morrow, on snowy
roads.
But something else touched him, light as a summer breeze,
awareness of lives, the way he was aware of a hawk aloft or a
badger under a ledge, a horse in the stable, or men slipping about
something very, very quietly out in the yard.
He listened to it, and asked himself was it innocent? And should
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he wake Cevulirn?
At the very thought, Cevulirn was awake, and a presence strong
as a lit candle in the dark.
_Something_s outside,_ Tristen whispered, and they both, having
slept mostly dressed, put on their boots and took up their cloaks
and their swords in the dimness of the loft.
There was not as yet any reason to call out an alarm to all the
men below. They two came down the worn wooden stairs, the
fire in the downstairs fireplace lighting the stairs just enough for
night-accustomed eyes.
And just so the light showed a shadowy, cloaked figure, the new-
made earl closing his front door, after a look or a venture into the
yard outside.
Young Drusenan looked around, and up, saw them both, and
stood stricken and still, on all sides of him a carpet of Ivanim
guard sleeping, but not ale-dulled enough a spoken word would
not rouse them.
Tristen came the rest of the way down the steps, sword bare in
his hand, and Cevulirn joined him. No one had made a sound.
The wife was awake, and had come out of her curtained nook,
her braids all undone.
The earl might have been seeing to a horse, or himself
investigating the unease outside, but the stricken look on his face
said otherwise, and he had not the face to lie.
And now, roused by the faint sounds of their movements, one
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man of the guard stirred, and after that two, and half a dozen, and
all the rest, reaching after arms and rising to cast long shadows
around the walls.
Drusenan_s face showed a pale sweat in the firelight. His wife
wove her way through the guards, her hair unbound, a shawl
about her, and reached her husband_s side.
_I hear something,_ Tristen said, for there was a stirring, remote
from him. Others looked puzzled, and Cevulirn looked doubtful.
But Drusenan drew a breath like a man meeting cold water.
_My lord, the truth: I have other visitors& fugitives, helpless
fugitives out of Elwynor. I should have confessed it, but I_d
sworn to keep them secret, on my honor, my lord, and how could
I break my oath? They_re by no means enemies of yours. Women
and children, old men. We_ve fed them, given them warmth in
the cold._
_Hardly a surprise,_ muttered Cevulirn. _So I_m sure the
borderers do and have always done._
So Ninévrisë_s father_s company had found Amefel their natural
recourse, and gained help from the village of Emwy. Likewise
the rebel Caswyddian had crossed, pursuing, and foraged off
Amefin land, bringing death with him. There was no way to tell
Elwynim friend from Elwynim foe when they all came for shelter
and killed one another on Amefin soil.
_I beg my lord_s mercy,_ the wife said, and added, faintly, _Lord,
I am Elwynim, and have a cousin with them. How could I turn
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her away?_
_Blood is mixed here,_ Drusenan said. _And kinship binds us,
even with other loyalties we keep. Your Grace, in your own good
heart, help them. Shelter them. Feed them._
Feed my sparrows, Auld Syes had said.
These were Auld Syes_ birds. The gray space echoed with the
memory, the witch of Emwy, the uprooted oak.
_Show me these fugitives,_ he said.
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Chapter 2
«
^
»
There were indeed mostly women with small children, bundled
against the cold, and very frightened to be hunted out of their
refuge in the stable. They had been warm and snug among the
many horses that had filled the stalls and the aisle. Now they
stood exposed to view of armed men, roused out into the wind
and shivering with fright.
_Small wonder the village wanted to stable the horses,_ Cevulirn
said dryly. Since it was never the Ivanim habit to surrender that
task to anyone, Tristen had no trouble guessing, the fugitives had
had to hide elsewhere until the visitors were all abed. Then they
had come creeping back to the lifesaving warmth, where hay and
horses far in excess of the stable_s capacity had made a very
warm haven until the dawn.
And that was the mysterious coming and going in the night he
had heard, the sense of presence more than he had accounted for,
that had kept him awake.
But they were not a warlike group& less than a score in number,
one a babe in arms, the rest anonymous bundles of heavy cloaks
and wraps of every sort, at least three others of them children.
_They are no threat,_ Tristen said.
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_Until asked questions by those who are,_ Cevulirn said. _Best
not to have them on this route to the river, where they see all the
coming and going of your supply. Bryn_s villagers know where
to go if trouble comes. These have fewer resources._
To have a contingent of Elwynim next Henas_amef or within it
was no comfort, either. A gathering of Elwynim fugitives,
however pitiful, afforded a resting place where Elwynim spies
might come and go. There was nowhere completely safe to settle
them, none of the river villages within reach wherein an Elwynim
band that might include those sympathetic to Tasmôrden could
not work some sort of harm: lights and signals, even daggers in
the night, or at very least, one taking to his heels to go back
across the river with news.
Yet the wind blew with a whisper to his thoughts&
What had Auld Syes said? Magic had a way of diverting one_s
attention, the things most needful to know slipping through one_s
fingers like water.
The living king at last sits in judgment.
And again, which he had already remembered: When you find
my sparrows, my little birds, lord of Amefel, warm them, feed
them. The wind is too cold.
Birds before the storm, not his birds, not the fat, silly pigeons that
he daily fed at his windowsill, the foolish pigeons which had won
him the Holy Father_s ire in Guelemara, on account of the
Quinaltine steps. No, these were certainly those other birds, Auld
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Syes_ sparrows, come to him in want of shelter.
And wherefore should prudent birds lack shelter? When their
nests were windblown down, when their homes were destroyed,
when armies marched and villages burned and greedy men seized
power. Those were the birds that flew on Auld Syes_ storm& the
winds blew, edged with winter and killing, and there was magic
and wizardry behind his coming here and these fugitives seeking
help of him.
And what direction would Elwynim loyal to Ninévrisë run?
They would never go to Guelessar for refuge, that was certain.
Their lady Ninévrisë might have wed Cefwyn and might have
Cefwyn_s promise of aid, but for Elwynim noble or common to
cross the river and deliver themselves into the hands of
Guelenmen, their old enemies, that, they feared more than they
feared Tasmôrden_s army.
No, if Elwynim sought shelter, of course they would seek it
among a folk allied by blood and history. Of course they would
go south; and that was the duty Auld Syes had laid on him, to
receive these folk and safeguard them, no matter what happened
within Elwynor.
He looked at the pitiful band by torchlight, helpless and
shivering, a close-wrapped band that looked for all the world like
drab winter birds, and all looked fearfully at him, who held their
lives and safety in his hands.
_Let_s go back to the stables,_ he said, _out of the wind. That
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first. And you_ll tell me what brought you here. I_ll protect you,
but if you wish me to, tell me the truth._ He had not forgotten
how Crissand_s father Edwyll had contrived with Tasmôrden,
who had promised to send Elwynim forces across the river& and
indeed, in these, Tasmôrden had, but a force of the starving and
desperate, whom Tasmôrden would be well content to see
plundering Amefin resources: such cruelty he added to the tally
of Tasmôrden_s doings.
_Light a lantern,_ he said at the stable door& they should not
bring the fire-dripping torches inside with the hay. And a man
found a lantern and lit it, so they could go in among sleepy
horses, gray and brown backs pressed side by side, and wary dark
eyes shining back the lamplight in wonder what Men were doing.
Within the stable, barriered against the wind and in the warmth
of so many horses and the bedding straw, Tristen appropriated a
stack of grain sacks for a ducal seat; Cevulirn chose a barrel.
Drusenan stood and held the lantern himself, a circle of light
which fell on faces that, indeed, freed of their muffling wraps,
were all women, old men, and children.
_This is Tristen of Ynefel, our new lord duke of Amefel,_
Drusenan said, _and this is Duke Cevulirn of Ivanor, who_s the
best of the lords of the south, and they ask me why I_ve sheltered
you._
_Our homes are burned, lords!_ came the anguished reply. And
from another: _We had no choice but cross to Amefel!_
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_Where is your home?_ Tristen asked quietly.
_Nithen, lord._ A young woman spoke, a thin woman bearing a
recent and ugly scar of burns on a hand clenched on her cloak of
straw-flecked wool. _We come from Nithen district, mostly. One
from Criess._ Another head nodded, a young woman with a
closely bundled child at her skirts. _Tasmôrden_s men took our
stock and our seed grain. We couldn_t live there._
_My cousin,_ Drusenan_s young wife spoke up. _Where else
should she go, but to me?_
_Wife,_ Drusenan interposed; and then with a glance at his
judges: _So they came for food, harmless and unarmed. How
could we refuse them?_
Tristen was ignorant of farmers and shepherds, but he knew the
map of Elwynor, such as they had. Nithen was not on the map he
had, but Criess was, near the border. Cevulirn, however, asked
shrewd and knowledgeable questions of the fugitives, how large
a village was Nithen, what was its sustenance, where were the
men& and how many men they had seen making the assault,
riding what sort of horses, whether they had killed the men of the
villages or forced them into service. All these things Cevulirn
asked, and yes, there had been perhaps a hundred, and they had
taken some men of various villages to serve Tasmôrden, but
some who resisted, they had killed. An old man from Nithen had
lost a son, and others shouted out their own losses with tears and
anger.
Cevulirn_s questions quickly assumed a shape in Tristen_s
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understanding, an image of the number and condition of the
enemy and the very weather of the day they had moved through
the district. All the significance of Cevulirn_s questions Unfolded
to him in troublingly vivid order, and told him when, and how,
and with what result. And he wished calm and comfort on the
innocent.
_When Tasmôrden marched on the capital,_ Tristen said, _he
went through Nithen; and that was above a fortnight past, is that
so?_ He was convinced both that they told the truth and that pity
was justified for these desperate people. Nithen was a hamlet
attached to Ilefínian, an estate of the Lord Regent himself.
And as for the day on which these folk had crossed over, no, they
replied to his question, they were aware of no muster of
Tasmôrden_s forces to the border to aid any Amefin rebellion: it
had all poured in on Ilefínian.
So Tasmôrden_s promises of support to Edwyll were indeed a lie:
only this hungry and desperate band had crossed the river,
allowed to escape not out of mercy, but because their presence
and that of other disordered bands of refugees might just as well
aid Tasmôrden with no expenditure of troops. They might be a
burden on Amefel_s supplies, perhaps would steal from Amefin
villages_at best, given Tasmôrden_s promises to Edwyll and the
rest, might confuse the king_s troops. They were cast away to die.
But pitiful as they were, he would not be surprised if armed men
began to flee the war and cross, too, and some of them might be
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Tasmôrden_s men.
Most certainly, on Cevulirn_s advice and his own clear sense, he
should not leave these folk here to multiply on his supply route to
the border.
And if Modeyneth was the village with connection to them,
Modeyneth would still willingly feed them, Auld Syes_
sparrows&
And what better refuge than in Emwy district, which was in Auld
Syes_ hands and under her potent wards, hers, and the late Lord
Regent_s? Ninévrisë_s father, though a Shadow now, would
know the true from the false.
_West of Modeyneth, in the hills,_ he said, _the war will not so
likely come. There are walls and vaults at Althalen that would
keep the wind out, and if we sent canvas and timbers, the old
walls could well shelter them. I know the place is well warded
against harm from the outside._ He did not add that he himself
would know sure as a shout and as instantly if any untoward
thing happened there& he did not think there could be any
intrusion at Althalen without his knowing it.
_Your Grace,_ Drusenan protested. _It_s forbidden even to set
foot in that place._
_So much the safer. I don_t forbid it, and I_m lord of the place._
_The king forbade it, as he forbade__ It was to Drusenan_s
credit that he forbore to say, the wall.
_The king is my friend, and I know he_d bring these folk to
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Althalen himself if trouble threatened. There_s nothing harmful
there, not to the harmless. A little girl rules it, and the Lord
Regent. If you can manage only canvas and straw, they_ll be safe
and warm within the walls. The stone there is thick, and reflects
warmth if they have a fire._
_If they had leave to cut wood&_ Drusenan said.
_Plenty grows there._
_If we had your leave to cut it, my lord._
Why should you need it? he all but asked, but from Guelessar_s
example, he understood the jealousy with which lords guarded
their wooded lands& and he knew the reason of it, that
indiscriminate cutting would ruin the land and kill the game.
_You have my leave,_ he said, looking at the women, _and if
there should be haunts, don_t fear them. Uleman_s grave is there.
The wards of that place are stronger than any common place._
The Regent_s name greatly affected the women. One seized his
hand, pressing her brow to it, hugging it to her.
_Gods bless Your Grace._ The woman_s wounded hands clasped
on his so he could not force them off without touching seared
flesh. She bore amulets, he saw as her shawl fell open, much like
Auld Syes. She was a witch, but had no power, or none that he
could feel. Cevulirn had far more, and glowed softly in the gray
space. He touched her hands, wished her flesh to heal as soon as
possible, and with no more hardship. She pressed her tearful face
against his hand, and fell to her knees& he hoped because he had
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done some good.
_The king_s law forbids settlement at Althalen,_ Cevulirn said in
a hushed voice, at his other hand, _so you should know, Amefel,
though I agree His Majesty would ride right over that law at his
need. The king_s law also forbids the raising of walls and
defenses in Amefel._
_Is it all Cefwyn_s law?_
_His grandfather_s._
That was very different. _His giving me the banner of Althalen
was against his grandfather_s law, too, but he did, all the same.
And he told me do justice, and I swore to him to do it. So I have
to find these people a place._ Tristen cast a look at Drusenan.
_Settle them there tomorrow. Quickly as you may._ It struck him
between the lordship, the wall, and the fugitives that he had
settled a double and a triple burden on Modeyneth. _Don_t bear it
alone. Call on the help of all Bryn_s resources, up to the walls of
Henas_amef and inside, and tomorrow send to all of Bryn and say
this is my instruction, and the council decree says the same._
_My lord._ There was fervent intent in Drusenan_s voice. _I
swear it. And your wall you shall have, my lord._
_With a gate in it, and two towers for archers._ He had in mind
exactly how he wished it would look, smooth white stone, with
great towers; but he knew sensibly that in haste and with
unskilled labor, it would be rough stone and wood.
_There is the ruin there,_ said Drusenan. _There, shall we build?
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Of the old stone?_
He was confounded for a moment, and then Cevulirn said,
_Whatever serves to raise that wall faster, I think His Grace will
approve._
They went inside, and back up to their chilled blankets, he and
Cevulirn, while the men settled in the lower hall, with
understanding, now, of the village secrets and the loyalty of
Bryn, alike.
_A wall has stood there,_ Cevulirn said, _where you direct the
wall to be. It_s on the oldest maps. Did you know?_
_A Sihhë one?_ He had not known. He was troubled to think so,
but not altogether so.
_Barrakkęth raised it, and at other&_
& points in the hills, Cevulirn said, but he already knew what
Cevulirn would say. He could see his wall as he had seen it in
planning, a string of small outposts which in some degree
corresponded with the villages that stood there now, linking a
series of steep-faced hills.
These villages had once been a source of supply to powerful
garrisons. That had been the importance of Bryn, their ancient
duty to the Sihhë kings. That was the source of their prominence
in Amefel. The system of defenses Unfolded to him, with
unwalled Althalen in the heart of such a bristle of defenses no
enemy could prevail&
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Instead Althalen had rotted at the heart, and the interest of the
halfling kings in the people that toiled in uninteresting peace in
the countryside had failed: long peace, and stability, and long,
long dearth of ambition or purpose in existence.
Had it been good& or otherwise& for the villages under their
rule?
Crissand spoke for the villages, and understood the farmers, and
pleaded for attention to them. Crissand& aetheling, by the same
blood Cuthan shared, that might even run in Drusenan of Bryn.
He said nothing after that, only felt a chill through the blankets
and his clothing and despite the body lying next to him.
What had he done, in ordering these things? One moment he had
been sure; and now he lay close to shivering at the thought of
what he had commanded to exist, and at a title he had all but
promised to bestow.
He, who had read the Book that Mauryl had given him& or that
Mauryl had returned to him, whichever was the case:
Barrakkęth_s book, outlining the principles of magic, the fluid
character of time and place, on which wizards so profoundly
depended and which they attempted to nail in place.
False, Barrakkęth would say: nothing is so certain. The patterns
were what mattered. The patterns and not the substance. A
village is the realm, the realm a village, and the kingdom fares as
well as any of its parts.
Might he then heal Althalen?
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In a morning aglow with clouds, they brought out their horses,
disturbing the sleep of the exiles from Elwynor. The village
wives had made a great pot of porridge in the open air, and every
man and every villager and the fugitives as well had hot porridge
steaming in the wintry breeze. Faces stung red with cold all bore
smiles this morning.
_Fare well,_ everyone called after them when they set out, and
_Gods keep Your Lordship and Your Grace!_ wafted after them
as they rode out. _Gods save Amefel and gods save Ivanor! And
gods save the lord of Bryn!_
The new lord of Bryn rode with them a short way to the two hills
in the distance. It was a stream-riven cut through a wall of similar
hills, and a shallow ford near two graceful, winter-bare beeches.
And there, too, icicled and snow-bedight, stood the ruin of two
towers, one on either side, rock cut from the two hills. The
quarry, too, was picked out in snow on the nearer hill.
_My wall,_ Tristen said, amazed at how exactly it answered to
his vision. He could imagine the fallen blocks in place, and the
gates of bronze, figured with forbidding faces.
_Gates to let honest comers through,_ he said to Drusenan. _And
men to stand guard._
_With the old stone already cut,_ the new earl said, _by spring
your towers will stand._ Then Drusenan added, _As a boy I
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played among these hills, in and out these towers. So with every
boy in Modeyneth. We made troops and fought battles._
_Against whom?_ Having never been a boy, he could scarcely
imagine what boys knew or did.
_Oh, the sheep. Scores of enemies._
_Guelens,_ Cevulirn supplied wryly, not a Guelen himself, and
drew a chagrined look from the young lord of Bryn.
_I think so we imagined,_ Drusenan said.
_This time, against Tasmôrden,_ Tristen said quietly, uncertain of
the currents that flowed here. _But not against the like of those
folk you shelter. I_ll give orders to Captain Anwyll at the river to
watch out for others. He_s a good man, and if he comes here, as
he and his messengers must, trust him. His reports will do you no
harm._
_I take your word, my lord, with all goodwill. As I give you
mine. What more can words do?_
In such small exchanges of politeness Tristen found himself lost
more than not, but in this saying, in this moment between himself
and the new lord of Bryn, he felt the currents in the gray space
moving and roiled, and the very stones so tinged with power he
could draw it into his nostrils along with the scent of snow and
cold rock.
He looked up the snowy rock face, and at the towers, and at the
skeletal beeches, which were not part of his vision.
Green things had come here and grown in peace; and a barren
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place looming with threat had existed only for the games of
children and the pasturage of sheep for decades.
His orders changed it back. It would stand and threaten again,
and children would not play here: soldiers would stand guard;
and a forbidden wall would stand here as it had stood before. He
rode along it, eyes at times shut to the wall as it was, but old
Lines answered him, old Lines leapt up at his touch, and would
grow stronger with the work of Men_s hands.
Cefwyn would forgive him. Cefwyn forgave him and would
forgive, no matter the mind of his northern barons.
_I had not thought,_ Tristen said to Cevulirn as they rode away to
the north, leaving the lord of Bryn to his task, _I had not even
known stones had stood there when I ordered it. What brought it
down? Do you know?_
_Oh, easily. Selwyn Marhanen,ordered the Amefin fortresses cast
down& and the northern defenses went with them. Folly,_
Cevulirn said to the brisk rhythm of the horses at a walk, _folly
to have dismantled the defenses with Elwynor continually at war,
but the prospect of having the wall held from the other side
doubtless entered into the king_s decision._
If that were so, the Elwynim would have seized territory far into
Amefel& and by the Red Chronicle, there had been Amefin who
hoped for that, many of them.
_You_ve given leave for the raising of walls,_ Cevulirn said. _But
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Cefwyn will agree, I think, and best the word of it reach him
quietly. The northern barons certainly won_t like it. And His
Majesty should know beforehand and not be surprised by your
breaches of law._
_Yes,_ he said, determined to send a messenger on the heels of
the last, as soon as he reached home and the most direct route.
But his wall, he was resolved, should stand, and even in its early
stages, would check any advance by way of the main road toward
Henas_amef.
And with small intrusions stopped, and only the sheepwalks and
the meadows and stony hillsides for a route into the land, no
large force could move with any speed, certainly none with the
great engines Cefwyn feared. Henas_amef_s old walls were not fit
for modern war, so Cefwyn had said; and unhappily, neither was
Ilefínian across the river, so Ninévrisë had said.
Walls built for magic, Cefwyn had also said. In those days, in
their pride, the halfling Sihhë had had even Althalen as an
unwalled city, and trusted to their magic.
So he had done, and whether Cevulirn had guessed what he did,
he had no knowledge. All wishes aided the wards, and he thought
he had had wishes from that quarter, such as they were.
Oh, he longed for leave to be riding this road with a troop of light
cavalry, more than followed them now& as he would, if Cefwyn
had simply failed to forbid him.
And all along the way his eyes swept the snow-bleached hills for
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likely routes and lookouts.
Cevulirn, too, saw more than spoke.
They paused to change about horses in due course, and by noon,
at a place where signs said Anwyll had camped even last night,
they shared the bread and cheese the village had sent with them,
Cevulirn_s men grown easier, and more inclined to laughter in
the evident success of their venture in this snowy land.
By afternoon the road had passed through that ridge of hills that
contained the Lenúalim_s broad stream; their riding began to be
generally downhill, easier on the horses. From one last rise they
could see far and wide across the land, to the sunset and white
hills and the small woods, and the smoke of village fires
somewhat to the darkening east.
Here, too, was a sight that Unfolded names and places: Asfiad,
and Edlinnadd, but when he asked Cevulirn whether the names
were thus, Cevulirn said Aswyth and Ellinan were the names.
So it was like reading the Book, written in a hand he had not
recognized until the words themselves came back, and then it
seemed he had known not alone the hand, but every flaw in the
pages, every place where the hand had compromised a letter to
avoid a roughness.
So when he thought of Asfiad, he thought of a well and a dark-
eyed woman, as if it were yesterday, and he shivered in the cold
wind the evening sent, under a gray and fading sky. All the
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colors of the sunset had faded.
Yet he knew this land, and so the river shore Unfolded to him,
never seen but there in his heart of hearts& indeed he had pored
over maps before this, and had sure knowledge of some of the
places; but now it spread out, winterbound, and white, dulled
with evening, and full of names not in the maps, memories of
springtime and summer and autumn so vivid they took his breath.
_We may not reach the camp,_ Cevulirn said, _but Anwyll must
have gotten there. He_s had good luck with the carts._
The oxcarts carried a great deal, but moved excruciatingly
slowly: would move slowly on their way to Guelessar, too, and
the weather was a question. Tristen considered the matter of
Cefwyn_s carts, gazing out above red Gery_s ears. Sometimes he
thought he rode black Dys, which was foolish: Dys was at home.
Sometimes, too, he heard the rumble of armor, which was surely
the recollection of Lewenbrook: the noise of the muster of the
south and the heavy horse at full charge, armor a-rattle and
hooves beating on late-summer sod. Had this place ever seen a
battle?
But underfoot this evening was the soft, crisp fracture of
unblemished snow under Gery_s feet, a walking pace beside
Cevulirn_s gray, the banners all furled now that they were in
desolate territory, with no eye to see.
He shivered despite the thick cloak. Perhaps it was like the wall,
like the Book, and Mauryl_s spell that had Called him into the
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world was written everywhere across the land, ready to Unfold to
him with frightening immediacy.
There was little time, something kept saying to him: there was so
little time to seize this Pattern and make it move as he wished.
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Chapter 3
«
^
»
To the royal desk came all the accustomed trivia and the daily
urgencies that faced the Crown: the proposed fishing weirs across
Lissenbrook, among the accounting of fletchers requesting goose
quills, which Cefwyn saw no reason should rise above the level
of concern of the Commander of the Guard, except he had asked
to be informed of any deficiency in the preparations or the
movement of carts.
Besides that small crisis of goose feathers, he had a report from
the royal forester regarding the condition and take of deer from
the royal preserve, in a winter not as bitter as feared, the
condition of the forest and the abundance of hare.
And from a tenant the usual complaint of foxes making
depredations into domestic stores, and a request to hunt them.
Besides there was a wall wanting mending in Imor, on royal
lands he had not seen since taking the throne and which he
despaired of seeing in the future: he loved that hunting lodge and
its command of the southern hills.
He thought of the woods near Wys, saw in his mind_s eye the
afternoon light coming through winter branches. He smelled the
moist, sweet air after a snowfall& and envied the life of the
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foresters who had the care of it for their sole duty, hunting deer,
when his own task was, endlessly, fruitlessly, hunting Elwynim
rebels.
What would it be, to know on rising for the day, that one_s duty
was to walk in the woods, take account of deer and hare and
badger, watch the flight of the birds and understand the weather?
He was sure the office was somewhat more troublesome than
that: no life was as simple as it seemed. But what did the forester
think? Did he think how splendid it would be to be the king, and
rise leisured to the worship of countless courtiers, dine from a
golden service, and be fawned upon continually?
The golden service was true, but golden cups made hot tea go
cold. He preferred humble pottery, thought it luxurious for a king
otherwise damned to cold tea, and maintained a set of the
cheapest by the fireside. As for the fawning& ask Ryssand. A
morning where the letters abounded with nothing more grievous
than fishing rights or requests for petty permissions was itself
luxury, compared to the convolute dealings of his lords, and gods
save him, his almoner, who he knew was only waiting his chance
for complaint.
He did not hold audiences often enough. Men had no choice but
to approach him with letters, and Emuin reproached him for it.
But it was far quicker to read about the foxes than to hear about
them from some dyspeptic squire who_d had to wait his turn in a
cold audience hall. The Sihhë-lords themselves had insisted on
written petition, and had had an immense archive of records&
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which had flamed up mightily in the fall of Althalen, so he
supposed: all that efficiency and good order sent up in smoke in
an hour by his grandfather, who came of a sturdy people whose
farmers felt entitled to complain to the king and send him gifts.
Denied, they sent him letters, and more letters, paying a clerk, or
worse, a priest, to write them up fair if they had no skill to do so.
And if the High King of Althalen had heard his common farmers
and paid attention, Emuin had said peevishly, he might have
heard what would have saved him and his realm from your
grandfather, who at least listened to his farmers, for all his other
faults. Paper and parchment are no substitute for faces and the
sight of fields.
They were not a substitute. And when he thought of it, he had
rather look at turnip fields than the face of Lord Murandys. But
common farmers did not easily get past the guards of the
Guelesfort these days. The great barons had ceased to rub sleeves
with such common fellows, during his father_s reign, except on
feast days.
_Your Majesty._ A page flitted near. _The Lord Commander is
here._
A page had kept the Lord Commander standing in the foyer. His
staff had taken his admonition to preserve the king_s privacy for
his slugabed bride a shade too literally.
The page proffered a sealed letter, with Ryssand_s colors.
All the ease went out of him. _I_ll see the Lord Commander,_ he
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said, and in the same moment his bride came through the door
from the inner chambers, a second dawn in his day. He had read,
waiting for her; and now&
_Idrys is on his way in,_ he said. _Forgive me._
_Ilefínian,_ she surmised in immediate concern.
_No. I don_t think so. But Ryssand is no good news. Sit by me._
Idrys arrived in the room before she had quite seated herself,
Idrys, Lord Commander of the household, the black harbinger of
disaster.
_Ryssand dares send to me,_ Cefwyn said, taking up his knife to
loose the seal. _Do you know what the matter is?_
The seal proved breached. Idrys regularly did so. It was his duty
to know.
_I confess so,_ Idrys said. _But Your Majesty should read it._
A moderately bland missive, until his eye struck the line:
seeking Your Majesty_s understanding regarding the actions of
Your Majesty_s obedient subject in Amefel, in the protection of
Your Majesty_s interests&
and then:
I seek an early audience for a man Your Majesty once favored
with his trust on matters of utmost urgency&
He looked up at Idrys, already angry& not at the news, which
was not news to him, but at the brazenness of it. _He_s speaking
for Parsynan & I sent him from court on that account. How dare
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he?_
_Oh, read to the end._
He read further, finding a formal complaint of Tristen_s theft of
Parsynan_s property and charges of threats against a Crown
officer_s life.
_Am I surprised? Recount to me the causes whereby I am
surprised at this sweet union of purpose, master crow. Parsynan
and Ryssand! I_m only astonished at my credulity, taking this
man_s recommendations to put that damned thief in office in the
first place! Good loving gods!_
_The gods are allied with His Holiness, one would suppose&
and that devotion is still firmly bought. I do keep an ear to it._
_Gods hope._ He scanned the letter. _Abuse of his person.
Sorcery aiming at Parsynan_s life?_
_His horse threw him._
That was there to read. Indeed, oh, and the innocent horse had
been ensorcelled to do murder on Lord Parsynan, as the rioting
Amefin, encouraged by Bryalt priests, had assaulted a king_s
officer in the streets of Henas_amef.
That could be believed. So, for that matter, could the actions of
the horse, but it was not sorcery, if Tristen had done it: Emuin,
his old tutor, had taught him that fine distinction.
_And Ryssand commits his honor to this complaint,_ he asked
Idrys.
_Oh, more, more than that, my lord king. Read on._
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& the urgent representation of Your Majesty_s loyal officers
who will swear to these facts, as we who have honorably and
loyally supported the Crown and the gods are greatly alarmed.
We seek redress of grievances and, putting aside our own bitter
mourning, wish to consult with Your Majesty regarding
measures that may lead to greater, not less, unity of purpose.
_Bother and damnation. Unity of purpose. Bitter mourning. Hell!_
Your Majesty witnessed the circumstances that have left
Ryssand bereft, and casting now all our care upon our
remaining treasure, our daughter, whose alliance with a
powerful house will shield Your Majesty_s Ryssandish province,
accordingly we have thought of various alliances. But we deem
no union more glorious and none more beneficial to the
tranquillity of Ylesuin than to join the Marhanen line to that of
Ryssand, forging an alliance that will bring us to the spring in
one mind and with one purpose. Accordingly I have written to
His Highness&
_Good loving gods! He_s lost all his wits!_
_Which part in particular has caught my lord king_s eye?_
_Is he proposing marriage? Marriage?_
Ninévrisë leaned to see.
_Artisane,_ Cefwyn said, _loving gods! To my brother Efanor&_
_I suspect His Highness will be here shortly,_ Idrys said in his
low voice. _The courier carried two letters to court. And how will
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my lord king respond to this sage and selfless proposal of peace?_
He lacked words. Launching the army not at Tasmôrden_s forces,
but at Ryssand, was ever so fleetingly the wish of his heart. _I
detest this man. I truly detest him._
_Efanor surely doesn_t favor him,_ Ninévrisë said. _And Artisane
is clever, but not wise._
_Much like all that house._ The blood ran calmer in Cefwyn_s
veins by now, on two further breaths and the consideration that,
on the one hand, it was a calculated piece of effrontery, set to
make him angry, and on the other hand& that Efanor, while
gullible where it came to priests, was nonetheless Marhanen in
blood and bone. Efanor was not clever, but he was wise: gentler,
but not dull-witted, nor, once the Marhanen temper had slipped
the bounds of religious restraint& was gentle Efanor necessarily
slow to offense.
And if Ryssand took this insolent letter as a sort of threat, a not
so subtle reminder of the scope of his power in Ylesuin, Ryssand
sadly mistook both the sons of Ináreddrin.
In fact the commotion at the hall door, which opened to some
visitor without overmuch ado of pages, led him to suggest, visitor
as yet unseen, that they repair to the adjacent room and the table
there. _Your counsel will be welcome,_ he said to Idrys, and
signaled a page. _Wine and a number of cups. Gods know how
far this conference will extend. We may have half the kingdom
here before all_s done._ The commotion was imminent in the
hallway. Cefwyn rose at some leisure, taking Ninévrisë_s hand,
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and had not quite settled at the table when Efanor arrived in the
room, color high in his face.
Cefwyn sat, Ninévrisë sat, and Idrys, who rarely sat with his
king, bowed.
_Brother,_ said Efanor. _Your Grace, Lord Commander._ Efanor
had a rolled parchment in his fist.
_Brother, good morning,_ Cefwyn said. _I take it you_ve received
the match of this correspondence._
_I have,_ Efanor said, and took the gestured invitation to join
their small council. _I doubt it was in any hope of favorable
consideration._
_And?_ Cefwyn asked.
_And I take it as a gibe at you. He clearly expects no good of it,_
Efanor said.
_I take it for an outrage,_ Ninévrisë said. _The man is your bitter
enemy._
_He is my royal brother_s bitter enemy,_ said Efanor airily, which
was to say he was angry and pretending calm. _I have fallen from
his consideration, and therefore he writes such a large stroke,
caring nothing for my opinion. There is Ryssand_s gage, if you
will, cast in our faces._
_Unfortunately,_ said Idrys, _we have no adequate reply._
_I know I have a certain reputation among the northern barons,
which I never sought._
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Their father had wished Efanor to rule, but never found the
means to secure the throne to his younger, more placid, son. So
had Ryssand wished it, once, estimating Efanor would be
biddable, lost in his contemplations and his studies. All the world
estimated Efanor as a monkish sort, inclined to celibacy and
scholarship, and the religiosity that had dominated their
grandfather_s later years, in his excessive fear of hell. In Selwyn
the court had seen the utmost of religious terror, in his last year.
The truth was that Efanor did not so much fear hell as love his
expectations and imaginations of the gods, and yet& and yet at
this moment, the clear, steady look Efanor had, the color high in
his face, recalled the impish brother who had helped filch sweets
from the banquet trays, the brother who had hidden with him in a
haystack, frustrating the captain of the Dragon Guard.
_So what if I were to be so gullible as to write to him,_ Efanor
asked, _as if I believed every word, and considered his offer?_
There was the Efanor who had conspired with him, the Efanor
his bride had never met, in the few months of a new kingship.
There was his brother. Cefwyn found himself on the one hand all
but breaking into a grin.
_That would set the fox in the henhouse,_ Idrys had said, who
had seen that other Efanor, often& while Ninévrisë sat amazed.
_Ryssand might think twice about what he has and what he might
lose,_ Efanor said.
_He might think twice and three times,_ Ninévrisë said, _but
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Artisane is a wicked girl. Truly, truly I counsel against this._
Cefwyn moved his hand to hers. _I would not countenance it,_ he
said to Efanor, _for one reason: the affront she paid Nevris,
whether young Artisane contrived it or whether she only said
what her father dictated. I can_t forgive that, or bring her into
Nevris_ presence, not for any advantage. Nor will I sacrifice my
brother_s happiness._
_Oh, never a qualm for me, brother. That Her Grace can_t forgive
the lady& that_s a difficulty._
_If I could assure the troops to save my land and my lord_s good
heart,_ Ninévrisë said, _I_d kiss her and forgive in full view of
the court. I account her that little. But for you, dear Efanor, my
dear friend, you have a good heart; too good. For your own sake,
don_t make light of it. The woman is a serpent, and she has a
sting. Gods forbid, that you might ever carry through such a
marriage._
_As for me,_ Efanor said, with a ruddy color to the roots of his
hair, _my reputation is largely deserved: women have never
moved me to the extent&_ Efanor_s voice trailed off, but
Cefwyn had no reticence.
_You are not tempted to follow me,_ Cefwyn said, _in my
previous folly._
_I could remain lastingly indifferent to the lady, and, being good
Quinalt, she is chaste._
Ninévrisë laid her hand on Efanor_s sleeve. _No. Never throw
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away love._
_I_m half a monk,_ Efanor said, _don_t they say so? What should
I lose? And she_s young. She may learn to be pleasant._
_Pleasant!_ Cefwyn said, for he could bear no more.
Efanor gave him one of those glass-clear looks in his turn,
innocent as Tristen_s eyes at this challenge to his priests and his
holy aspirations. _Kings and princes marry for policy, not love.
Would you not have married Luriel, if there were no other
prospect? The girl is young, and Quinalt at least in observance,
and by the gods_ grace the true faith might give us something in
common. Ryssand_s offered. He cannot object to being taken up
on it._
_Gods, what a recommendation of a bride. I_ll not have the
brother I love fling himself between me and Ryssand_s ambition._
_I_d give her no heir,_ Efanor said with quiet assurance. _And I
assure you_t would be as good as a nunnery and no
inconvenience to me. My life is simple& monastic, in most
points. It can remain so. And we only speak of responding
favorably to Ryssand_s offer& not of the actual marriage. Take
Luriel as an example. No marriage resulted._
He had never imagined such cold depth under Efanor_s calm
good humor: somehow, in some way, Ryssand had stirred
Efanor_s absolute detestation. Efanor had all but drawn in his
defense and Ninévrisë_s, and while Efanor would not take up the
sword with any good cheer, this was indeed the brother he knew,
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who had planned at least half the forays of their childhood& and
who had become his enemy when Efanor had believed him guilty
of sedition.
Now it was Ryssand who had made Efanor angry. And monkish
Efanor might style himself, but he was Marhanen.
_I will countenance a courtship,_ Cefwyn said, _but never a
marriage. I will find fault with it. I_ll find some flaw in any
arrangement._
_As they did,_ Ninévrisë said. _And yet we married._
_Because we willed to marry, as gods know Efanor has no such
desire. Gods. Gods. Idrys, you_ve been silent. What say you?_
_That nothing Ryssand plans favors anyone but Ryssand. But I_m
not sure he_s planned His Highness_s acceptance. That will worry
him._
_Write,_ Cefwyn said to Efanor, _and I shall. His own damnable
arrogance may lead him to believe we think it a good idea. But
gods save us, Nevris, if that baggage ever affronts you in the
remotest& I_ll have her head and her father_s._
_That baggage is feared, mark me. Cleisynde fears her, as much
as follows her. But Luriel__
_Luriel hates her cousin, and always has._
_Luriel is new-crowned queen of all eyes._ Ninévrisë said, _and
is also clever, but not wise; and there have been great changes
since Artisane left. If Artisane returns, when Luriel_s all a-flurry
over Panys and a prospect of her grand wedding, and all of us
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stitching on Luriel_s wedding gown, oh, now there_s the fox and
the weasel in the same sack, with the neck tied._
He had had small understanding of the women_s court, which he
had thought of as sheep without a shepherd since Efanor_s
mother_s death. Weasels in a sack seemed more apt since
Ninévrisë_s ascendancy.
And he gave what Ninévrisë said his careful consideration, for
while Artisane and Luriel led no troops, wielded no swords, nor
had good Quinalt ladies a voice in the councils of state, a quarrel
between the niece of Murandys and the daughter of Ryssand
would unsettle the relationship between those two houses. And
that relationship, however unholy their recent acts, was the rock
on which the north was built.
It was also the reef on which the kingdom might shipwreck itself
for good and all. Quarrels in the women_s court where the king
could not directly intervene had their own potency.
_If Luriel gained a firm rule over Artisane,_ Cefwyn said, _the
whole kingdom would be the safer. But neither the fox nor the
weasel _will threaten you, Nevris, and that I swear. There is one
intervention I can make in your secret realm upstairs, and that is
to see Luriel in one convent and Artisane in another at the other
end of Ylesuin if ever you find their quarrels tiresome. You may
not be queen of Ylesuin, but by the blessed gods the ladies of this
court will know they have you to please, and none other._So
likewise for your peace, brother. I swear it, quite, quite solemnly._
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_So shall we disturb Ryssand_s?_ Efanor asked with_Cefwyn
could all but see it_the old sparkle in the eye and the old flare of
the nostril that meant Efanor had decided and was bent on the
deed.
_Be careful,_ Ninévrisë wished them both, and from Idrys, that
dark eminence: _Hear her. Very carefully hear her, my lord king._
By evening of an easy ride, Tristen at Cevulirn_s side came in
sight of the river and of the camp, orderly rows of tents beneath
their high vantage on the hill: there was one of the several
bridges that led into Amefel& or its pylons and framing, for the
deck was stripped of planking and that planking stored on this
side of the river in sections, under guard. There was the camp,
long-established with several sheds and a small company of
guards, that had maintained their guard over the bridge before
Anwyll had come here. Now the sheds that must have been all
the camp were swallowed up in the brown and gray tenting that
spread along the shore, and the fires which before now must have
been modest and few sent up a blue haze of smoke which hung
low above the water.
There, too, across the river, was their first view of Elwynor, a
shore that, far from being ominous, looked very like their own,
with snowy low hills and wooded crests. There, Tristen said to
himself, there was Ninévrisë_s kingdom. Ilefínian, under siege,
lay far away over the hills. The dark Lenúalim, which had lapped
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like an old serpent about the stones of Ynefel in the spring and
summer, ran here as a broad, cold river, sided by ice.
They rode down toward the camp in a light sifting of snow from
the heavens. Banners unfurled, and showed to the camp who had
come, which sent the soldiers scrambling to their feet. Men ran,
and the camp answered with a brisk and anxious welcome.
Captain Anwyll, only just arrived himself, came half-dressed
from the largest tent to meet them in the main aisle of the camp.
_Your lordships,_ Anwyll said, looking up at them on their
horses. Anwyll_s breath steamed in small, hurried puffs. _Is there
trouble?_
_No. Only a visitor to see the camp,_ Tristen said, for he had no
complaint of what he saw. _His Grace of Ivanor has come to see
our situation._
_Honored,_ Anwyll said, though most likely, Tristen thought,
their visit was not entirely welcome tonight, while order was not
complete; Anwyll still looked distressed and caught at a loss. But
he sent for a cloak and his coat and showed them about his small
command.
_I_d see the bridge,_ Cevulirn said, _the captain_s good grace
extending that far._
Anwyll cast Tristen a glance as if to see was there contradiction,
and receiving nothing contrary, led them to the bridgehead,
where great timbers stood skeletal against the wintry sunset and
the empty pylons stood tied by timbers, which alone lent the
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structure strength.
_There_s some concern about the spring flood,_ Anwyll said,
_We_ve the planking under guard; I_m told we should cross-brace
when the floods come if the decking_s not in place by then._
If they lost pylons or decking, they could not cross without
considerable delay and difficulty; and Tasmôrden would very
much aim at that destruction if he could spare the men from his
siege: the bridges might well be his next attack.
_By no means must we let the bridges go,_ he said. Anwyll was
shivering, and sneezed in reply. _Be well,_ he said, and Anwyll
blessed himself with a worried look. _We should go where it_s
warm,_ Tristen said, and on their walk back to the center of camp
observed Anwyll pressing a hand to his heart, where no few
soldiers wore their Quinalt amulets, or Teranthine ones, beneath
their coats, and so Anwyll had had, on a gold chain.
But worried or not, Anwyll ceased the small cough that had
troubled him on their walk to the bridge, and there were no more
sneezes.
Anwyll_s tent was a spare, snug, and modest affair, with a
forechamber large enough for a small chart table and field chairs,
such as assembled out of pegs and parts. Twilight was deep, and
the lighting of lanterns made a fair contribution to the pungent
air, the smoke, and the warmth in the place& a smell that
conjured other tents, and the battle at the end of summer& not,
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curiously, an unpleasant stench, that of oil and leather and horses,
and the nearby river, only one that carried the implication of
weapons advanced, battles possible, the enemy opposed.
Ale added its own aroma, ale provided from Anwyll_s own store;
and at that table and in Cevulirn_s company, Tristen provided the
news he had, the confirmation of Drusenan as Lord Bryn.
To the appointment of a lord of Bryn, Anwyll said nothing, nor
likely knew whether Drusenan was good or otherwise; but to the
mention of fugitives at Modeyneth, he frowned, doubtless not
pleased to have Elwynim between him and his capital; and
chagrined, it was likely, to have marched his force of elite Guard
past a band of Elwynim without knowing they were there.
It was a fault. Tristen neglected, however, to mention it.
_I_ve moved these folk over to Althalen, across the hills,_ Tristen
said, _to have them safe within walls and not let them gather in
numbers on this road._
_To Althalen,_ Anwyll echoed, in mild dismay. _Women and
young children. But with the siege of Ilefínian there may be more
seeking to cross._
_And what shall we do with them?_
_Let any cross who will cross,_ Tristen said, _if they swear to
Her Grace._
_Armed troops as well?_
_If they_ve Tasmôrden at their backs,_ Cevulirn said dryly,
_they_ll be in a considerable hurry, and reluctant to discuss. And
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very difficult it will be to sort out Tasmôrden_s men from the
rest._
_If that should happen,_ Tristen said, _by no means receive
armed men into your camp. Have them draw off to the east on the
shore, and not up the hill, under any circumstance: occupy that,
and be sure. If they obey orders, they may camp and not stir out
of that camp. And should it happen, advise me of it as quickly as
you can. You can change horses at Modeyneth: Drusenan would
provide you -what you need._
Anwyll looked much more content with that instruction, yet a
little anxious all the same. _I understand so, Your Grace. And
welcome news._ Over all, Anwyll looked more content than he
had been in coming here, and seemed particularly friendly toward
Cevulirn_s presence, as if, Tristen thought, Anwyll had not quite
trusted his orders; but now seeing the duke of Ivanor, had more
confidence in what he was bidden do.
That was very .well: whatever comforted Anwyll could only
make him a surer captain in this post; and until late hours and by
lanternlight, with the snow sifting down from the heavens, they
sat in Anwyll_s tent and talked of Bryn_s wall and of extending
the river-watch all along the border.
_In both cases,_ Cevulirn said, _no prevention to any small force
bent on mischief, and going through the hills, but no great force
can cross._
Such forces needed heavy transport, and therefore needed roads,
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and well-maintained ones, with gravel and rock to fill the soft
places. And that, too, Tristen knew as he knew that it was not the
kind of warfare he and Cevulirn would use, if there were not
Cefwyn_s express order in the way.
_The men of Nithen district in Elwynor were forced to join
Tasmôrden_s army,_ Tristen said, _and so may others be with
him by no choice of their own. Such men may well find occasion
to slip across by ones and twos. Question carefully any Elwynim
you find, man or woman, and treat them kindly. But be wary.
Limit what they can see here. If you get the chance, learn where
Cuthan has gone, whether he joined Tasmôrden, and doing what;
and what the situation is in Ilefínian, and what kind of force
Tasmôrden has. All that manner of thing._
And after their small gathering dispersed to their beds, _Captain,_
Tristen lingered to say.
_Your Grace._ Anwyll_s shoulders were at once drawn up,
wariness as quick as an indrawn breath.
_The highroad passes by Henas_amef on its way to Guelessar,_
Tristen said. _Don_t send Idrys dispatches by the riverside.
There_s no gain in speed and a great risk to the couriers._
_I assure Your Grace& there is no disloyalty&_
_I know there is not, sir, and I regard Idrys as a friend. He_s an
honest man, as I know you are, and I know you are his man. Send
to him what you will, with my goodwill. I ask only your courier
gather messages from me as well, so we need not have two men
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risking life and limb on the roads in bad weather._
Anwyll showed himself overwhelmed, and if manners had
allowed it would surely have sat down. _Your Grace, I have
never reported anything against you._
_Yet have reported to Idrys._
_Yes, Your Grace._
_I know you have your own orders. The Dragon Guard is mine
only for the season. You should know Uwen has sent home
certain of the Guelen Guard, men who wished to be released. I_ve
had him take command himself, for the while, until I can muster
a force to defend the province._
_Which officers were dismissed, if Your Grace please to say?_
_The captain and the senior sergeant, both, and certain of the
other officers whose names I did not inquire._ He found himself
on the edge of his knowledge of what, as duke of Amefel, he
could order; and had ordered, by those senses of danger which
sometimes ruled his actions. Nothing had Unfolded to him in so
doing except the small, steady unfurling of logical steps: take
command, hold command, shape it until it fit the hand and the
man that must lead it. _I said to the Lord Commander that Uwen
Lewen_s-son would be my captain. So he is. And the garrison is
what is his to command, since king Cefwyn set me over it._
_The Lord Commander so advised me,_ Anwyll said, with a
resolute look. _And I am to command the Dragons, over which I
am instructed Your Grace has no authority._
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That was Idrys_ caution, which far from offending, had a warm
and familiar feeling. He smiled, hearing it.
_Fair,_ he said.~_Yet you came here._
_I_m instructed to obey reasonable orders, in the king_s interest._
_And will you name officers for the Guelens? Uwen gave me a
list. He says he can_t appoint new officers, but you can. Who do
you think is the best man?_
_Wynned._
_Will return when his mother mends, which I wish she does
soon. He seems a good man._
_A wall in Bryn_s lands and a guard captain dismissed. Your
Grace, I had as lief not become adviser to this. And I will send to
the Lord Commander, I advise you so._
_Idrys wishes me to do what keeps the king safe& have this
province strong and ready, and not to admit a flood of
Tasmôrden_s men or to have Her Grace_s men slaughtered
against the river._ It was very clear to him, clearer than all the
debates they had had in councils before this, now that he had
seen this place by the river, and that identical, snowy shore. _Did
you approve the Guelens_ officers, the things they did?_
_No, Your Grace, I didn_t, nor do. If they were my command,
they_d be set down._
He became aware, though how he was not himself sure, that the
captain thought himself superior to the Guelen officers, and well
he might: it was the truth. But Anwyll was wellborn, and Uwen
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was always daunted and quiet when Anwyll was about, falling
back on his claim he was a common man.
And that was also behind his decision to send Anwyll to the
river, that there was a certain reluctance in the man to deal with
Amefin, Teranthines, Bryaltines, common sergeants, or peasants.
It seemed a fault in him, one hard to lay hands on or to catch with
the eye.
As now, Anwyll was sure he would have dealt differently with
the Guelens, yet would likely defend them against any charge
laid against them in the town.
He gazed at Anwyll, and Anwyll seemed entirely disquieted.
_What they_ve done was wicked,_ Tristen said. _I don_t quite
know all that the Quinalt means by wicked, but to kill prisoners
was wicked. The men they led aren_t bad soldiers, Uwen says so,
and he should know, having been one._
Again that small hesitation, as if what Uwen said and Uwen
thought was not, perhaps, what Anwyll thought.
_Wynedd is a good man,_ Anwyll said. _I have no trouble
naming him. And Ennyn to hold as his second. I_ll write out
orders and place them in your hands._
Anwyll continued to be troubled, and wished he were not in
Amefel. Tristen took that thought to his tent afterward.
_I_ve no doubt Anwyll will write to Idrys tonight,_ Tristen said
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when he joined Cevulirn in the soldiers_ tent they had claimed for
the night, all their guard sleeping the night in the mess tent
which, against a shed now devoted to equipment, had a solid wall
for a windbreak.
Cevulirn occupied his half of the tent, sitting on his pallet, their
only light from the general fire outside.
_Should he not?_ Cevulirn said.
_He should. But I mean so urgently he_ll likely slip a rider out
before morning, and I only hope he sends him by the Modeyneth
road. He doesn_t trust me, and I wish I could mend that. He
doesn_t quite trust Uwen, either, or doesn_t think he should
command the garrison, and to that I don_t agree._
_You should have no illusions, Amefel: he is Guelen, wellborn,
and Quinalt, and sees much that troubles him._
_He_s Idrys_ man, and I do trust Idrys._
That drew a silent, rare laughter from the gray lord of the Ivanim.
_As I think Idrys trusts you, but beware of that trust of his._
_Why do you say so?_
Cevulirn, looking at him in the almost-dark and leaping light of
the fire outside, was all shadows and surmise. _Because, lord of
Amefel, Idrys trusts you on grounds of your honesty and your
friendship for His Majesty, and if he ever doubts the friendship,
or the honesty, or the gift Mauryl Kingsbane gave you, that trust
will go with it. And you will never know at what moment. That_s
the difficulty of trusting loyal men._
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_Why do you call him that?_
_Mauryl? Or Idrys?_
_Kingsbane. Kingmaker, in the Red Chronicle._
_Bane to Elfwyn, at very least. Kingmaker, Kingbreaker. Words._
_Wizards_ words mean things._
_That they do,_ said Cevulirn. _And so I say again, Idrys is
aware what they called Mauryl Gestaurien, and he thinks on it
daily, I do assure you, Amefel._
_I shall never betray Cefwyn._
_You,_ Cevulirn said, _are Mauryl Kingmaker_s Shaping. And
you are Lord Sihhë of the grateful Amefin. With the best will in
the world toward Cefwyn, and all love, do you deny either?_
Perhaps it was a chill draft that wafted through the tent, but it
was like Mauryl_s questions. They sat in shadows, and shadows
flowed all about them. He trembled when Cevulirn said that; and
the trembling would not let him, for a long, long moment, utter
any objection.
_I know your heart and your intent,_ Cevulirn said relentlessly,
_and with the best will to His Majesty in the world, I will answer
your summons this Wintertide, and bring the lords of the south
with me. That, too, will trouble the good captain, beyond any
news the two of us have brought him. But I don_t trouble my
sleep over the fact. Anwyll for all his good traits is a Guelenman
to the least hair on his head. So I am Ivanim, and southron, and
have blood of the Sihhë in my veins. And good Guelen will I
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never be, lord of Amefel, but a strong friend of His Majesty and
friend to you, yes, I shall be. For that matter, Idrys himself is
southron, Anwyll_s Guelen loyalty notwithstanding; a man, a
Man, and not of the old blood, nor will he trust me or thee
entirely, but trust him, I say, and write him often and keep him
apprised of what you do. Above all His Majesty must not lose
faith in the south, and just the same as that, neither must Idrys.
There. Do I go too far?_
_No. No, sir, you do not._
He understood, both that he was right about Cevulirn, and that he
was mapping a dangerous path through Guelen resentments. The
northern barons wanted nothing more than to find a cause against
him. They would not like the river camps, would far less like his
breaching of the king_s law to build the wall near Modeyneth.
Bring your men, he wished to say to Cevulirn, tonight, the two
of them alone to hear, and plan. Bring me the army, and we_ll
cross the river and bring aid to Ilefínian.
But the words would not come. When it came to defying
Cefwyn_s direct order, he had a sudden vision of blood, of fire,
and if he were not anchored by Cevulirn_s still-waking presence
and Cevulirn_s next, unanswered question, he might have gone
wandering to learn what he was almost certain of just now, a
desperate, a sinking feeling.
_What_s wrong?_ Cevulirn.
_The gates,_ Tristen said, for he saw tall gates and fire and
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figures moving in the light.
_What gates?_ Cevulirn asked, for there were none here.
Tristen drew a sharp breath, seeking the place where he was
instead of the riot of fire and the clash of arms. _The gates have
come open. At this very moment._
_Where?_ Cevulirn asked. _Whose gates?_
_Ilefínian has fallen._
Cevulirn heard him in utter silence.
_We are too late to prevent it,_ Tristen said. _I don_t know how I
should know, or how I do know, but I think someone has opened
the gates._ He thought, more, that a breath of wizardry had
pressed the situation, working quietly and for the merest instant
flaring forth. He thought it the more strongly when he had
formed the thought, and then flung a defense up in the gray
space, strongly, strongly, nothing subtle.
Then the smothering feeling lifted.
_Now the birds will come,_ he said, thinking on Auld Syes.
_That was what she foretold. We should send to Cefwyn
ourselves. Tonight._
No question it must be one of Anwyll_s men, to hope to get to
Idrys.
_Your lordships?_ Anwyll asked when they called on him, and he
came, roused from bed and with a cloak clutched about him in
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the dim forechamber of his tent.
_Ilefínian has fallen,_ Tristen said, with Cevulirn at his back, and
both of them determined.
_Did Your Grace receive a courier?_ was Anwyll_s reasonable
question.
_No,_ Tristen said, _but I_m sure it_s so. Deck the bridge._
_Your Grace__ Clearly Anwyll had had his wits shaken, and
smoothed hair out of his eyes, trying to compose arguments.
_You mean to let them across?_
_The ones to come first will be Her Grace_s forces._
_His Grace thinks Tasmôrden_s men are in the town,_ Cevulirn
said, _and if that_s so, devil a time holding them from the ale
stores._
_Aye, my lord, I understand, but no messenger, as you say&_
_Disarm any soldiery,_ Tristen said, _and send them under escort
to Modeyneth. He_ll escort them to refuge. I need a rider to go to
Guelemara, to His Majesty, to tell him._
_Word from the watchers on the river northward may get there
first, Your Grace._
_And if something befalls the messengers, no word at all. There
must be a messenger._
_Yes, Your Grace._
_For seven days leave the decking in place on the bridge. Then
take it down again._
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_Yes, Your Grace._ Anwyll had the look of a man utterly
confounded. _And what if the Elwynim come, the wrong
Elwynim, and the bridge is decked?_
_You can hold them, Captain,_ was Cevulirn_s short answer.
_There_s more than enough force here._
_Your Grace,_ Anwyll answered, passion rising. _We did not
plan to stand with the bridge open! We need archers!_
_We_ll have them here,_ Tristen said, _from Bryn._
_Amefin, Your Grace._
_This is Amefel,_ Cevulirn said. _Amefin are in good supply
here._
_Your Grace._ Whatever Anwyll had been about to say he
thought better of, and collected himself. _I_ll have you a rider
immediately, Your Grace._
Tristen penned a letter in haste and gave it to Anwyll_s
messenger. Anwyll added another dispatch, and the rider left.
There Was little to do then but return to beds and rest what of the
night remained, he and Cevulirn, in quiet converse for the better
part of two hours into the dark, coming to no conclusion but that
they must set a force here sufficient to hold, and that archers and
a muster of Bryn to the wall-building and the defense of the
bridge was inevitable.
And if Elwynim arrived who had a disposition to fight their war
on Amefin soil, there was a hard choice, separating the two sides
and being sure, as Cevulirn said, that the ones they might let
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abide in Amefel accepted the authority in Henas_amef.
_I_d hoped still a small force might have reached through and
broken the siege,_ Tristen said in the shadowed dark, all the
troubling visions roiling and leaping in the firelight that came
through the flap. _But that won_t happen now. Now it_s
Cefwyn_s war, the sort he wanted._
_I_ll post my guard here,_ Cevulirn said. _It_s the only reasonable
choice. A handful, but the best. They can use the bows._
_I thank you,_ Tristen said into the dark, having no idea else
where he could lay hands on more troops this side of
Assurnbrook, besides the troubled Guelens. And for a moment
the small glow that was Cevulirn in the gray space was a greater
one, and the bond of wizard-craft touched one and two out in the
camp, smaller lights, but true.
Then, quietly, secret in the deep of night, Tristen set himself to
wish such fugitives well and guide them to the river.
And he began to wish snow about Ilefínian, thick, blanketing
snow, not so far as the river, where fugitives might strive to
cross, but all about the sack of the town, a white blanket to cover
the ugliness of death and fire and wounds.
A pure and pristine white, to cool angers, drive men indoors, and
give Tasmôrden an enemy that would not yield to the sword.
He did so, and it seemed he was not quite alone in his effort, that
in utter silence something in Cevulirn answered, and something
in Henas_amef reached out to him, and something in the tower
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there waked and listened.
Ilefínian is fallen, was the burden of the night. And on the road,
two riders, Anwyll_s, and the one Anwyll had sent for them, on
to Modeyneth, to Henas_amef, and to Guelessar.
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Chapter 4
«
^
»
In the morning was time enough to discuss explicit orders with
Captain Anwyll, who had heard the news in the middle of the
night with doubt and anger.
But Anwyll had not failed his instructions, and had ordered the
bridge decking restored at first light. His men, the elite Dragon
Guard, accustomed to clean quarters and the finest fare, swore
and struggled and pressed into service the oxen that should this
very day have been moving the long-purloined carts back to
Guelessar. The drivers were angry, and protested, and were
pressed into service, handling the oxen, so Anwyll reported.
Where there was not snow and ice, there was mud.
The drivers would be angrier yet to hear they needed remain to
take the decking off in another sevenday, Tristen was well sure.
They would need the oxen for that, and the carts would not move.
That the Ivanim guard, who were fair shots with a bow, would
also remain until the bridge was closed and undecked again,
however, improved Anwyll_s mood marvelously.
And that Cevulirn_s lieutenant would remain to lead those men
heartened Anwyll even more so, for by that establishment of
another senior officer, not all the burden of decision and
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judgment was on him. Cevulirn_s lieutenant was veteran of
numerous independent actions, as Anwyll was not; he was brisk,
decisive, and confident, as Anwyll was not; and he was capable
of distinguishing one band of Elwynim from another, as Anwyll
was not, which made Tristen easier in his mind.
Since the Ivanim lieutenant had set to work, in fact, there was
already a different sense of order, men and horses rapidly
establishing a more permanent camp with no resources to begin
with and abundant resource within an hour, and the Ivanim
seemingly everywhere at once, considering winter stabling and
timbers they might use for the purpose, if the weather worsened
over their week. They accomplished wonders of organization
before the morning fires had produced water hot enough for
porridge, and by then Anwyll was in far better humor.
So with farewells to Cevulirn_s men, and setting out by a good
hour with only Tristen_s small Guelenish guard force and
bodyguard around them, they put the river at their backs in short
order.
They kept the horses not to a courier_s pace, for their armor and
arms and heavy saddles were too much weight on the horses for
that kind of riding. But all the same they pressed hard, and
reached the ruined wall near Modeyneth at midafternoon, where
the area around the old wall and towers already showed signs of
clearing, timbers cut, fallen stone swept clean of snow.
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The new earl himself was overseeing bands of workers in the
brushy woods that had grown up about the old stones.
_My lords!_ it was, when Drusenan saw them; and then a more
sober reckoning when he saw how they came, without their
guards.
_Grave news,_ Cevulirn said, and reported what they knew,
regarding Elwynor and Ilefínian. _Captain Anwyll of the Dragon
Guard will deliver any fugitives to you, and he may ask you to
raise a local muster,_ Tristen said. He was keenly aware how
great a burden he had put on a new man, one time experienced in
battle, yes, and a dreadful battle, but not having directed anything
more than a village levy on the march. _I_ll ask Lord Drumman
to move to your assistance, with carts and oxen, as soon as I
reach Henas_amef. I need all the oxen I have at the river. Above
all, be very certain whoever you set at Althalen bears no
weapons. Collect them if you find them. I_ll have none of the war
there brought here._
_My lord,_ Drusenan said in great earnest. _All that you wish, I_ll
do. Let me get my horse, and I_ll ride with you to the village._
_No stopping tonight,_ Tristen said, but the reason of their
overwhelming haste, that would send Cevulirn riding hard for the
south, he did not confess even to this well-disposed and honest
man. Rumors enough were likely to fly and would fly, no few of
them to the Elwynim, and whence next, there was no limit of
possibilities.
All the same Lord Drusenan rode with them as far as Modeyneth
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and some beyond, after a welcome cup of mulled wine and a
breath for the horses.
_I_ve already sent out word to the villages,_ Lord Drusenan
reported to them, _and told them the state of affairs in Bryn, and
our charge from Your Grace, as I_m sure they_ll come to help._
_You have Bryn_s town resources to draw from,_ Tristen said,
_and no few men there, with its treasury: I didn_t let it go. I_ll
send what I can with Lord Drumman. And horses, which Anwyll
may need, if you_ll send them on in good order._
Another man, Tristen thought, might have sped straight for the
town and the court and bought himself fine clothes, but Lord
Drusenan had not even delayed for a ceremony, owning his
modest swearing as binding on him as any in the great hall. He
had gone to the wall to clear brush and snow from about the
fallen stones and plied an axe until his hands were blistered. His
lady, Ynesyne, had set up great kettles in the center of the
village, expecting, she said, a hundred men from surrounding
villages to come to the work. She had made provision for them to
lodge in the stable and in the hall and wherever the village
houses could find a little room.
Besides that, the village wives were packing the village_s sole
horse cart with supply for the fugitives in the ruins, while two of
the local men had gone ahead with axes, so Drusenan had
reported, to prepare shelters and firewood, and added, as
everyone did, if only the weather held good.
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It should, it must, it would, unless some wizard opposed him; and
he might meet that challenge and hold it, too.
_I wish the snow will fall north of us,_ Tristen said, with great
insistence in his heart, for all the while he and Cevulirn had
ridden since dawn, he had held that determination, for whatever,
force it had, and now he was sure it would.
He wished health and good fortune on the village; and also on
Syes_ sparrows, traveling by now afoot to the ruins at Althalen,
where other men of the village would guide them.
_And excuse Anwyll,_ he said. _He_s a good man. He has a
better heart than one might think. No one of Meiden would have
survived at Henas_amef, if not for him coming to advise me what
Parsynan was up to. Meiden owes him their lives._
_I take your advisement, my lord, and will remember._
But the new lord of Bryn, understanding their haste to reach
Henas_amef by dark, few as they were, had no inclination to
delay in debate, only offered himself and two of his young men
to add to the guard they had.
_You_ve enough to do,_ Tristen said, as they were getting to
horse, _and I fear nothing from bandits. See to the wall, that_s
what I most wish._
_See the young men exercised in arms as well as building,_
Cevulirn advised Drusenan, too. _If there_s any place Elwynor
might attack early and hard, it_s this road, and that bridge, with
the wall building. Tasmôrden won_t like the look of that at all,
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and won_t like the rumors out of the south of a strong rule here._
Amefel, which had used to be the softest approach to Ylesuin,
was shored up with stone and soon to be edged with steel and
muscled with horses and Ivanim cavalry. And that, Tristen
thought, served Cefwyn better than carts and a company of the
Dragons.
They made speed homeward bound after Modeyneth, camped but
briefly and late, and that more for the sake of the horses that
carried them, were on their way again at the first light of a clear,
bright dawn, and laid their specific plans on the way, for the
guard they had closest to them were trusted men. Cevulirn would
write to the other lords, and surmised what force and support
they might look for from each& Midwinter Day was the day
they set for the lords and their escorts to gather at Henas_amef, a
festive day, a time when friends gathered and saw in the new year
_could the Quinalt fault a gathering of friends, be they lords
with numerous men in their escort? The lords who had fought in
Amefel this summer past would gather to give thanks, to share
the feast, no less than peasants did around their year-fires, and
noble families across the land.
That they might lay their plans then, that, their enemies would
know.
But their coming depended on the will of the lords& and on
what the weather might hold.
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And the latter, Tristen thought, might lie within his hands. But
while he might wish the snow away from them, or a moderation
in the weather, he was far from certain he could manage
something on the scale of hastening a season.
Yet wish he did. They had a great deal to accomplish, and instead
of a long time to Midwinter, they found the days until Midwinter
a very short time for them to bring together all they wished& for
what they wished and planned was to have a force capable of
striking through to Ilefínian and threatening the rebels_ gains.
If they could do no more than embarrass Tasmôrden and make
him look the fool, that would raise hopes of defying him, and
raise men in support of Ninévrisë_s claim& and that would also
support Cefwyn_s heavy cavalry and strong force coming from
the east& for Cefwyn_s reliance on heavy horse with the roads
uncertain as they were alarmed him. Every sense he had of
warfare, every sense he gained from the maps said that there was
a reason Selwyn Marhanen had not pressed into Elwynor from
the east, where roads were not up to Guelen standards, where
brush was thick along the roads& he had never been there, but
he was sure that was the nature of the land, as sure as if he had
seen it, and anything he could do to the south to distract
Tasmôrden onto two fronts eased his fears for Cefwyn.
_So the king and the north will have the victory and Murandys
may look a valiant soldier,_ Cevulirn said in a tone of derision.
_Let him, only so we have free rein here, and can raise an army
out of the stones of Elwynor._
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_If only Umanon will join us,_ Tristen said, for Umanon was the
chanciest of their former allies, a heavy horse contingent, in
itself, but a valuable one, with their light horse to probe the way.
More, Pelumer of Lanfarnesse was not certain, especially if
Umanon should hold back. Pelumer, Cefwyn had said, managed
to be late to every fight, and they feared he would manage to be
late to this one.
_But Sovrag will come,_ Tristen said. _I do rely on him._
_The man was a river pirate,_ Cevulirn said, _and the Marhanens
ennobled him and granted him the district he holds because that
rock of a fortress of his was too much trouble to take. And they
needed his boats. As we do._
_Yet he_s an honest man._
_An honest thief, nowadays. A reformed thief. Which turned the
Olmernmen,_ Cevulirn added, _from brigandage against my
lands and Umanon_s toward occasional brigandage in the
southern kingdoms, a great improvement for us, if it brings us no
angry retribution. That in itself was a wonder. More than that,
they_ve even planted small fields. That we never thought to see. I
confess I like the man better now than two years ago. And he_s
learned things from being in Amefel. He_s seen how farmerfolk
live fairly well on the land. And he_s learned how to sit a horse,
if it_s old and docile._
_What do you say of Pelumer?_ Tristen asked, intrigued by
Cevulirn_s reckoning of the brigand lord, whom he did
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understand. Pelumer, however, blew both hot and cold, to his
observation.
_Hard to catch,_ Cevulirn said of Pelumer. _Both the rangers of
Lanfarnesse and their lord. Apt to take the cautious view, apt not
to risk his men. Late to every battle. Yet no coward._
Pelumer_s light-armed forces were better suited to moving in
small bands among the trees, skills of little use in a pitched
battle, as Cefwyn had tried to use them. In some measure he did
not blame Pelumer for his reluctance to throw them onto the
field: for all Cefwyn_s virtues of courage, he had a
hardheadedness about the way to win a battle, which was a great
deal of force moving irresistibly forward. Pelumer did not like
the notion& nor, he found, did he, and he feared for Cefwyn,
locking in that reliance on the Guelen forces.
Of Umanon of Imor Lenúalim, canny and Guelen and Quinalt,
unlike all the rest of the southrons, he had the most doubt. He
was the most like Cefwyn in some regards, but independent and
interested primarily in his own province. _And Umanon?_ he
asked. _Will he agree with us, or with Ryssand?_
_He detests Corswyndam. And since Lewenbrook, he despises
Sulriggan._ This was the lord of Ryssand, and the lord of
Llymaryn, two of the principal forces in the north. _He_s capable
of surprises. And he_s more a southerner where his alliances and
his purse are concerned. Nor is he that much enamored of the
northern orthodoxy._
_The Quinaltines?_
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_The doctrinists among the Quinaltines. A handful of
troublesome priests, clustered around the north-lands, some in
Murandys, strict readers of the book and strict in interpretation&
neither here nor there for you or me, here in the south. But it_s a
reason Umanon doesn_t stand with Ryssand and Murandys. He
detests the priests that espouse it, since the orthodoxy, mark you,
faults Umanon_s birth._
_How might they do that?_
_Oh, that Umanon_s mother and her folk are Teranthines, and
stiff in their faith as Umanon is in his. He won_t condemn his
mother and his aunt and her house, nor his cousins, who are
wealthy men and the owners of a great deal of the grainfields that
are Imor_s wealth: he trades grain for northern cattle and the
cattle for southern gold, to the seafarers, down the Lenúalim. His
dukedom may be Guelen and Quinalt as you please, but the
Teranthines are best at dealing with foreign folk and best at trade.
They fear nothing, accept the most outrageous of foreign ways._
_And wizards? They accept them._
_Look at Emuin._
_Are there wizards in the wild lands south?_ He had never read
so.
_Assuredly. Perhaps even fugitive remnants of the Sihhë. We
Ivanim trade along the border in silk and horses, with the
Chomaggari, and farther still. And a modicum of wizardry has
never troubled us._
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_You yourself have some gift,_ Tristen observed with deliberate
bluntness, and Cevulirn regarded him with a sidelong glance.
_You use it. You used it during the business at Modeyneth. I
think you know you have it._
_Our house is admittedly fey,_ said Cevulirn, _and I confess it, to
one I think will never betray that confidence. We aren_t wizards.
But the gift for it is there._
_Between the two of us,_ Tristen said, _we might have no need of
signal fires. I think you would hear me even in Toj Embrel._
Cevulirn regarded him a long few moments in silence, and the
gray space seethed with Cevulirn_s strong forbidding.
_I will not,_ Cevulirn said, _not unless at great need. I have
trusted you, Amefel, as never I have trusted, outside Ivanor. And
so if you need me, call by any means you can._
_I think that I did call you,_ Tristen said after a moment of
thought on that point, _though not by intent and not by name. I
needed an adviser, and here you are. And you_ll come back, that I
believe, too._ It was in his mind that even his own wish might not
be all the reason for Cevulirn_s coming to him, for there were
many wizards, Emuin had said, wizards living and dead, their
threads crossed and woven, and hard to say which juncture
mattered most to the fabric.
Wizardous elements came together in his vicinity, gathered by
common purpose, common loyalties, common necessity&
Emuin in his tower, he and Cevulirn; Crissand and Paisi;
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Ninévrisë in Guelemara and Uleman in his grave at Althalen.
Not discounting Mauryl& or Hasufin, though both were
dispelled.
We are all here, Tristen thought to himself.
And all through the journey the sky stayed brilliant blue and the
land gleaming white, except to the north, where clouds gathered
dark and troubled, and pregnant with winter.
The sun was low when their reduced band drew in sight of
Henas_amef, and it was a welcome sight, with lights beginning to
show, peaceful and familiar with its skirt of snowy fields. A
curiously warm feeling, Tristen thought, and how many faces it
had, in summer, in winter, by day and by twilight.
Most of all he felt a warm expectation when he saw the Zeide_s
tower and knew that a friend lived there, and other friends waited
for him and that his own bed was in that upper floor, and that
Uwen would welcome him, and Tassand, and all the ones who
cared for him. They would do thus, and thus, he imagined, weary
of body but happy in the anticipation. All the comforts of his
household would fold him in and care for him, knowing him as
he knew them. Crissand might be back, might well be back, from
his riding out. They would talk, sitting comfortably by the fire.
This was homecoming, he said to himself, a homecoming such as
ordinary Men felt, a touch of things remembered and familiar
after days of difficulty and strange faces and cold fingers and
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toes, of chancy food and watching sharply the movements of men
he did not know.
They rode through the streets to the easy greetings of craftsmen,
with the tolling of the bell at the gate to advise all the town and
the height of the hill that the lord of Amefel had come back.
They had come back with far fewer Ivanim than before, it might
be, but home safe and sound, all the same, and likely to the
gossip and interest of every townsmen that beheld them and the
banners.
Where are the Ivanim? they might ask among themselves, and,
Was there fighting? But they would see no signs of battle about
them, and they would ask until the answer flowed downhill from
those in a position to know.
Best of all was Uwen waiting in the stable-court when they had
come in under the portcullis of the West Gate& to do no more
than change horses in Cevulirn_s case, as Cevulirn had purposed
to ride on even tonight. Master Haman would provide the lord of
the Ivanim with horses, and Cevulirn would take a small, reliable
escort of the best of the Guelen Guard as far as his hall in the
south, at Toj Embrel.
So Tristen ordered.
_He_s left his own men at the river with Anwyll,_ he added,
speaking to Uwen on the matter. _He_ll camp on the road, and we
can surely provide him all he needs going home._
_Aye, m_lord,_ was Uwen_s response to the request, and he
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rattled off names and sent a boy smartly after horses. Just as
quickly he sent a soldier after the men he wanted for the escort,
naming them by name almost in one breath.
So the yard broke into great and cheerful confusion, Haman_s
lads bringing out horses and gear, and assisting Lord Cevulirn,
who saw to his own pair of grays, and who had precise requests
for their feeding and watering, for he would take them on home
with him, never parted from those horses.
But Uwen said, to Tristen alone and with a grim face, _M_lord, I
ain_t done well, I suspect. His Reverence took off, an_ I couldn_t
stop _im._
_Left?_ Tristen asked in dismay. _His Reverence left
Henas_amef? For Guelessar?_
_The hour you had the town at your back,_ was Uwen_s answer.
_He ain_t no great rider, but I give him one of the men to see to
_im. I didn_t know what else to do._
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chapter 5
«
^
»
Efanor_s letter had gone out. No answer as yet had had time to
come back. There was only, for Cefwyn, the mingled dread of
Efanor_s game and the delicious thought of Ryssand_s
consternation_since Efanor had written in the same letter that he
meant to announce the engagement at some unspecified time,
unprecedented breach of mourning for the Lady Artisane, and
worse, far worse for the lady_s reputation, if a royal match once
announced were for any reason mysteriously broken off. Dared
one suspect the lady_s virtue? Artisane had escaped Ninévrisë_s
banishment by her immediate flight into mourning, and now
dared she cast herself back into the affairs of the court, and
expect immunity? Ryssand had a great deal to worry about.
He knew, and Efanor knew, that the betrothal Efanor pretended
to accept would be lengthy in arrangement, fragile in character,
and consummated in marriage only, only in the successful
conclusion of the Elwynim war and in a moment of advantage:
Cefwyn was still unconvinced that the house of the Marhanens
could or should weave itself into Ryssand_s serpentine coils.
And if the news of a royal betrothal should get abroad, it might
somewhat steal the fire from Luriel_s highly visible betrothal and
hasty Midwinter marriage& that also would be regrettable if it
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happened. But if it set the formidable Luriel at Artisane_s throat,
so much the better.
That Lord Murandys wished audience with His Majesty in light
of all this was no surprise at all, since the spies that lurked thick
as icicles on the eaves had surely noticed this uncommon
exchange of messages from both sides and might even have
gotten wind of the content. Luriel_s uncle Murandys danced
uncertainly these days between the hope of his own advantage in
Luriel_s sudden amity with the Royal Consort and the king, on
the one hand& and the more workaday hope of maintaining an
alliance much as it had been with his old ally Ryssand. Ryssand
was generally the planner and the schemer, having the keener wit
by far& and Prichwarrin, who was not quite that clever, must
feel very much on his own these days, very much prey to others_
gossip and vulnerable to the schemes of all those he had
offended, a list so long he might not even remember all the
possible offenses.
Now to have any exchange in progress between the royal house
and Ryssand in which he was not a participant must necessarily
make him very, very anxious.
To be refused audience with the king must make him even more
so. In fact, Prichwarrin must be fairly frothing in his uninformed
isolation.
But Cefwyn was not at all sorry. He stood at the frosty, half-
fogged window nearest his desk in a rare moment of tranquillity,
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a silence in his day, in fact, which his rejection of Prichwarrin_s
approach had gained him. He contemplated with somewhat more
equanimity the general audience in the offing& there were
judicial cases, among others waiting his attention, one appeal for
royal clemency, which he was in a mood to extend: he_d spared
greater thieves and worse blackguards than some serving-maid
who_d stolen a few measures of flour.
Mostly, in this stolen moment of privacy, he watched the pigeons
on the adjacent ledge.
Dared he think they were Tristen_s few spies, remaining in
Guelessar? Most of the offending birds had gone, miraculously,
the very day Tristen left, and the Quinalt steps were sadly pure.
He wished the birds back again, with their master, and wished
with all the force of a man whose wishes only came true when
Tristen willed it& useful talent, that.
No Emuin, no Tristen. His life was far easier without them
drawing the lightning down, literally, on the rooftops. But it was
far lonelier. He deluded himself that he had time on his hands,
even that he could find the time to take to riding again, with
Tristen, with Idrys& oh, not to hunt the deer: Tristen would be
appalled. No, they would ride out simply to see the winter and to
hear what Tristen would say of it, how he would wonder at things
Men simply failed to look at, past their childhoods.
But, oh, how precious those things were! To look at the sky,
breathe the cold wind, have fingers nipped by chill and skin
stung red and heart stirred to life, gods, he had been dead until
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Tristen arrived and asked him the first vexing question, and
posed him the first insoluble puzzle, and marveled at hailstones
and mourned over falling leaves. What miracles there were all
around, when Tristen was beside him& and damn Ryssand! that
he had had no choice.
He had Tristen_s letter. Gods damn Ryssand, gods bless Tristen,
he had good news out of Amefel& and Ryssand dared make only
small and cautious moves, a man on precarious ground.
Likewise precarious, atop the snowy roofing slates on a pitch the
height of four ordinary houses, small, dogged figures had heaved
up ladders across from the royal windows and tied scaffoldings
aslant the steep, icy slope of the Quinalt roof, attempting to mend
the lightning stroke that had assaulted the gods_ home on earth.
Carts moved below, bringing timbers& carts which might well
serve getting supply to the troops, except His Holiness owned
these few, and guarded them jealously.
Odd, how avariciously he had begun to look at such mundane
things. The carts Tristen had still not returned to him might not
come back at all if the weather set in hard, and gods knew what
Tristen thought he was doing with them.
Not moving Parsynan_s belongings back to Guelessar, that was
clear.
But being a resourceful king and understanding that trying to
keep Tristen to a predictable, even a sensible course was like
chasing water uphill, he had found ways, and with carts such as
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he could lay hands on, even those of the minor houses of
Guelemara and the trades, he had moved men in greater numbers
to the river bridges, using his personal guard and the Guelen
Guard, men of Guelessar, not yet calling on the provinces for
their levies.
He was merely setting the stage, putting necessary elements in
place& keeping a watch on the river the while.
The weather had been surprisingly good, clouds dark to the west
during the last two days, darkness over Elwynor, and fat gray-
bottomed clouds speeding for the second frantic day across the
skies of Guelessar, failing to drop snow or even to shade the sun.
The whole season had been warmer than usual& and late as it
was, and despite a few evening and morning snowfalls, winter
had not set in hard this side of the river. He, who had learned to
count wizards among the possible causes, looked at the situation
in the west and wondered how much of the good weather was
natural.
It was natural, however, that unseasonable warmth, otherwise
pleasant, produced its own miseries& for blight had entered a set
of granaries in Nelefreissan, royal stores he had planned for
support of the army. Mice were fat and prosperous, mites
afflicted the mews and the poultry yard alike, fleas had become
the kennelmaster_s bane and, worst of all, had spread to the
barracks, where they were execrated but not exorcised&
remedies of burning sulfur and priests_ blessings had done far
less for the men_s relief than a wizard might have done, Cefwyn
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was sure of it, and he perversely hoped that fleas afflicted all the
pious, good Quinaltines who had contributed to Tristen_s and
Emuin_s exile this winter.
If Emuin were here, there would not be fleas, and he had
remarked that to the clerks and officers, failing to add, if Tristen
were here, since wizardry in Emuin was faintly respectable, but
wizardry in Tristen reminded everyone why Tristen and Emuin
were not here this winter.
Meanwhile Annas, scandalized and fearing the spread of the
vermin, drove the household harder than their habit, and wanted
afflicted premises scrubbed to the walls.
Mixed blessings indeed. No one had seen such a mild winter,
wherein stores of wood were far in excess of current need and ice
stayed off the small ponds, to farmers_ relief: no need to go out
with axes to enable livestock to drink and no need yet to keep
cattle close in byres. Autumn had stayed late, and later. There
remained the chance, still, of the howling gray blast that would
freeze all in a night and obscure the sun for days, but it had not
happened yet& leaving them just snow enough to drive the
vermin indoors, and the damned fleas with them, such was his
own theory& not mentioning the notion of hostile wizardry and
ill wishes from across the river, without a wizard left this side of
the river.
Damned defenseless, Ryssand_s quarrel had left them, and not
alone to the fleas. If there was worse than vermin, if those
scudding clouds heralded some wizardous storm in the making,
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they might well regret the actions that had sent all the wizards
south.
All but one. Ninévrisë had the wizard-gift. He had neglected her
in his reckoning. Perhaps, he thought with a wry laugh, perhaps
he should appeal to his bride to attempt the banishment of mice.
Perhaps the court might forgive her her small flaw, for that
benefit.
But it was not a matter for jest, the small gift she had, and that he
knew she had. More, and far more serious a matter, all the
officers who had come back from Lewenbrook knew there was
wizardry in the house of Syrillas and that it had not failed in the
daughter. But Quinalt roof slates, mice, and fleas and all be
damned, he was not about to prompt them to gossip it to the
Quinaltine, who doubtless had heard already.
All the veterans, therefore, kept their counsel, even in the taverns
seldom admitting there had been manifestations at Lewenbrook
and since, oh, nothing of the sort. One would have thought they
had fought on some other field, to hear how it was this company
or that which had driven back the enemy and cast their ranks in
confusion.
Pigeons now battled for narrow space on the ledge, buffeted one
another with gray wings. The losers wheeled away and lit in
another patch of snow, unruly, disrespectful of each other, now
their master was in exile.
So much odd had happened in those days the living witnesses
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knew not who had been responsible, or even what they had seen.
The apparitions of dead men, the strange lights, the darkness by
day& memories of that day shifted and changed like oil on
water, so that none of them who had been there quite
remembered all of it& nor truly wished to. Men pushed and
shoved one another for position, but none of them acknowledged
the battles of wizards.
He gave a small shiver, finding his hand chilled to ice by the
glass. He drew back his fingers, folded them into a fist to warm
them, finding his memories not so pleasant after all. For the
pigeons, the silly, gray-coated pigeons, he was tempted to send
for bread and take them under royal patronage for Tristen_s sake,
never mind what the court would say. It would be simple
kindness to poor, dumb things.
But gossip& gossip would pick it up, saying the damned birds
were messengers, wizardous in behavior, suspecting them of
eavesdropping, gods knew. He could not harbor pigeons without
the town imagining darkest sorcery.
In fact, as of yesterday and Efanor_s message, he had emerged
from the haze of recent matrimony and the confusion of
Ryssand_s attempt to prevent it, suddenly to realize he and
Ninévrisë were whole, but that very dangerous things had
happened around them& to realize, too, that those they relied on,
like Idrys, had only been marking time, waiting for them to face
the world at large and realize how few their numbers had grown
to be.
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So they did, now missing the absent faces, the voices, the counsel
of those who should have shared their new life. Gaining each
other, gaining a union that should make all the world the richer,
they had lost what they most treasured, and might never see the
court come back to what it had been. The reports he had out of
Amefel spoke alarmingly of rebellion crushed and decisive
actions taken& all well within Tristen_s ability, if they
challenged him.
But that side of him was dire and frightening: it had shown itself
at Emwy, and at Lewenbrook, not the gentle mooncalf, his
defender of pigeons and his friend who marveled at a sunbeam&
but the soldier, the revenant, whose martial skill spoke of another
life, one long, long past.
Parsynan was at someone_s ear, up in Ryssand, but he had passed
through the midlands to get there. The Quinalt consequently was
busy as the kennel fleas, at this lord_s ear and at that one_s,
complaining of wizardry and heresy on the borders, of a populace
that hailed Tristen their Lord Sihhë and raised forbidden
emblems.
Silence it, he had said to the Patriarch yesterday, with no patience
whatever. I need Amefel steady and peaceful, and however
Tristen obtains it, well and good.
That last he had found himself adding as if he had to justify his
order, as if some value for Tristen should make a difference to
the Holy Father.
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He wished peevishly he had not been so weak as to add that
argument, wished that he had his grandfather_s gift for stopping
argument short of justifying himself.
If he were his grandfather he would have said, _The king_s friend
is the king_s friend and whoever slights him will have me for an
enemy. Damn the lot of you anyway._
Tristen_s message, precious as it was, had stated in amazingly
few words the overturn of all he had arranged in Amefel. He had
feared Tristen might prove such a sparse letter writer. Master
Emuin had his tower back. A lord of ancient lineage had suffered
exile.
Tristen had exiled an Amefin earl. The lamb had assaulted the
lion.
And let the rest of them, from Henas_amef to Lanfarnesse,
beware their sedition and their scheming, these rebel southrons
who had never yet been willing to recognize a Marhanen king.
With that gray-glass stare and a question or two, Tristen could
assail their very souls, snare them, entrap them in a spell of liking
that had no cure& he could attest to that, for he missed sorely the
man who had done all this to him.
He had sent his own messenger to Tristen, and another to
Cevulirn, asking after their health, professing his gratitude&
asking after his carts, in Tristen_s case, and hinting at a readiness
to march in Cevulirn_s. He had a province of Amefel rescued
from rebellion due to Tristen_s quick action; he had the Amefin
people cheering his choice and not throwing rocks at his troops,
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which was also worth gratitude& if it were only a little less
fraught with rebel Bryaltine sentiment for vanished kings.
All these things he had said, in letters to his two dearest friends,
and realized thus far, muddleheaded with courtship and marriage,
he had been very fortunate until this day simply to have had no
disasters.
And as for Tristen, Tristen, whom wizard-work had raised or
Shaped or whatever wizards minced up for words& there was no
safer place to put him. Mauryl Kingmaker had sent them a gift
thus double-edged, a soul who might be Barrakkęth incarnate.
And the Elwynim had long prophesied their King To Come,
thinking some surviving one of halfling Elfwyn_s sons might
creep out of the bushes and byways to proclaim his thread of
Sihhë blood and claim the crown of the old High Kings.
It was, after all, safest that he had himself fulfilled all the
prophecies he could lay hands on, naming Tristen lord not only
of Ynefel, to which he most probably had right, but to Althalen,
and to heretic Amefel, where they might proclaim him lord of
most anything in relative quiet. The Teranthines could embrace
such heresy. He& even& could bear with a neighboring king,
even a High King, did Tristen somehow stray into power.
Dared he, however, could he, should he& ever mention such
thoughts to a bride he hoped would remain on this side of the
river, in his realm, a peaceful, not a reigning, wife? Among all
the preparations he had laid, the moving of troops, the
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marshaling of aid in council, the hammering-out of titles to
bestow on Ninévrisë Syrillas, and this cursed business of priests,
sodden or sober& dared he even think the thoughts when he had
a bride so gifted as Tristen hinted she was, who might pluck his
guilty imaginings out of the very air? He was a king. It was his
fate, his duty, to make as much as he could favorable to himself,
and therefore to his people.
Pigeons flew up of a sudden, battering each other with their
wings at a movement, a sound. The door had opened, and a
messenger had come in, and two of his ordinary guards, and
Ninévrisë, she& white and frightened, carrying her skirts as if
she had been running, all this in a trailing attendance of two
anxious maids, Cleisynde and Odrinian, both Murandys_ kin. The
man in a Guelen Guard_s colors was still mud-flecked from a
hard ride, had wiped smears of it across his freckled young face,
and looked exhausted and dazed.
_Your Majesty,_ the young man had gotten out, before Idrys, too,
arrived with his own aide in close attendance, and the young man
looked around to see.
Disaster, and he and Ninévrisë alike could guess from what
source. This young officer had come from downstairs, from the
stable-court, from the road, from hard riding, and he was Lord
Maudyn_s man, a messenger from his commander at the river.
_Your Majesty,_ the courier said in a breath, _Ilefínian has
fallen._
Cleisynde was first at Ninévrisë_s elbow, of all the women, the
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cousins from Murandys, who poised their cupped hands under
Ninévrisë_s arms, awaiting a fall, an outburst.
There was none. There were not even tears, only the evident pain.
Not an unexpected blow, Cefwyn thought, nor was it; but, black
weather over there notwithstanding, Tasmôrden had carried the
siege to the end, meaning the death of Ninévrisë_s loyal folk in
the capital, her childhood friends, her supporters, her kin,
cousins, remote to the least degree, all, all doomed and done in a
stroke.
And yet she stood pale and composed, a queen in dignity and in
sharp sense of the immediate needs. _When and how?_ she asked
the messenger.
_My lord had no word yet,_ the man said anxiously, certainly
knowing who Ninévrisë might be, but still caught, damn him, in
a gap of stiff Guelen protocol that turned the messenger to him.
_Your Majesty, I took horse as soon as the fires were lit. My
Lord Maudyn will send to you with each new report he receives,
but at the time I left, we knew nothing but the signal fires._
It was tormenting news, disaster, and yet nothing of substance to
grasp, no word whether the town was afire or whether there was
an arranged surrender, or what the fate of the defenders and the
nobles there might be.
_Rest for the messenger,_ Cefwyn said. He had his standard of
what ought to be provided for men and horses that bore the
king_s messages, and his pages knew what to do for any such
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man. _Fetch Annas._
_Your Majesty,_ it was, and: _Yes, Your Majesty._ and all the
world near him moved to comply; but nothing in his power could
provide his lady better news, and what use then was it, but the
ordering of armies that could bring her no better result?
_We knew it would come,_ was all he found to say to her, with a
stone weighing in the pit of his own stomach.
_We knew it would come,_ she agreed, and turned and quietly
dismissed her maids on her own authority. _See to the messenger
yourselves,_ she bade them, _in my name. And tell Dame
Margolis._
In tell Dame Margolis was every order that needed be made in
Ninévrisë_s court& as fetch Annas summed up all his staff could
do. The news would make the transit to the court at large, the
comfort of courtiers and true servants would wrap them about
with such sympathy as courtiers and lifelong servants could
offer. At least the gossip that spread would have the solid heart of
truth with those two in charge of dispersing it.
But the Regent of Elwynor would stand as straight and strong as
the king of Ylesuin stood, and not be coddled or kissed on the
brow by her husband, even before the Lord Commander.
_Is that all we know?_ Cefwyn asked of Idrys as the door shut
and by the maids_ departure left them a more warlike, more
forceful assembly.
_Unhappily, no more than the man told,_ Idrys said, _but more
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information is already on the road here, I_m well certain we can
rely on Lord Maudyn for that. There_s some comfort in what the
message didn_t say: no force near the river, no signal of wider
war coming on us. The weather_s been hard, by reports. Nothing
will move down those roads to the bridges._
_Thank the gods Amefel isn_t in revolt at the moment,_ Cefwyn
said. _Well-done of Tristen. Well-done, at least on that frontier._
There was now urgent need, however, to move troops west, to the
river, in greater numbers, and the transport was stalled in Amefel.
And to Amefel, the thought came to him, the fugitives of
Ilefínian were very likely to come, unsettling that province and
appealing to the softest heart and most generous hand in his
kingdom for shelter and help. That, too, was Tristen_s nature, and
it was damned dangerous& almost as sure as a rebellion for
drawing trouble into the province that was Ylesuin_s most
vulnerable and volatile border with Elwynor.
_We_ll have no choice but wait for more news,_ Cefwyn said.
_But we will move the three reserve units into position at the
river._ With a scarcity of carts and drivers, the vast weight of
canvas necessary for a winter camp was going to move very
much slower than he wished, and therefore men who relied on
those tents would not move up to their posts except at the pace of
their few carts.
Damn, he thought, and then, on his recent thoughts and his praise
of Tristen for steadying the province, gave a little, a very little
momentary consideration that where Tristen was, wizardry was,
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too& far more than in the person of Emuin. Nothing untoward
would happen there, that Tristen could prevent.
There followed a very small and more fearful thought that the
hole in the Quinalt roof was not coincidence and the withholding
of those carts was not coincidence, either. He knew it was never
Tristen_s intent to hamper the defense in the north. Tristen might
well have gotten wind of the impending events in Elwynor, too;
but the timing of it all had the queasy feeling of wizard-work, all
of it moving the same direction, a tightening noose of contrary
events.
He knew, for all the affairs of Ylesuin, a moment of panic fear, a
realization that all the impersonal lines on maps and charts were
places, and the people in them were engaged in murdering one
another at this very moment in a mad, guideless slide toward
events he did not wholly govern and which those maps on his
desk yonder no longer adequately predicted.
They were on the slope and sliding toward war, but even who
was on the slope with them was difficult to say.
Difficult to say, too, who had pushed, or whether anyone
remained safe and secure and master of all that had happened
above them. Tristen_s dark master of Marna Wood, this Hasufin
Heltain, this ill-omened ghost, as Tristen described him_devil,
as the Quinalt insisted_was defeated and dispelled at
Lewenbrook, his designs all broken, and he or it was no longer in
question. The banner of Ylesuin had carried that field.
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But Tristen had fought among them up to a point, and then
something had happened which he did not well understand, or
even clearly remember to this day. Darkness had shadowed the
field, an eclipse of the light, night amid day; and so the sun
sometimes was shadowed, and so wizards could predict it to the
hour and day.
But had something been in that darkness? It seemed that the heart
of the threat had been not the rebel Aseyneddin, but Hasufin
Heltain, and when Hasufin retreated and Tristen cast some sort of
wizardry against him, then Aseyneddin had fallen and that war
had ended, the darkness had lifted, and all the forces of the
Elwynim rebel Aseyneddin had proved broken and scattered in
the darkness. Light had come back on a ground covered with
dead, many of them with no mark at all.
A man who had fought at Lewenbrook had a good many strange
things to account for, and memories even of men in charge of the
field did not entirely agree, not even for such simple things as
how they had turned Aseyneddin_s force or ended up in the part
of the field where they had seen the light break through. They
could only say that in the dark and the confusion they had driven
farther than they thought and won more than they expected.
Yet&
Yet none of it seemed quite stable, as if they had not quite
deserved their good fortune and did not understand how they had
gotten there.
They had won, had they not? Yet here he stood with a bereaved
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wife and no less than Idrys saying there was little they could do.
And if someone pushed them over the precipice toward another
conflict, with lightning striking the roof and Tristen driven in
apparent retreat& still, they had won the last encounter.
Had they not?
And would they not win against whatever lesser wizard
Tasmôrden dragged out of the bushes?
Would they not?
Damn the Quinalt, whose fear of wizardry gave him no better
advice than to avoid magic& when the whole of the Quinaltine
combined could do nothing of the sort Tristen had done on that
field, and nothing of the sort Tristen could do again.
And damn the Quinalt twice: they had sent Tristen to Amefel,
even if it was his good design, and done only in time to avert the
whole province rising up in arms.
Was that not good fortune& save his carts, which the weather
would not let them take across the bridges anyway?
So here they were& committed, and before the winter forced the
siege to a fruitless end; and before any white miracle of the gods
could intervene to save Ninévrisë_s capital. It was not contrary to
their unhappy predictions, at least& none of them had held out
infallible hope.
He sent Idrys and Annas away with orders. And only when they
stood alone did Ninévrisë allow tears to fall, and only a few of
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them.
_He will not hold it,_ was all he could say to her. At least without
witnesses he could gather the Regent of Elwynor in his arms and
hold her close against his heart.
_I have never wished I had wizardry,_ Ninévrisë said, hands
clenched on his sleeves. _Until now. Now I wish it, oh, gods, I
wish it!_
_Don_t,_ he said, frightened, for she knew what she wished for,
and the cost of what she wished, and reached after it as a man
might grasp after a sword within his reach& very much within
his reach; and no swordmaster, no Emuin, no Tristen to restrain
her. He touched her face, fingers trembling with what he knew,
he, a Man and only a man, and having no such gift himself. He
took her fine-boned fist and tried to gain her attention. _Don_t. I
know you can. I believe you can. You can go where I can_t
follow, and do what I can_t undo, being your father_s daughter. I
know. I know what you do have, I_ve never been deceived, and if
Emuin were here& gods, if Tristen were here, he_d tell you to be
careful what you wish._
She gazed at him, truly at him, as if she had heard Tristen say it
himself, in just those words. Then she grew calmer in his arms.
She reached up and laid fingers on his lips, as if asking silence,
peace, patience. The tears had spilled and left their traces on her
cheeks in the white, snowy light from the window, and all the
world seemed to hold a painful breath.
_I love you,_ she said. _I_ll love you, forever and always. That
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says all._
_It will always say all. And they won_t win, Nevris. They won_t
win._
_But oh, my friends, all my friends& my family& my home and
my people&_
_I know._ He set his arms about her, let her rest her head against
his shoulder, and she heaved a great, heartbroken sigh with a
little shudder after. _Gods save them. We_ll go. We_ll take the
town. We_ll have justice._
If he had gone to Elwynor in pursuit of Tasmôrden at summer_s
end, if he had not insisted on dealing with his own court, his
father_s court, and all the old men, believing he would have
loyalty from men who had hoped he would never be king.
Folly, he could say now: the might of Ylesuin had been readier
then than it was now, if he had only taken the south on to a new
phase of the war, and damned the opinions of the old men who
supported the throne in the north. If even two or three of the
midlands barons had come behind him and gathered themselves
for war along with the southern lords, they might have crossed
the river, carried through to the capital& he had had Tristen with
him, for the gods_ sakes.
But what had he done with Tristen_s help? Set it aside. Tried to
silence him for fear of his setting northern noses out of joint.
Kept him out of view instead of using his help. And not
demanded Emuin come down out of his tower and forewarn him.
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He had delayed for deliberations with men he had thought
reliable and necessary and respected their arguments and their
long service to his father, telling himself that their opposition to
him had ended when he took the crown. Well now he had the
consequence of it.
Yet crossing the river thus and relying on Tristen_s help with
Althalen_s black banners flying would have offended the north,
scandalized the Quinalt, alienated the commons, and that might
have led to disaster and weakened Ylesuin, on whose stability all
hope of peace rested& there was that truth. There was that.
Yet what might he have made of Ylesuin if he had not stopped at
Lewenbrook and not forbidden magic and never come home to
Guelemara until he had come as High King and husband of
Elwynor?
What might he and Ninévrisë have become with the strength he
had had in his hands in those few days? Everything he had done,
he had done to get a legal, sanctified, recognized wedding that
would secure an unquestioned succession, sworn to by the
Quinalt and legally incontestable.
And, doing that, he had given Ninévrisë no way to win him and
his aid except to cross every hurdle he set her. What else was she
to do, having no army, having nothing but a promised alliance
with him on condition of their marriage?
He owed her better, he thought, holding her close and cherished
within his arms. Damn Tasmôrden and damn Ryssand and his
allies, and damn his own mistaken trust in his own barons, but he
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owed her far, far better than this.
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Chapter 6
«
^
»
The baskets had disappeared from master Emuin_s stairs long
since_Tassand_s managing_and Tristen left his guard below as
he climbed up and up the spiral stairway on this day after his
arrival home.
A door opened above before he could reach it, letting out not
daylight this time, but warmth and candle glow, and a rapidly
moving boy& who had not expected to see him there, face on a
level with his feet. Paisi came to an abrupt halt and tried to make
himself very small against the wall of the landing.
_M_lor_,_ Paisi whispered, as Tristen climbed up to stand there,
far taller than Paisi.
_Paisi,_ Tristen said. _I trust master Emuin is in._
_Oh, that _e is, m_lor_, an_ _is servant sent me after wood an_ salt,
which I_m doin_, m_lor_, fast as I can._
_Other servants from the yard will carry the wood up for you,
understand. You have only to ask them. The salt you must
manage. Cook_s staff will not come up these steps. They
complain of ghosts._
_Yes, m_lor_._ A deep, deep bow, and a wide-eyed, fearful stare.
_Yes, m_lor_, an_ I will, m_lor_._
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_Emuin won_t harm you._
Paisi seemed to have lost all powers of speech. He had only
added a good coat to his ragged shirt and worn boots to his bare
feet; but he had had a bath, despite his uncombed and undipped
look.
_Didn_t I send you to the guard and to Tassand,_ Tristen asked on
that sharper look in the imperfect light, _and is this the dress they
gave you?_
_I been i_ the market, m_lor_, an_ beggin_ Your Grace_s pardon,
listenin_ as ye said, so I kep_ the clothes, as they_d point at me if I
was in a fine new coat._
There was a small disturbance of the gray space, a gifted boy
trying to become invisible, as, in those clothes, he looked very
much the boy he had always been& except a fine new coat.
_Go, do what he asks,_ Tristen said, not willing to deny master
Emuin_s instructions, whatever they might be, and not willing to
plumb the convolutions of Paisi_s reasons this morning. He had
far more serious matters to deal with.
Paisi ran past him, and Tristen stepped up into the doorway of a
tower room in far better order than last he had seen it.
_Good morning,_ Emuin said from the hearthside. Emuin sat on a
low stool, stirring a pot and not looking at him, but the faint
touch of wit was there, in the gray space, and it was the same as a
glance. Tristen took it so.
_So Cevulirn is riding south,_ Emuin said, _leaving his guard at
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the river, and you have made your agreements for Bryn, for the
raising of a wall, and for the settling of a band of fugitives at the
old ruins._
_To Cefwyn_s good. Do you say otherwise?_
_Not I,_ Emuin said. _No._
It was always the same reply, whether a refusal or a denial of
objection always unclear. Emuin never rose quite as far as
agreeing with his choices, and this refusal to contradict him was
as halfhearted.
_I have ordered the watch fires ready,_ Tristen said, coming to
stand over the old wizard. _Which is a great hardship on the men
that keep them. Consequently I wish all bad weather north of the
river. I could reach Cevulirn otherwise, but it seemed better to
use the fires, and to extend them to the view of Lanfarnesse,
Olmern, and Imor._
Emuin nodded.
_Was that wrong?_ Tristen asked. _Is it wrong?_
Emuin gave a shrug and never abated his stirring. Whether it was
a spell or breakfast was unclear by the pot_s sluggish white
bubbling. It smelled like porridge.
_I_m sure I don_t weep for Tasmôrden_s discomfort,_ Emuin said.
_It_s no concern of mine, and none of my doing._
He could lose his temper entirely at this resumed silence. Almost.
But Mauryl had taught him patience above all things, and he
gathered it up in both hands.
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_Porridge?_ he asked, a tactical change of subject.
_Barley soup._
_How does the boy do?_
_He_s a scoundrel,_ Emuin said, _but deft. He won_t steal from
me. As for why you_ve come_you wished His Reverence in
Guelessar, as I recall. So to Guelessar he_s gone._
A shot from the flank. It was not entirely why he had come, but
he knew he was in the wrong, and badly mistaken in the way he
had dealt with the man. _Uwen couldn_t stop him._
_Short of your man arresting him or sitting on him, I doubt Uwen
could have done anything to prevent him. What a cleric will, that
he will, and a duke_s authority through his man or otherwise
can_t stop him& short of lopping his head, that is, and that
creates such ill will among the clergy._
_I_ve written to Cefwyn,_ he said meekly.
_Good. You should._
_And to Idrys, more plainly._
_Regarding?_
_Ilefínian._
_That&_
_Ninévrisë_s people are dying, sir! Don_t you know that? That_s
why I came._
Emuin looked at him from under his brows. _I say that because it
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was foredoomed to happen._So, perhaps, was your settlement at
Althalen. Oh, yes& that matter, while we_re at it._
_You might have advised me._
_Advised you, advised you& were you ignorant what Althalen
means, and what it signifies to have that site of all sites tenanted
again?_
He drew a deep breath. No, he could not say he was ignorant of
that.
_Were you unaware?_
_No, sir. But there was nowhere else I knew to put them. Here
wasn_t safe._
_In that, you may be right._
_Am I wrong, sir?_
_Wrong? I think it must have been fated, from the hour Cefwyn,
the silly lad, handed you its banner and his friendship. What
more could he think?_
_Have I done wrong, sir?n
_I don_t think right and wrong figure here. If Althalen was
foredoomed to fall and foredoomed to rise, damned little he or I
could do about it._
_And I, sir?_
_At least this manner of rebirth does no harm to him._
From the edge of the water to very, very deep waters indeed, and
shattering accusations.
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_I am his friend, sir!_ Tristen dropped to a bench near the fire,
rested his elbows on his knees, and met the old man face-to-face,
seeking one level, honest look from him. _Look at me, master
Emuin! Have I given anyone any reason to think otherwise?
Have I ever given you or Cefwyn any reason to think otherwise
of me?_
_This boy you found,_ said Emuin, shifting the tide of question
again onto a former shore, _this boy who_s provoked His
Reverence to disastrous measures and brought us all manner of
trouble also happens to inform me of various things. A
wisewoman, one of the grandmothers, has mothered young Paisi
since he was left as a babe at her door. I_m fairly sure there_s the
old blood in him, which doubtless frightened his unfortunate
mother into abandonment. That, or she had the Sight herself and
saw him tangled with your fate._
_I wasn_t here yet! Mauryl hadn_t Summoned me._
_All the same._
_Why? Why should anyone fear me?_
_Why should anyone fear you? What do you think? And
considering the small matter of His Reverence, tell me what you
think he_s apt to do._
_Spread trouble in Guelessar._
_Is it absolution you want or a better answer?_
_What shall I do about it?_
_Why did you bring Paisi out of gaol? Why was it important to
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find him?_
Wizards. Like Mauryl, Emuin shifted the ground under his feet
and answered questions with questions on an utterly different
matter: aim at him, and the shot came back double& and with
terrible, dreadful surmises.
He mustered his wits to answer that question, as levelly and
patiently and completely as he could: no lies, no evasions with
master Emuin& to lead his guide to wrong conclusions served
no good at all.
_He was my first guide when I came from Mauryl to
Henas_amef. Paisi was. Should I leave him free, sir, counting all
you_ve taught me of wizardry, to fall to other influences?
Something moved him to bring me to the right place on the right
night. As it moved me to settle the fugitives at Althalen._
_A question, is that? Should you have heeded Paisi in the first
place?_
_Do you think Mauryl sent him to guide me? Was it his doing?_
_Think you so?_ Emuin asked him.
_Who else might?_ The impatience in him scarcely restrained his
hands from clenching into fists. He wished to leap up and move,
tear himself from this uncomfortable confrontation he had
provoked.
But he had not sat learning of wizards for no gain. Listening and
trying to answer Emuin_s questions was the best course, the only
course that would ever bring him an answer.
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And it was so, that Mauryl, lost with Ynefel, had reached far,
very far with his spells. At one time it had seemed perfectly clear
that Hasufin Heltain was the cause of Emuin_s fear. But Hasufin
was gone now, was he not?
And yet Emuin seemed more afraid than before.
_Who indeed else would have sent the boy?_ Emuin said. _Since
no one but Mauryl knew the why and wherefore._
_Might Mauryl_s wishes for me,_ he asked, _have entered into
some other pattern, one of, say, someone else_s making?_
_Troubling thought,_ Emuin said faintly, rapping the soup-coated
spoon clear on the rim of the pot. _There are so many choices._
_You._
_Not to my knowledge. I assure you I had never besought the
gods for another student._
_The enemy& Hasufin._
_A remote chance,_ Emuin said, and plunged the spoon back into
the pot. He swung the pot off the fire.
_But you think not._
_I think not._
_Paisi himself guided the meeting?_
_Possible, too, remoter still though it be._
Remote, yes. So he had thought. _Someone should care for the
boy,_ Tristen said, attempting a diversion of his own, from an
area he did not now want to discuss. _And you lacked a boy. You
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need a good pair of legs, and he needs a Place, or something else
may indeed find him. I think I was right in that._
_A gift, now drawn into our web. What more?_
_A very little of the gift, I think._
_Has the calamity of his presence been little? His Reverence sped
to Guelessar? And now this boy in my care? Doubly dangerous
to be poking and prying around a wizard_s pots with gifted
fingers. I had trouble enough with the brothers from Anwyfar,
and them scared witless. A gift is not to judge by its surface or its
apparent depth. By the waters that churn around him, mark me,
this boy is dangerous._
_He may be,_ Tristen said, _but that means he_s dangerous to be
wandering free, too, and moiling other waters._
_Perhaps._
_He needs a Place, does he not? Is he not more dangerous
without a Place?_
_And so you lend him this one, gods save me. He_ll go through
clothes, he_ll eat like a troop of the Guard, and his feet will grow.
I do not cook, mind you! Nothing except my own meals._
It comforted him, that Emuin did not seem as set against Paisi as
he had feared, and within the mundane complaints he heard
nothing so grievous as their prior discussion. _All that he needs
the Zeide has for the asking. And he can cook for you._ Another
shift of direction. _He_s running your errands, so I think, to the
market, yours as well as mine._
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_I sent him after turnips yesterday._
_Turnips. Is there some flaw in Cook_s turnips?_
_You_re such a troublesome young man!_
_I fear I_ve become so,_ he said sadly. He envied Paisi, to do no
more than run a wizard_s errands, and to learn the ways of bird
nests, and all such things as had passed his reach. Another boy
belonged to Emuin. He did not. He had become something else,
as Cefwyn had passed through Emuin_s hands and become
something else. A severance had occurred without his seeing it
coming.
But he had learned Emuin_s greater lessons: patience, and
examination of himself. And what had he interrupted Emuin
saying to him: something about turnips and the marketplace?
_Taking in thieves,_ Emuin muttered. _Conversing with exiles&_
_Cevulirn came north to discuss Cefwyn_s affairs with me,_
Tristen said sharply, _and something very powerful wished to
prevent him. I_m all but sure it wasn_t Auld Syes who raised that
storm. Tell me again and tell me true: was it you?_
Emuin_s brows lifted in mild wonder, and Emuin did look at him
eye-to-eye, his gaze for the moment as clear as glass. _No, not I.
Have you another thought?_
_What do you seek in the market?_ Tristen asked in Emuin_s
style: divert, feint, and under the guard.
_Much the same as your questions to the boy, thank you.
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Especially the old women have ears, and the sort of awareness
you and I have. They_re a valuable resource, the witches, the
wisewomen of Amefel. I_ve used them from time to time. Now
you_ve thought of the same resource and asked the right question.
Shall I tell you what I know?_
_Yes, sir. If you please._
_Then look about you: the people have had a rebirth of their
faith. So the Bryaltines say. The old symbols appear openly in
certain alleys, and people wear charms and set them in their
doorways. They hang bells in the wind, so their dimmer ears can
hear what we hear in it. All this affronted the good Quinalt father,
and scandalized our missing sergeant, I_m sure, gods save his
devout soul._ This Emuin said not without sarcasm.
_I suppose I_ve seen it._
_You know you_ve seen it. You_ve not found it remarkable until
I mention it. And in your absence, however brief, the Bryalt
father turns out to have gained two nuns of his order, women
formerly in the service of the Zeide, who two days ago were
prophesying in the street& saying openly that the Sihhë have
risen in Henas_amef and in Amefel. And, do you know, they
prophesied the rewakening of Althalen?_
Tristen was appalled.
_Oh, and this before you came back to say so, perhaps on the
very day you did it. So they have the Sight and have it in good
measure. And on that news, the good father quit the town and
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struck out down the road in mortal offense, behind the captain
and the sergeants who also went to Guelemara. Can you imagine
the meeting at Clusyn?_
The monastery where travelers stayed.
_So you_re building at Althalen,_ Emuin said, _nuns are in the
street foretelling the rise of the Sihhë-lords and the return of the
King To Come, and gods save us all& they saw what you were
doing._
He heard. The words echoed in the air, off the walls of events
past and present. He heard the hammer strokes of men at work on
stone, not uncommon in the Zeide these days; but it echoed work
elsewhere, on a ruined wall; he heard the whisper of the wind at
the eaves, warning of change in the weather: he heard the running
footsteps of a boy on an errand, illusion only, for the boy himself,
desperate and afraid of help as well as harm, was well out of the
vicinity by now, seeking wood and salt, he had said.
_I have not resettled Althalen, not as a name. I settled a handful
of fugitives there, a mere handful of desperate folk wanting
shelter from the snow. There were walls to use, and it_s remote
from the road. Is that wicked of me?_
_And what more do buildings and walls do, young lord, what do
they do more than shelter us from the weather?_
Nothing, was the quick answer; but, no, that was not so, in
wizard-craft, and in his heart he knew it: buildings had wards.
And those ruins had the strongest in all of Amefel, the protection
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of the Lord Regent, Ninévrisë_s father, whose tomb was there.
He had chosen Althalen precisely because of that, and it had
seemed right. Now Emuin chided him on that very matter, and
the whole complexion of his decision shifted.
_They are a Place,_ he said. _Lines on the earth._
_So you have given Place to Elwynim at Althalen. And lo! you
have subjects there, Lord Sihhë. You have subjects who are not
Amefin, not in our king_s gift, not in authority he gave you. And
we have nuns telling visions in the streets. Was this wise?_
He was struck cold and silent, asking himself how things could
have so turned about.
_I have,_ he admitted after a moment, _likewise ordered the wall
restored near Modeyneth. What do you say about that?_ But he
already knew. He had himself rebuilt the ward there, too,
consciously, in defense of Amefel, and never thought of its other
significance, as a ward the Sihhë had laid. He had thought of the
protection the wards afforded the fugitives. He had not thought of
the strength inhabitants gave the wards: Althalen was alive again,
and of his doing.
_Thank the gods,_ said Emuin, _His Reverence left before he
heard this news._
_I sent a message to Cefwyn from Anwyll_s camp. So has
Anwyll, already, once we knew Ilefínian had fallen. The
messenger was to ride straight through, not even stopping here. I
sent another last night, before I slept. The people that escape
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Tasmôrden will flee into Amefel. It_s all they can do. But I can_t
allow the border to be overrun by troops and fugitives, stealing
and slaughtering the villagers. Do justice, Cefwyn told me, and I
swore I would. Is it justice to stand aside and let war come here,
when I could stop it?_
_Justice is a hard word to define. Kings battle over it._
Diversion and regrouping. The ground had become untenable.
_Whose storm was it?_
_ I had no wish to prevent your talking to Cevulirn. I had no
forewarning, and I would never quarrel with Auld Syes._Whose
was the lightning stroke that drove you from Guelessar?_
_I don_t know,_ he confessed. _Was it a wizard? It must be a
powerful wizard who could do that. Could it be Auld Syes?_
_I doubt it. Amefel is her concern, and her Place._
_Yet& conspiracy among the earls, the overthrow of Lord
Parsynan& all these things were happening when the lightning
came down._
_None of which His Majesty knew when he sent you. Lightning
struck the Quinaltine roof, and you found yourself on the road._
_So it was not chance, not the lightning, and not Cefwyn sending
me._
_It was, and it was not. Do you know so little of wizardry, young
lord? No. I forget you need not know a damned thing about
wizardry. You need not learn anything. Things Unfold to you.
Might leaps to your fingertips and all nature bends when you
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stamp your foot._
Emuin was exaggerating, vastly so, but reminding him how little
he had bent himself to Emuin_s art, and how little he knew of it.
_For us mere Men,_ Emuin said in a surly tone, _it_s chance and
not chance that such things happen. Learn this: wizardry loads
the dice, young lord, but they still can roll against the wall.
Surely you know that much. And maybe it_s a flaw in you, that
you need not study, but find it all at your fingertips: gods know
what you can do._
_I wish to learn, master Emuin. I wish to be taught. I_ve asked
nothing more._
_Oh, you_ve asked far more, young lord. You_ve asked much,
much more. But let us walk together down this path of chance
and if and maybe. Let us look at the landmarks and learn to be
wise. If there had been no lightning stroke and you had not come,
and then Amefel had risen& what would have happened?_
_Calamity._
_So. But then what did happen?_
_Crissand_s father and his men took the fortress. And then I took
it._
_And Crissand Adiran survived, but his father did not. Was this
chance, too? The rebels took the fortress. They died. Two events
not necessarily benefiting the same power. Crissand escaped the
slaughter. A third event. You seized Amefel. A fourth._
Not necessarily benefiting the same power.
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_Lad,_ Emuin gazed straight at him. _Lad, are you listening to
what we_re saying?_
_Yes, sir._
_What have I told you?_
_That there may be two powers._
_No. That there may be more than one._
_Yes, sir,_ he said in utter solemnity. _I do hear._
_You are one of those powers,_ Emuin said. _That_s always
worth remembering. Don_t act carelessly. Don_t assume the dice
have only one face. It_s only by considering all the faces that you
can load one of them. That_s wizardry, young lord. That_s why it
means learning, difficult, farseeing learning._
The echoes in the air remained, a brazen, troubling liveliness, as
if all events balanced on a point of time and might go careering
off in any direction without warning.
_I can swear I didn_t raise the storm or conjure Auld Syes,_
Tristen said, grasping at that straw.
_Then reckon at least three with the ability must be involved
here,_ Emuin said, _and four, young sir, for I didn_t raise them,
either._
_Lady Orien?_
_Think you so, lord of Amefel?_
Emuin changed salutations and none of it was without
significance. It was lessons again. It was a signal to him: he was
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not at this moment young lord.
And he gave Emuin as honest answers as he had given to Mauryl,
last spring, in hope ultimately of revelations about himself such
as Mauryl had given him.
_Her dragons lean over me as I write. Lady Orien broke the great
Lines there, in that room in particular, when she opened it and let
in Hasufin. I repaired them as I could. But I never am at ease in
that place._
_Well, well,_ Emuin said, _and well reckoned. Now never after
this say that I failed to advise you. I have advised you. Now and
at last you may have heard what I say, beyond all my
expectations. I have warned you, as best I can._
_And else?_ Tristen asked. _Is Orien all your warning?_Or is it
Hasufin?_
Emuin_s charts lay scattered across the table, charts of great
sweeping lines and writing that teased his eye with recognition,
but that was not the fine round hand Men used nowadays. He
moved one, in Emuin_s silence, and made no sense of the
parchment, the visible sign of studies Emuin pursued and would
not divulge.
_Don_t disarrange my charts, pray. Go raise walls against the
law. Chastise the fool boy you_ve given me. I leave it to you.
Leave me to my ciphering. Gods! Don_t__
He had picked up a chart, almost, and let it down again.
_Don_t disarrange them. I_ve enough troubles._
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_Does the order matter? What do you cipher, sir? Wherein is it
wizards_ business, all these writings? Do you draw Lines also
across the sky and ward the stars, too?_
_None of your concern, young lord! Leave my charts, I say, and
go find that wretched boy wizard you freed from a just and
deserved hanging. He_s probably filched three purses on his way
to the kitchens._
_He_s mine, at least& that he_s in my care. And his listening in
the town is for my sake. And if he helps you, claim duty of him;
but he won_t cease to be mine, master Emuin, unless you ask for
him. Until you give me reasons, I won_t change it._ His converse
with Emuin had skipped from question to question, all around the
things he most wished to know, and grew cryptic and uneasy.
_Why the stars, sir? What can you hope to find? Or to do?_
_Curiosity. A lifelong study. My diversion. All wizards have
such charts._
_Mauryl did. Parchments, papers, everywhere, and all blown
about when the tower fell. I find it curious you have the same
study._
_Mauryl lived centuries. The planets were a passing show to
him._
_And to you, sir?_
_Damn, but we_re full of questions. Question, question, question._
_So Mauryl taught me. So I learn, sir, or try to. I_ve been
respectful and said yes, master Emuin. But you said I should
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study wizardry. You said I should look at all the faces of the
dice._ He understood dismissal, however, in Emuin_s distress and
reticence: Emuin wished him gone, so he rose and crossed the
room and set his hand on the door, with a backward look at the
stone, unplastered chamber, at shelves untidy and groaning under
their load, and a bed at least supplied with new blankets.
More blankets were under the bed, where Paisi had tucked a
pallet, perhaps; it looked to be that, or a repository of Emuin_s
discarded clothes.
_I_m glad you_ve shut the windows,_ he remarked in leaving,
_and I_m glad you_re not alone here._
_Bryaltine nuns,_ Emuin muttered. _The Sihhë star in the
marketplace and hung on pillars, and His Reverence to
Guelessar. Don_t surprise Cefwyn with these things. And in your
writing to Idrys, apart from Cefwyn, make a thorough job of
explaining, lad. Make it very thorough. I_ve no doubt His
Reverence will._
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Chapter 7
«
^
»
The senior clerk came to the ducal apartment at Tristen_s request,
and proudly presented a thick set of papers, figures, great long
lists of carefully penned numbers and tallies. Tristen had found a
keen interest in his resources since his venture out to the river
and back. He had inquired of his clerk what he had at his disposal.
But this was not the answer, at least not in a form that Unfolded
to him. And asking the clerk what the sum of the accounts meant
he could buy produced only confusion, a business of owed and
received and entitled and the seasonal difficulty with contrary
winds in distant Casmyndan, southward.
_Ciphering,_ Uwen said, when the clerk had gone, and added
with a little laugh, _which I don_t know wi_out I count on my
fingers, an_ for large sums I wiggle toes. So I ain_t a help there.
I_d best take mysel_ to the horses an_ the men and leave ye to
your readin_, which ye don_t lack in that stack._
_It_s coins. It all stands, for coins, does it?_
_Coins, m_lord. Aye, I reckon, in a way, it does that._
_Crowns and pennies,_ Tristen said, and drew up that sheet of
common southern paper, one of a score of papers on which long
columns marched in martial order. But not of martial things.
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_Five hundred crowns and seventy pennies of sheep._
__At_s some few sheep,_ Uwen said. _An_ _at there_s why Your
Grace has clerks._
_I have no difficulty with the numbers,_ Tristen said, _only this
business of pennies and pence coming from them._
_Pennies and ha_pennies and small pence,_ Uwen said, in that
quiet, astonished mildness that attended such close, odd
questions, _an_ being as we_re in Amefel, the king_s pence an_ th_
old pence an_ the farthing an_ ha_farthing, an_ the king_s
reckonin_ an_ the old reckonin_. All in the market at the same
time, in Amefel: no small wonder if ye blink at it._
_Show me,_ he said, pushing the papers across the desk, _if you
will. You understand._
_Good gods, I ain_t the one._
_The clerk hasn_t helped. You show me._
Nothing had Unfolded, nothing showed any least promise of
Unfolding to show him the sense in these papers and accounts,
which he had asked for, and he had until the first hour after noon
before he should meet with the earls and give his own report.
Uwen obediently came closer, picked up a paper, and looked at it.
_Here_s fine, fair writin_, but the sense of it_s far above me,
m_lord._
_So are farthings and half farthings above me._ Tristen laid his
finger on a number on a paper that chanced to be in front of him,
that of one fleece. _What_s that to a penny? That one there._
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Uwen craned sideways to look. _That _un I can show ye._
_Here._ He swept aside the papers, and found a fair unwritten
one. But Uwen, disdaining the pen and the clean sheet, sat down
on the other side of the table, emptied out his purse, and showed
him how many coppers made a gold crown, and each five
coppers a king_s penny, and what was a farthing piece, worth a
cup of ale, and why ha_farthings were in the reckoning but left
out of the actual payment because there was no such coin ever
minted in the history of the world.
Ha_farthings, a petty sum, did not pay the bill when he
considered what the cost was to feed and clothe and house the
staff, and then to fit out men-at-arms and build the ruined walls.
And Uwen professed his purse out of coins, and not even one
fleece was accounted for.
_Get those in the cupboard,_ Tristen said, for he knew there were
gold ones there, and silver, and Uwen and he made stacks and
piles in order, until they accounted for a whole flock at once.
After that he could look at his list of sheep and know how much
gold that was, and therefore how many of those sacks that were
in the strong room deep, deep in the heart of the Zeide, where the
strongest guard was mounted.
_Let us go downstairs,_ he said.
_M_lord,_ Uwen protested, _we can_t be stackin_ the bags in th_
countin_ room._
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_I wish to see it,_ he said, _now that I understand this much._
So down they went, the two of them, and the guard that always
attended him, all rattling and clumping down to the main hall and
down and down the stairs that otherwise led to Emuin_s tower,
until they came to the strong room and the guarded door.
To him the strong-room guards, members of the Dragon Guard,
deferred, and unlocked and unbarred the place. The escort as well
took up station outside, and Tristen and Uwen stood amid stacks
and bags of gold, and plate, and cups, and all the service that had
graced Lord Heryn_s table, besides the ducal crown and various
jeweled bracelets and other such.
_Now, them jewels,_ Uwen said, _I hain_t the least idea._
Tristen said nothing, for the sight of all of it seemed at last to
Unfold to him a comprehension of the treasure Lord Heryn had.
He had been down here once before, in his first days here. But
only now, well lit and laid out as it was, he began to know the
extent of it.
_M_lord?_
He drew in a deep breath, more and more troubled by what he
saw.
_This is a very great lot of gold,_ he said.
_That it is._
_Men died for this,_ he said. _Very many men died for this._
_An_ damn cold comfort,_ Uwen said, thrusting his hands into
his belt and letting go a great sigh, __cept as it buys firewood and
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all. An_ don_t ask me why gold should be worth so much, _cept
it_s such as a man can carry the worth of a horse in his purse, an_
damn unlikely he could carry the horse._
He scarcely heard Uwen, except the last, and he gathered up the
threads of it belatedly and gave a small, shaken laugh. _That it is.
But there are too many horses in this room and not enough in the
stable; and too many loaves of bread here and not enough in
Meiden_s villages, aren_t there? That_s what you mean._
_I think it is, m_lord. A box like as we brought from Guelemara,
we_d fill it a lot of times in this room, and that box full up with
gold is enough for two hundred men and horses for half a year.
That_s the ciphering I know._
_Imor and Olmern sell grain for gold._
_Both do, and is likely to be jealous of each other, if ye pardon
me, m_lord. Imor don_t like the Olmernmen, but the Olmernmen
have the boats._
Amefel could do with both grain and boats in its defense, Tristen
thought, and standing in all this wealth of gold, he knew that he
beheld a kind of magic in itself, to summon boats, and feed men.
Gold became grain, and sheep, and well-fed villages. Parsynan
had gathered taxes and put them in this room; so had Heryn, over
years of rule, and aethelings before him had done it since the
time of Barrakkęth and before. Cefwyn, he knew, had taken some
sum of money away, so Cefwyn had said at summer_s end, for
the welfare of the province, and because the king_s tax was due,
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but far more was here than the tax should ever have required, and
what was anyone doing with it?
It was far in excess of what needs he even yet understood, in
flocks, grain, wagons, food, and horses.
The visit to the strong room was in the morning; the afternoon
belonged to the earls, Crissand, Drumman, Azant, Marmaschen,
Durell, and the rest, with some who had come in from the
country, all gathered downstairs in the little hall, over maps
which told their own story& the capital of Elwynor, not far from
the river, fallen now, and the loyal subjects of Her Grace prey to
the rebels under Tasmôrden: red marked the disasters, red of
blood.
_I_ve given Her Grace_s men leave to cross the river,_ Tristen
said to the earls, seated at the end of the table whereon the maps
were spread, heavy books weighting their corners. A stack of
books the clerks had found pertinent in the ravaged archive sat
beside the maps, overwhelming in the sheer volume of what he
did not know. _Captain Anwyll has orders to disarm the armed
men when he finds them and assure them they may trust Amefel
for protection. So we must provide that protection._ By that the
earls might understand he intended them move to a winter
muster, but he added quickly, _The Ivanim are providing that
guard of archers for the days the bridge is open, and Lord
Cevulirn will send more if they find themselves pressed. So may
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others. He_s advising all the southern provinces of the danger.
What we need to do is stand ready to help the troops they may
send with supplies and transport. And in some part of which we
may be able to rely on boats from Olmern. Lord Cevulirn will
request that, too, and Lord Sovrag is our friend._
_The Olmernmen will want pay, all the same,_ said Drumman.
_Let them have Heryn_s gold dinnerplates,_ Tristen said, _if they
value them. I had far rather boats full of grain and enough men to
keep the border._
There were glum looks, then. He did not quite see why.
_Do you think I_m wrong?_ he asked in all honesty.
_Your Grace,_ Azant said, _ I will contribute._
_And I,_ Crissand said, a little ahead of a muttered agreement
from others, men who days ago had been arguing the poverty of
their people.
_Use your resources for your villages. And to help Bryn build its
wall,_ Tristen said, for he had sent word to everyone about his
promises to Bryn: Drumman was here, but his men were already
moving to Bryn_s aid. _I ask of you all the same thing. Amefel
has a treasure-room full of Heryn Aswydd_s gold. I don_t know
the cost of the boats and the grain, but we_ll use that first, build
the defenses in Bryn_s lands, and supply food and shelter to the
Elwynim that cross to us._
_We can_t deplete the treasury entirely._
_I_m told a gold coin is a sack of grain, and I think we have more
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coins in the treasury than we do sacks of grain in all Amefel._
That also drew a curious stare. _How many?_ was the careful
distillation of the question.
_I_m sure I don_t know,_ Tristen said, and in fact, did not know
the tally. But at that, one of the younger Amefin clerks looked as
if he had something behind his teeth he was afraid to let escape.
_Sir?_ Tristen asked the man, seeing the look.
_Elwynim,_ the young clerk said, faintly, and had to clear his
throat in mid-utterance. _And the tax collecting. _Which I_m
not supposed to know, my lord, but master Wydnin fled across
the river when the king came back from Lewen field, and he took
some of the books with him. So we don_t have the account of the
treasury, not since this summer, and not even the king had an
accounting. Parsynan started one. But he went away._ The clerk
moistened his lips. _It never was done._
_We have no accounting? But Tasmôrden does?_
There was a murmur among the lords, all of whom had conspired
with Tasmôrden& that Tasmôrden turned out to know more,
than they did about what was in the Amefin treasury.
And the clerk_s report made perfect sense. No few of the house
servants had fled when it turned out Cefwyn had won at
Lewenbrook. The archivist, who might have known more secrets
than he had yet told, was now dead, murdered, in the matter of
Mauryl_s letters. More, if Parsynan had had a counting in
progress, that was a mystery to him.
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_Master clerk,_ he said, to his own clerk, who had come with him
out of Guelessar, and the man stepped anxiously forward. _Do,
you have any account the lord viceroy began?_
_No, my lord. I fear not._
_So that_s gone, too._
_It seems it has._
This flood of papers toward Tasmôrden was alarming:
Tasmôrden knew very much of their resources, their proceedings,
and Mauryl_s correspondence with the Aswydds, Heryn, and
those before him& and that contained, surely, some of Mauryl_s
notions about defense, perhaps about Althalen, perhaps about
wizards and wizardous resources as great as the treasury. It was
not alone the accounts that Cefwyn had found muddled when he
arrived here, the books all out of order and in stacks on the tables
and jammed into the shelves& it was the books of the library
itself that had been disappearing to avoid Cefwyn discovering the
Aswydds_ fortune and their dealings with Mauryl and perhaps
other wizards.
They had assumed it was Mauryl_s writings that had been
secreted in that wall, because that was the nature of the burned
fragments& but those letters they had burned, he suspected now
from going through the fragments, were useless to them. The
question was not what they had left as chaff, but what they had
taken as valuable, and how long this traffic in books and records
had been going on.
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And had some of those found their way to Elwynor& missing
books of unknown nature, themselves as valuable as gold. The
senior archivist was dead, and the junior fled, with what final
treasure& and of Mauryl_s writings& or someone else_s?
The archive of correspondence had probably gone into the wall
when Heryn knew Cefwyn was coming& and when he was
coming the junior archivist had murdered the senior and fled with
a few precious items, likely to Lord Cuthan; and Lord Cuthan,
confronted with his own treason& fled, again, to Elwynor,
leaving behind his own culling of less important, less concealable
documents, for they had found certain things left behind in
Cuthan_s house that they were relatively sure should have been in
the archive. They suspected those were part of the stolen
documents& but they had never found the junior archivist, and
while they suspected Cuthan might have gotten something past
the searchers and into Elwynor, they were never entirely sure.
More and more, however, he was sure it was not just one theft,
but a pattern of theft, the slow pilferage of years, and a junior
archivist overwhelmed with fear, seizing the best of the
concealed items, burning the rest and fleeing for fear of the
whole business coming out.
_My lord,_ said Marmaschen, who rarely spoke. _Lord Heryn
was known for asking gold for favors, besides his surcharge on
the Guelen king_s tax. We knew he had accumulated a great deal
in the treasury, but no man but Lord Heryn_s closest familiars
went there. And his master of accounts. But that man fled to
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Elwynor._
_Very likely, too,_ said Drumman, _Lord Heryn sold the old
king_s life, and had gold for it. So I think. No Amefin will be
mourning Ináreddrin, as may be, but that_s likely the sourceof
some that_s there. Blood money._
_And anything Aseyneddin might have wanted to know,_ said
Marmaschen. _That, too, Lord Heryn would have reported, if
gold flowed._
_What would he do with it?_ Tristen asked, and received
astonished, confused stares, which he took to mean his question
was foolish. _Did he buy grain?_
_He kept it,_ Drumman said.
_He had gold plates. Gold cups. He had boxes and boxes of it._
_My lord,_ said Marmaschen, fingering his beard, and in a
cautious voice, _does this mean my lord will levy no war tax?_
_I see no need to,_ Tristen said. _When there is need, then I
shall._
There was a general letting-forth of breath, as it were one body.
_And the levy of troops?_ Drumman ventured. _Will we be
taking the field, or does the wall answer the need? We_ve no
great disadvantage sending men off the land in the winter, while
the weather holds._
_I hope it will hold. I wish it to hold._ He dared say so with these
men. _And Bryn needs all the help all of you can send, to build
the wall. The more men, the faster the stones move. And they_ll
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need ox teams there for the heavy pulling. I_ve delayed the king_s
carts as long as I can. I can_t keep them into the spring._
_The spring planting&_ Crissand said.
_We can let the land lie a year if need be. We_ll still have grain.
We_ll have brought it in Olmern_s boats._
That brought consternation.
_Do we understand Your Grace means to supply grain to all the
families in the villages and the town as well as to the men under
arms? And to muster out every able man in Amefel? Is that what
we face?_
_No,_ he said. _But to feed an army, that we may. The southern
lords will come. Cevulirn will bring them. We won_t let
Tasmôrden bring his war here, and I won_t let him have the
riverside._
There were slow intakes of breath, the understanding, perhaps,
that all they had discussed with Cevulirn before they had gone to
the river had begun to happen.
_So we_re to provide for an army,_ Crissand dared say, for all the
rest. _And does the Guelen king know, my lord? Or to what are
you leading us? Go we will, but to what are you leading us?_
The question struck him to silence, a long silence, gazing into
Crissand_s troubled face across the width of the table.
_I don_t know,_ he said, the entire truth. _But to war with
Tasmôrden, for the king_s sake, and ours, and all the south&
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that, yes. There will be war._
_Lord Ivanor_s ridden home without a word._ Azant said. _And
to do what, Your Grace? To bring his men?_
_And how will we determine the need for this gold and grain?_
asked Marmaschen. _Who_ll decide one claim against another?
Shall we simply come with a list and say, Your Grace, give us
grain?_
_I_ll ask you the truth,_ Tristen said, _and you_ll tell me._
One lord lifted his head instantly as if to laugh, and did not, in a
very sober, very fearful silence. The silence went on and on,
then, oddly, Crissand smiled, then laughed.
_Lies will find us out,_ Crissand said. _Will you not know the
instant we lie, my lord?_
_I think I would,_ he admitted, though he had kept from others
the truth of the gray space, and what it told him& he judged all
men by Uwen Lewen_s-son, and what made Uwen uneasy, he
told no one casually. He thought, too, of Cefwyn_s barons and
Cefwyn_s court, and how the men there were always at one
another_s throats. _But I_d hope none of you would lie to me._
There was again that silence.
_No,_ said Crissand cheerfully, _no, my lord, we shan_t lie to
you. And you won_t charge Heryn_s tax._
_I see no need of a tax, when we have so much gold._
_But, Your Grace,_ Drumman said, _this wall you want& if you,
will forgive me my frankness& if I dare say& my men are on
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their way, with every intent to obey Your Grace_s order. But the
Guelen king forbade our fortifications and our walled houses. He
ordered them torn down. Dare we do this?_
_Aye,_ said Azant. _What will the king in Guelemara say? And
shall only Bryn have defenses? We have ruined forts aplenty,
from the Marhanen_s order. And shall only Bryn raise a wall?_
_And will we have a Guelen army on our necks?_ Lord Durell
asked.
_No,_ Tristen said. _Cefwyn wouldn_t send one. I_m his friend._
_His advisers will urge him otherwise, my lord,_ said Drumman.
_And in no uncertain terms. Your Grace, with all goodwill, and
obeying your orders, I_m uneasy in this._
_I know they_ll be angry,_ Tristen said. _But the king doesn_t like
their advice, and he_s far cleverer than Ryssand. He knows his
best friends are in the south._
_Then gods save His Guelen Majesty,_ Azant said with an
uneasy laugh, _and long may he reign_in Guelessar._
_Aye,_ said Drumman, _and leave us our Lord Sihhë._
_Our Lord Sihhë,_ said Marmaschen, _who spends his treasury
instead of ours and bids us build walls& walls. I will build, Your
Grace. Two hundred men is the muster of my lands, three
hundred if you_ll feed the villages through next winter. Do that,
and we_ll join Drumman, and raise your wall in Bryn, and then
my own._
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_Three hundred from mine through winter, spring, and summer,_
said Lord Drumman.
_Two hundred from Meiden,_ Crissand said, _no trained men:
shepherds& but we sling stones at wolves that come at our
flocks. Give us some sort of armor and our maids and boys will
man Bryn_s wall. That we can do, and will._
There was never a doubt Crissand was in earnest, and others
named numbers, a hundred from one lord, fifty from another,
until the tally was more than Amefel had fielded at Lewenbrook.
_Now is the need,_ Tristen said. _Ilefínian_s people are coming
south. But so may Tasmôrden_s. We have to set the signal fires,
the way we did before Lewenbrook. This, until we have the
Ivanim horse to defend us, and then whatever other help will
come to us& they_ll come._
_With Ilefínian fallen, and the snows coming,_ said Drumman,
_there_s likely no grain to be had in Elwynor. There can_t have
been a crop last year in the midlands; there_s none this year: all
they sowed was iron. Tasmôrden_s stolen for his army whatever
the poor farmers put in, his army_s stolen what they could carry,
and now he_ll plunder the capital storehouses, none preventing
him& whatever the siege didn_t consume, if there_s anything left
at all. Hunger across the river is inevitable, Your Grace is right.
Grain is what they_ll want, and even innocent villagers can grow
desperate enough to turn outlaw. It_s not all quiet, peaceful folk
who_ll cross the river in winter. There_ll be some bent on taking._
_We_ll give them grain,_ Tristen said. _As much as they can
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carry._ v,
Worried looks had attended Drumman_s assessment;
astonishment attended his answer, slight aversions of the eyes,
flinching from the notion; but it seemed reasonable to him.
_And if we give it, they_ll be fed, and if they_re fed, maybe
they_ll be quiet neighbors,_ Drumman said. _But can we find that
much grain, Your Grace? Can we get it?_
_We_ll ask the Olmernmen,_ Tristen said, in utter sobriety.
_Cevulirn is doing that._
_The king should have pressed across the river last summer,_
Azant muttered. _Her Grace was willing. The army was willing.
And, no, he turned aside and went back to Guelessar. Now we
empty our treasury to feed Elwynor?_
_A sack of grain is one gold coin,_ Tristen said, _and if you put it
in the ground, it_s a field of grain. Isn_t that so?_
_If you can get the soldiers off the ground,_ Azant said. _There_s
the matter._
_With all the starving peasants of Her Grace_s land at our
doorsteps,_ Durell said. _Save this grain we give of our own
accord, and no recompense from His Guelen Majesty, as I
understand. And we_ll have more than hungry peasants before
all_s done. We_ll have hungry soldiers, bands of them, with no
leaders, no thought but their bellies._
That was so.
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_And if there_s famine,_ said another lord, _disease, that goes
with it._
_Then there_s need of medicines, too,_ Tristen said.
_And is our treasury enough for it?_
_The grandmothers don_t ask much for their cures. But it_s a
good thing if we tell them, and pay them._ He had understood
this matter of paying folk, finally, so there was bread enough.
_And if we don_t have enough herbs for their powders, we_ll buy
them from Casmyndan, too. Sovrag_s boats can bring them._
_And a good store for us, too,_ said Marmaschen. _No crops, no
store of food untouched in Elwynor, no planting this spring, in all
that kingdom. It_s an immense undertaking._
_And treasury gold to pay for it, Your Grace?_ asked an
ealdorman of the town. _Recompense, for what we supply?_
_And a fair price,_ Crissand said. _The merchants know what that
is. Fair price, and fair quantity. Weavers to weave: they_ll need
blankets and cloaks. Cobblers, dyers, wheelwrights, tanners, and
smiths&_
_For gold?_ the ealdorman asked.
_For gold,_ Tristen said, and added, because Crissand was right,
_at the prices things are._
_My lord,_ said Azant, from the other side of the table. _We
know we have our own to save. But I have a question, and
trusting Your Grace, I_ll be plain with it. The king cast out Lord
Cevulirn, who by all accounts was the only honest man left in
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Guelemara. All fall long, he_s heard only the Guelenfolk, and
shown no regard at all to the blood we poured on Lewen field: he
gave us Parsynan, was the thanks we had. I did think better of
king Cefwyn, and I know I_m putting my head at risk, here. But
he_s only proved himself Marhanen, this far. Your Grace says he
loves us dearly. Your Grace trusts him. Your Grace says if we
commit ourselves and raise this effort, there_ll be Guelenmen
carrying the war into Elwynor and flying Her Grace of Elwynor_s
blue banner all the way. Bear in mind our love for you, my lord,
but we don_t so easily love the Guelen king, and we_re not
altogether sure the Guelenmen are going to cross the river._
He had wished the earls to speak plainly. And this was the truth,
from men who had been prepared to join the Elwynim rebels
against Cefwyn.
_My lord,_ Crissand had said to him while he chased those
thoughts harelike through the brambles of Cefwyn_s court, _my
lord, we_ve come here to tell the truth. I said we dared, and Lord
Azant_s done it. So now I will._
Crissand drew forth a small, much-abused bundle of paper which
he had carried close to his person, and he laid it on the table.
_My father_s letters sent to Tasmôrden I don_t have, though here
are drafts of two of them. But all Tasmôrden_s representations to
him of whatsoever minor sort, they_re here. I know they set forth
names of some of those present, regarding those promises, and
they knew I would do this. We trust my lord_s forgiveness for
any here that may be named; if you would be angry at them, be
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angry at me, first, and any punishment you set on them, set on
me, first. I said I would do that. But I trust my good lord, that
there_ll be none._
_No,_ Tristen agreed.
_Ask the Bryaltine abbot about letters, too,_ Azant muttered, _if
Your Grace wants a store of them. Aye, I_ve a few of my own, as
damning._ He drew another, neater bundle from his breast, and
others laid them down.
They might, Tristen could not help thinking, account for some of
the purloined archive, for there was a fair pile of them. And the
Bryaltine abbot had trafficked with Tasmôrden? The Quinalt
father he had known was inimical to him, but that the Bryaltines,
who had sheltered Emuin_s faith, might be a difficulty& he had
not suspected.
That meant the Bryaltine abbot was, like Emuin, very good at
secrets.
More than one wizard, Emuin had said.
Suddenly there seemed more than one side to Tasmôrden_s
scheming, and many to his own lords_ duplicity with Cefwyn.
So the abbot had a glimmering of the gift, in himself, and had
carried on treason and never let it be known.
_Uwen,_ Tristen said, _send for the abbot. Crissand. Lord
Meiden._ He reminded himself of pride, and courtesies by which
Men set such great store. _Do you know what_s in the letters?_
_Lord Heryn_s dealings with the Elwynim& with Caswyddian,_
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Crissand said, and so Lord Azant, red-faced, confirmed his own
letters were part of it.
Then Earl Zereshadd broke his long and wary silence, and poured
out a tale of Heryn_s dealings. _Caswyddian sought permission
of Lord Heryn to come into Amefel, to outflank the Lord
Regent_s forces& he_d already crossed the river, but he asked, to
keep good relations; this while Prince Cefwyn was in
Henas_amef. The Lord Regent was sending messages to the
prince, and Lord Heryn intercepted every one. It was an
agreement between Lord Heryn and Caswyddian to ambush the
prince at Emwy._
By the prince Zereshadd meant Cefwyn before he was king. And
the earls had supported Lord Heryn in his schemes& perhaps, in
fact, all of them had conspired with various of the Elwynim
pretenders, not necessarily one side, not necessarily one
pretender, and perhaps even two or three of them at once,
wherever reward offered itself. Deception had been the rule in
Heryn_s court, and Cefwyn had known he was living in constant
danger. But not the extent of it.
And once started, the other lords had details to lend, perhaps
matters which they had never told each other& in certain
instances, provoking angry looks, then rueful laughter.
Confessions and tale-bearing poured forth like nuts from a
basket, everyone with a piece to tell, all of it with new kernels to
glean, but nothing more of the greater doings of Lewenbrook
than Tristen already knew: the conspiracy against the Lord
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Regent Uleman, which had driven Uleman into exile and at last
to his grave in Amefel, had had Amefin help from beginning to
end.
On their side of justice, the earls had suffered under Marhanen
prohibitions and decrees. The order that had torn down the
fortified manor houses was one such, and was the reason most of
the earls lived in Henas_amef, in the great houses around the
Zeide. The prohibition against the earls keeping above a certain
number of common men-at-arms was another, which had left
Amefel no standing army and no stores of arms to which anyone
admitted& the disappearance of swords and spears after the last
muster was suspicious, and the earls quietly said they would ask
among their villages.
The number of men said to be bastard kin within the houses and
therefore entitled to weapons turned out exaggerated& but these
lords_ houses had paid taxes for generations under the aethelings
and the Sihhë and contributed to the building of Althalen and its
luxury. Then came the Marhanen tax, and, worst of the lot, there
had been Lord Heryn_s extravagance; but they had kept quiet.
Lord Heryn had been their own, their aetheling, their claim to
royalty and their man accepted by the Marhanen crown.
_Heryn said,_ said Marmaschen, _that the tax went to the king.
We see it didn_t._
_What could we do?_ Zereshadd asked. _There was no other lord
we could turn to. So we tolerated his excesses. And gods save
Your Grace, indeed, if there_s as much as you say, it may save us
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all._
_There are other reserves,_ said Drumman slowly, _since we tell
the truth here. More than one of us has laid by against need._
That brought an uneasy shifting in the seats.
_Truth,_ Crissand said. _We promised truth for truth. And hasn_t
our lord given us the truth?_
_This is my truth,_ Drumman said. _When the Marhanen king
ordered the manor houses razed, records were lost; and in the
losing of those records, my district preserved reserves with which
we hoped one day to rebuild. This timber and stone I will give to
the wall. The gold& I will also bring forward._
There were grudging nods among the others, as if this was far
from an unknown practice.
_More might be found,_ said Zereshadd, and Marmaschen
inclined his head with a pensive expression.
_Your Grace has allowed Bryn to fortify his northernmost
village,_ Azant pointed out. Azant was also bordering on the
river. _Since each has such ruins in our districts, holdings
forbidden us by the Guelen king, and since we have reserves for
building&_
He understood slowly that justice and evenhandedness meant
allowing all such fortifications, if he had allowed them in Bryn:
that was what Azant was saying& and there was a great silence
in the hall, and an anxious look at him and at Azant, as if seeing
what he might do with such resistance.
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_First,_ he said, _defeat Tasmôrden. First let_s take account of the
map and fortify where there_s some chance of the rebels coming
across._
_We will need to leave the court and take command in our
districts,_ said Marmaschen in a low voice. _At least at the start._
_I_ve very few couriers to carry messages,_ Tristen said, _and a
scarcity even of guards, if I send Cefwyn more of his men home,
as I have to this spring. I_ve no one, until Ivanor comes north. If I
raise a levy for my own guard in the spring, men who_ve not
exercised at arms, they_re no defense. I need an Amefin guard._
_If each of us,_ said Crissand, _were to give ten men with horses
to His Grace_s service until Ivanor supplies the need, His Grace
would have guards and couriers. Uwen Lewen_s-son is a
Guelenman, true, but a fine man, and a good captain, and any
man of Meiden would be honored to have the post._
_Twice ten young men,_ said Drumman, _and at my own charge.
With horses. And past the time Ivanor may arrive. I_ll not have
our lord served by another_s men, for pride_s sake, sirs. I
challenge you._
_Men I_ll give,_ Zereshadd said, _but where shall we get trained
men here and trained men there, and now horses, gods save us,
and men fit to ride them?
From under mushrooms? The Guelen king refused us any but our
house guard._
_Send those you can,_ Tristen said, _and they_ll learn._
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_Give His Grace at least some with the skill,_ Crissand
suggested, _and the rest, as likely as we can find. His Grace has
no house of his own. Where is he to get them, if not from us?_
_Where will they lodge?_ Azant asked. _The Guelens have the
barracks._
The vision of a second barracks suggested a solution: a barracks
might stand& had stood& Tristen drew in a breath, having
suddenly a location in the South Court in mind, and wondered
where they should find the stone& but on a second, more sober
thought, simple timber would serve and make warm walls, and
timber stood available on the nearest hillcrest_
If, that was, they could spare workmen from carving eagles and
embellishing doors that were otherwise sound enough.
_I_ve workmen enough to raise a new barracks,_ Tristen said,
_and the men you send will camp in the guardroom and the stairs
and in the lower hall until there_s a place, and help the
workmen& and master Haman. We_ll have our allies here by
Midwinter, and all their horses._ He drew a breath. _So. Let_s do
everything we_ve promised, and see that we_re ready for what
comes._
_His Reverence is here,_ Uwen said, when he had settled in his
apartment to sort through the pile of the letters, and indeed he
was, a shy presence at Owen_s side, a shy one in the gray space,
unmasked, and honest at the moment, though he had never
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detected it before.
Of all priests he knew, save Emuin, who maintained he was not a
priest anyway, this was the only one such he recollected: this one
had the gift, a faint one, or one secret by nature. If so, there was
some strength in it.
_We were learning Tasmôrden sent to some of us,_ Tristen said.
_Did he send to you, sir? Or has any other we might wish to
know about? We_ve collected letters, all sorts of letters, which
came from the north, and you may have some of your own._
The abbot bowed, and bowed again, white-faced. _Your Grace,_
he said in a faint voice, and then took several breaths before
starting over. _Your Grace& yes._
_And what did you answer?_
_Nothing,_ said the abbot. _I sent no answer. And if the lord
across the river should send again, I would tell Your Grace
immediately, on my oath._
_Are you telling me the truth?_ Tristen asked, listening in both
realms, and the abbot nodded and bowed fervently.
_On my life, my lord, on my life and on my faith, I tell you the
truth._
It was the truth, at least that the abbot had not betrayed him. The
gift glimmered faintly, ever so faintly, full of fear, and there was
no deception in the gray space.
_And have you heard from other men?_ Tristen asked.
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_From Earl Crissand_s father,_ the abbot said anxiously. _From
the old earl. And him I upheld. The king_s viceroy I cursed,_ the
abbot added on a little breath, _and all his men._
_Don_t curse the Guelens,_ Tristen said mildly, _since all the
Guelens we have left are mine and choose to be here, and Uwen,
beside you, is Guelen. Don_t wish ill at all, sir. You can, and I
strongly wish you will not._
_Yes, Your Grace._
Blessings and curses alike had abounded in Efanor_s little
Quinalt book of devotions. But that book declared they all flowed
to and from the gods.
He was not so sure they did not flow from men like this, a slight
wizard, a whisper of a wizard, less even than Her Grace, but
gifted with a hard, single-minded devotion and a steady purpose.
He peeled through it like layers of an onion, bruising nothing,
laying bare the heart.
_Go to master Emuin,_ Tristen said to the abbot, _immediately,
and help him in any way he asks. You_ve helped him before.
Help him now._
_My gracious lord,_ the abbot said, still white-faced, and bowed,
and sought his leave. Uwen took him toward the door.
So there was a man in the midst of all Crissand_s father had done;
and by the letters he had, he knew this man had sheltered noble
and common folk alike when the viceroy_s justice was for
hanging them.
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_Who are these nuns?_ he asked on a sudden recollection.
_Emuin said there were nuns._
With women he had had very little to do, and nothing Unfolded
to him to tell him whether that was common or not, or whether
the gods, whom the Quinalt book said considered women as
vessels and not as capable of acting, were quite the same for the
Bryaltines. It all eluded him.
_My lord?_ said the abbot.
_Are there nuns?_
_Priestesses,_ said the abbot in a quiet voice, utterly honestly.
_As the Quinaltine never admitted. They_ve been with me for all
my service here. But now they go in their habits, and we serve
Your Grace in whatever modest way we can. Praise the gods, we
do it in plain sight now._
_The Quinalt doesn_t approve of priestesses,_ he said later to
Uwen, having taken a second look in Efanor_s little book, and
having found what he recalled, that the Quinaltines thought
women were a source of evil. But he disbelieved a great deal in
that book.
_That they don_t,_ Uwen said. _Women_s fine enough by me,
howsoever, an_ a smile an_ a wink from a lass is an even better
thing, so ye might say._
_The Quinalt doesn_t agree with that._
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_The Quinalt ain_t in charge here, an_ besides, I fear I ain_t that
good a Quinalt._
_You used to wish to the gods. I seldom see you do it now._
_That._ Uwen gave a faint laugh. __At_s a soldier_s habit._ Then
he became sober. _I watched the dark come down at
Lewenbrook, an_ _twixt us, m_lord, I ain_t been a good Quinalt
since._
What could he say to such a thing, when he was not sure whether
Uwen regretted it or not?
That, however, was the sum of matters from the council, except
the abbot_s servants, the priestesses, arrived at his chambers
within the hour, carrying a thick parcel of letters, all from the
other side of the river, all very small, and tied up with red cord.
_Be assured,_ said the older nun, a plain woman robed all in gray
and black, _His Reverence never did any of the things the
Elwynim asked, save only to send aid to His Grace the Lord
Regent._
To Ninévrisë_s father, that meant, during his time in hiding. That
was certainly no fault in the man: treason against Lord Heryn, as
it happened, but none to the fair cause.
And the letters were not the only object of curiosity the Bryalt
abbot had sent& and that not without conscious decision, Tristen
thought, gazing at the women who had brought the letters, the
elder a quiet woman, common as any face in Henas_amef. She
might have been a grandmother in the market& or perhaps she
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was.
For there was, indeed, when he probed it, a little spark of a
presence.
_Do I know you?_ he asked, for the face seemed familiar to him,
and the women made a little bow like willows in a gale.
_We served in the Zeide._
_In this room?_ he asked, for suddenly that was the point of
familiarity& he recalled women gathered together about
sorcerous objects: Lady Orien and all her company, with
Hasufin_s presence attempting the breached wards.
The gaze that looked up at him, suddenly direct, was dark and
wide and terrified.
_You were here,_ he accused her.
_I served the Aswydds,_ came the faint response. _But all the
while I served the gods, by your leave, lord. As does my sister.
Let us go._
A lit straw, that was all the woman_s wizardry was, the sort a
wisp of wind might cause to flare or extinguish altogether& and
was not that the danger in what Emuin called hedge-wizards&
that they might set a whole field alight?
_What is your name?_ he asked, holding her with his stare.
_Faiseth,_ she said, or that was what he thought he heard.
Faiseth. It seemed to echo here and there at once, and now she
knew she was observed. So did her sister.
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A presence flitted past him, sought concealment in the gray
space. A hare in a burrow, the woman was, heart beating quickly,
and her sister with her. She had not wanted this errand. The lord
abbot had not wanted it either, and the abbot commanded. So
much he knew in an instant. And the other woman&
__Pei_razen._
The woman looked at him, stricken, addressed in the gray space
as well as the world.
__Orien_s servants._
_The gods_ servants, your servants, at your will, my lord._
He considered the women, and the knowledge he had, as
thorough as if it had Unfolded to him. The women concealed
nothing, to the walls of their souls they concealed nothing.
It was worth knowing the nature of such servants. It was worth
remembering. Such as a lord could lay a ward within a soul, he
laid one, sure and fast, so neither woman should betray the
house, or him, without his attention, not in all they ever did. They
were his.
And sharply a breath came in, and the younger covered her
mouth with her hands as if her soul were trying to escape. The
other pressed a hand to her heart.
_I_ve not harmed you,_ he said, _but you touched the wards of
this room on that night, and now I_ve laid new ones._ He
abhorred what they had done, but he saw in them now a small, a
wavering hope, a desire of life, of favor, of something he had to
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give that these woman desperately, fervently lacked and adored
and sought with all their life.
_What do you wish of me?_
_Nothing, Your Grace._
_That_s not so,_ he said. _What do you wish that I might give
you?_
_To be the gods^ true servant,_ she said, then, and that was false.
_The truth,_ he said, and took it, not that it was right to do, but
that they sought mercy, and there was one safe way to pour it out
to them. They wished to have skill, to be greater than they were.
They wished to be regarded by one and all, feared, for it was fear
they had understood.
_You need not,_ he said, _be afraid of anyone. You need never be
afraid._ He held out his hand, and took cold, thin fingers he could
break with the pressure of his hand. He wished her well and
wished her sister the same, and she began to tremble.
_Master Emuin would tell you,_ he said, _and will tell you, when
you go to him, that breaking things is no help._ He warmed the
woman_s hand in his, and reached for her sister_s_so slight a
pressure, her fingers, against his, as if he held one of his birds.
_Don_t do anything so foolish as that again. Don_t curse. Don_t
fear anything._
He let go their hands, but now they tried, in that other place, to
hold to him, as if he, after all, was what they had wanted.
_Tell the abbot I thanked him,_ he said. _And go to master
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Emuin. He_ll know all you_ve done. Don_t be afraid of him.
Don_t be afraid._
One and the other, they backed away, wanting his forgiveness,
striving to reach into the gray space and not to let him go; but he
had no wish to be their answer: he pushed them gently out into
the world and shut it as it were a door.
He could not be Mauryl. He was never made to be Mauryl, or
Emuin, who could teach. He delayed for a glance at their
departure and said nothing to Uwen_s look at him, before he
added the letters to the pile.
The darkness had not even bothered to devour these sisters. It had
had other prey in mind, and their understanding had never told
them their danger.
Meanwhile, while the letters accumulated in lords_ hands, priests
had contended with curses while Hasufin prowled the wards like
the wolf at the fold& never ask what curses the Quinalt patriarch
might have laid on them all a matter of days ago, before he left;
but he had felt no trace of it. The wards of the Zeide were sound.
The harm a priest could do seemed not to have touched what he
guarded.
He went back to his burden of letters and confessions, his
accounts and his requests, and his small stacks of coins.
By ranks and rows they stood on the desk to remind him, Uwen_s
lesson.
By such means he understood the simpler things that did not
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Unfold to him, or leap full-blown into his sight in the gray place.
The lord of Amefel needed such advice, and had before him the
correspondence of the Bryaltines with the enemy, the earls with
the enemy, and the earls with the falsified accounts.
Now they began all to tell the truth.
Even Lady Orien_s servants had told him their small truth at the
last, and left running.
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Chapter 8
«
^
»
A letter from Tristen and a letter from Anwyll arrived on
Cefwyn_s desk in the same packet. Idrys brought them, on a cold,
rainy night. Something close to ice was spattering the windows
of the study. Water stood in beads on Idrys_ black armor, from a
recent trip outside.
_Two letters,_ Idrys said. _And a bit of news I fear my lord king
won_t like. The Amefin patriarch has just arrived at the
Quinaltine, with four Guelen guardsmen, and on a lame horse._
_The Amefin patriarch,_ Cefwyn said in wonder. Nothing he
could imagine could deter him from the letter he had in hand, but
that did divert him a moment. _Why? Did Tristen send him?_
_With guards that haven_t reported to me,_ Idrys said, _no.
Without a message to me, no. And not wearing the Guelen red,
no. Lord Tristen didn_t send them. One man arrived in his proper
colors, and came to his officer. The others I would call deserters._
_With the Amefin patriarch._ Worse and worse news. It was not
a flow of information this evening, it was a torrent becoming a
flood, and by Idrys_ face, he had only part of it in hand, in these
letters. Something was going on that involved the Quinalt. And a
man who had no reason to be running errands, at his age, and
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who was not likely to be running to higher authority on any
ordinary matter.
With Tristen in charge in Amefel& was any matter of religion
ordinary?
_Report,_ he said. _Master crow, don_t deliver me this diced in
pieces. I want to know. Report, or hie you downstairs and find
out._
Idrys did not go. He loomed, a standing blackness against the
dull, glistening color of the stained-glass window. Night was
outside. But a little of it had gotten in with the Lord Commander,
as if it were one of those shadows Tristen talked about, the cold
spots his grandfather had claimed to feel on the stairs.
The world had been moderately ordered until Idrys came. Now
there was no likelihood he would leave this office before dawn.
_The one man,_ Idrys said, _the honest man, to all appearances&
that one pleads a sick mother. To deliver another piece of
unpleasant news, the captain of the Guelen garrison is one that
went into the Quinaltine, and my lord king will recall he was
captain during your tenure, during Parsynan_s&_
_I know the man,_ Cefwyn retorted. _He_s a prig, a hardheaded
and objectionable man. And a deserter, is it? A captain of the
Guelens, a deserter._
_The man with the mother says they aren_t deserters, but
disguised themselves, and he professes not to know anything,
except they went with Lord Tristen_s permission, and met with
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the patriarch at Clusyn. It was, he says, the patriarch_s idea to
disguise themselves, but he had his captain_s permission to go
on, because of his mother._
_Did he come with them?_
_A very interesting point. He came just after Lord Tristen_s
message and Anwyll_s. These came by the same man, Dragon
Guard, from the river._
_From the river._
_So the man says. Lord Tristen was there. Meanwhile the
patriarch took to the road_whether Lord Tristen was in
Henas_amef or not at the time remains unclear. And if we believe
the man with the mother, they disguised themselves and the
patriarch, and came as fast as they could._
_With Tristen_s permission, while he was at the river for some
godsforsaken reason._
_The story is tangled, admittedly. I_d suggest, modestly, my lord
king read the letters._
_You haven_t._
_I was inquiring after the patriarch. First the messenger through
the gates, by a quarter hour later the man with the mother, and
half an hour after that, in this weather, draggled and soggy, the
Amefin patriarch and the rest of the men. We_d not have known,
necessarily, except the one man wearing his colors reported to his
regiment first, as he should have, and the captain of the Guelens
fortunately had his wits about him and sent for me._ Idrys was
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dripping on the tiles, as happened& had had no cloak, by the
soaking he had had, and a cold rain. Idrys had wasted no time on
either end of his passage.
_Your best guess, crow. Guesses, now. Free for the making._
_I don_t believe any of it. I think our man with the sick mother
wants to reach her, doesn_t want to entangle himself_that part of
the story is true_with the business at the Quinalt. He_s scared.
The regimental captain had sent to know about the mother, who
was ill, that was true; but recovered; she was at her house, knows
nothing of all this, likely doesn_t know her son_s in the town. I_ve
a handful of pieces with no ends that match._
_I agree. The whole pack is lying in some fashion, and Tristen
didn_t send them_no, he sent the man with the mother. I can
guess that. He would. Stay. Let me read this._
_Read, my lord king. I_ve an order to pass, by your leave, maybe
a report to receive, and I_ll be back before you finish._
What order that was he did not ask. The deserters had better
secure sanctuary at the gods_ own altar before Idrys laid hands on
them, Cefwyn thought to himself, for there was fire in Idrys_ eye.
Ilefínian has fallen. I write this from Anwyll_s camp at the
river, where Cevulirn has set Ivanim archers to watch the
bridges&
Cevulirn was with Tristen. Anwyll_s camp at the river. The
names rang like blessed bells, familiar and sounding of
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protection, safety, matters well in hand& the two most loyal of
his lords, aware of the calamity and taking precautions.
I have set the thane of Modeyneth to be the new earl of Bryn.
His name is Drusenan. His wife is Elwynim. He lives in the
village.
I have found women and children fled from the fighting in
Elwynor and set them in his care. Also I have ordered a wall
and gate across the road there, where two hills make a natural
defense. The Emwy road is warded.
Tristen broke laws. What else did he expect? Tristen appointed
an unknown man to office, and he would wager there was good
reason. The south was in good order_in excellent order, except
he now knew his carts were farther away.
What shall I do, Tristen? was his silent appeal, which he knew
Tristen would no more hear than he could understand two
wizards looking at one another and nodding. I need the damn
carts, Tristen. Well-done on the riverside, but my gear sits in
camp, and it_s the better part of a month to move those carts here.
Idrys_ footsteps heralded his return. Cefwyn ceased reading and
waited, as his Lord Commander came back to him.
_News?_
_I_ve sent a messenger to His Holiness advising him things may
not be as he_s told. I hear His Reverence was muddy, lame, and
bruised. The report I have says he fell off his horse._
_Tristen couldn_t have done it. He was at the river._
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_At the river, my lord king?_
_With my carts. I know damned well that_s what he_s done. Go
on._
_He_s almost certainly here to complain of the lord of Amefel.
But not even the Majesty of Ylesuin can demand entrance into
the Quinaltine._
_We can demand other things._
_Shall I send for the Holy Father?_
_I want him there till he_s found out something. Advise him so.
Get those men with him in hand. I count that a necessity. Damn
them for deserters. Damn all they say._
_And the patriarch of Amefel?_
_A knottier problem. One the Holy Father will have to solve. One
he_d damned well better solve. Can you get that to him?_
_I_ll attend to it,_ Idrys said, and left. His armor had just dried
from the last foray out into the wretched weather. It was unlikely
he would stop this time to obtain a cloak.
There were layers of command over the Guelens, the various
companies jealous of their prerogatives, the Guelens, the
Dragons, the Prince_s Guard, all, all with officers reassigned and
no little sorting out of men after his accession, Captain Gwywyn
going to Efanor_s guard, Idrys becoming Lord Commander in
Gwywyn_s place, and no great love spent on either side of that
transaction. Lord Maudyn was a civilian commander on the river,
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where most of the Guelens were assigned, and some of the
Dragons. He hoped Idrys might lay hands on the Guelens that
had come in, but there was a delicate matter of protocols
involved, and it was credit to Idrys_ oversight that the one man
who had reported in had gained Idrys_ immediate attention_
averting disaster, Cefwyn thought.
And if they had any more men sifting into Guelessar from
Tristen_s command, well to send them immediately to the
riverside, to work out their disaffections within sobering sight of
the enemy shore.
Ninévrisë arrived in the doorway, robed for evening, her hair
about her shoulders; he had not come to bed. She had waited, and
he had no idea how long.
But it was not offense which had brought her.
_A page said there were dispatches._
_Anwyll_s report,_ he said, knowing Ninévrisë ached for any
message, any shred or scrap of news about her kin, her people,
her land and her estates, such as remained of them. _It just
arrived. And a letter from Tristen._
_All at once?_ She folded her robes close about her and came to
sit and see the letters, not knowing the other things. She read
Anwyll_s letter first, brief as it was, and then Tristen_s, a long
letter, for him.
_Cevulirn has gone there,_ Ninévrisë said.
_And this is all we have,_ Cefwyn said. _Look you. Not:
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Cevulirn arrived& or Cevulirn came to me from Guelessar or a
damned scrap of information does he give! He writes worse
letters than my brother!_
_He_s building a wall&_
_A royal decree, several laws, and a treaty down at a stroke. It_s
the Sihhë wall he means._
_Gods bless him!_ Ninévrisë exclaimed, laying a hand on her
heart. _I have made provision for those fleeing the capital since
its fall; and also for armed men loyal to Her Grace who may
escape. Them I will save if I can & He understands! He_s
moved to help them. A place where my men can come._ Her eyes
were bright as lamps as she looked at him, and how could he say
Tristen was wrong? _He can, do you think? He can have them
come!_
_He might well,_ he said. He envisioned an Elwynim army, the
army he had hoped would rise from the villages along
Ninévrisë_s route into Elwynor, but gathering in Amefel, far to
the south.
Small chance the remnant of the loyal army would come east to
cast themselves on Guelessar_s mercy, or that of Murandys. They
would go to Tristen.
And Ninévrisë_s eyes were aglow with hope, for the first time
since the news had come to them.
_Tasmôrden_s men will loot everything they can,_ Ninévrisë
said. _Aseyneddin had some good men, but Tasmôrden scoured
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the leavings of three armies. He_ll be in Ilefínian till he_s looted
what_s there, and he_ll not have his army sober again until
they_ve done their worst& so there_ll be no pursuing anyone.
They have a chance._
And failing that, there was a wall at Modeyneth, gods save them:
the old Sihhë defense, for Althalen of the last High King had had
no walls, only Barrakkęth_s defenses, that wall that ran among
the hills of Amefel. It had fallen into ruin even by the latter days
of the Sihhë High Kings.
Now a band of Amefin peasants wielding picks and axes were
remaking it. And was it chance that Tristen had thought of that
wall?
Barrakkęth. First of the Sihhë-lords, Barrakkęth the warlord&
whose black banners had swept every field, whose iron hand had
struck down his enemies without pity.
He sat with Ninévrisë considering the letters. He sent a page for
hot tea, against the chill of the dark. Rain made a cold, rattling
sound against the windows.
_He might bring them to him,_ Ninévrisë said. _He might even
wish them there, once he knows._
And could he say it was wrong, what Tristen had done? _Never
say so,_ Cefwyn said, _even in the sodden father_s hearing, but I
hope he does._
The world had gone differently since his grandfather_s day, when
his grandfather had used wizards_ help to win his war& much
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differently than the Sihhë-lord Tashanen_s day, when wizard-
work had exceeded siegecraft.
Once magic entered the lists, the advantage shifted incalculably.
Running feet, a boy_s feet. It was not the tea that arrived, but
more news in the rainy night.
_His Holiness,_ a page said from the door. _My lord king, Your
Grace, excuse me. His Holiness is coming up the stairs._
In this weather?
_Bring a lap robe, mulled wine& Where_s the damned tea, do
you know?_
_No, my lord king, please you._
_Then find it! Bring me what I ordered!_
The boy fled. He had shouted at the lad. He had not meant to.
But if the Patriarch of the Quinalt had met with the patriarch of
Amefel and had something to say to him, he wanted nothing out
of joint. He went swiftly to the door, leaned out it to shout again.
_Boy! Advise Annas! Get me my guard!_
_He_s heard from the priests in Amefel,_ Ninévrisë said faintly,
from her chair.
_Oh, I don_t doubt he has._ He returned to his seat. The page,
forbidden to shout in the royal apartments, ran, steps echoing in
the hall. _Don_t fear. Idrys will have it all in hand. The Patriarch
himself isn_t to trifle with, and he_s on our side, or I_ll see to it
Sulriggan sits on a bridge this winter._
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The tea arrived at the same time the head of his bodyguard came
in, Nydas, on night watch, who never excelled at soft-footed
approach, and he came in a hurry. The hall had more traffic than
High Street at noonday.
_My lord king._
_Tell Idrys the Patriarch_s here. That_s all. He_ll know what this
is about._
Annas had appeared behind Nydas, a head and shoulders shorter.
_Annas. The Patriarch._
_Yes, my lord king._
_Shall I stay?_ Ninévrisë asked, with more prudence than he had
thought of, and made him suddenly realize, gods, no, the
Patriarch would not confess before a Bryaltine and a foreigner
and a woman. His Holiness was bought, sealed, and paid for, but
Annas and Efanor were the limit of his tolerance for such
meetings: guards, pages, and priests failed to count as persons&
Idrys not excepted, in that sense. But & no.
_Love,_ he said, catching her hands. _Love, Nevris, heart of my
heart_go. You_ll have the entire sordid report, whatever it is,
from me. But you_re right. Grant me this._
She pressed his hands, nothing more, and went out in a whisper
of footsteps, calling her maids and her own guard outside, and
little time to spare, for a breathless page came back to report His
Holiness in the corridor outside.
_And white as a ghost, Your Majesty._
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_Well, gods, move chairs by the fire._
_Here?_
_Here, goose! Don_t breathe like a hound at the chase, just move
the chairs. Seemly, now! With grace, there._
Annas habitually kept a poker hot in the coals and warming
bricks on the hearth, and had arranged two cups of mulled wine
on a tray before the Patriarch reached the outer doors of the
apartment, and had heated bricks for the Patriarch_s feet on the
hearth before he arrived.
The man was white as a ghost. His white hair was plastered to his
face, and his shoulders were soaked. He had brought no one with
him but a young lay brother, who saw His Holiness_s cloak robe
off, and the warm dry robe about him, and set His Holiness_s feet
on the warm bricks.
Annas needed do nothing more than offer the wine, of which the
old man took a great swallow.
_Your Holiness,_ Cefwyn began, as Annas shooed the lay brother
out with the pages and servant staff. _Dare I guess. The Amefin
patriarch._
_Too far. He_s gone much too far, Your Majesty. You must call
him to heel._
_The Amefin patriarch?_
_The lord of Amefel, Your Majesty, I beg you don_t make light
of this._
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_Far from it._ He rested in his chair, the old man sitting wrapped
in his robes, looking at death_s door tonight. _The duke of
Amefel wrote to me. Oddly enough, his letter and the patriarch
arrived the same night._
_The patriarch and these soldiers waited their chance, when Lord
Tristen had gone out of the town; they fled as far as Clusyn, and
they were there when a messenger overtook them and went on
without rest. They chased the messenger all the way, fearing
what that message would say or request of Your Majesty_ But
His Reverence fell in the ditch._ The wine had spread a modicum
of warmth. The Patriarch took a larger breath. _His Reverence
ordered the soldiers with him to ride on and overtake the
messenger, but when they tried, His Reverence couldn_t prevent
his own horse running. His Reverence believes the horse was
bewitched._
_I would laugh, Your Holiness,_ Cefwyn said, with a finger
braced across his lips precisely to prevent that, _save the gravity
of the situation. Horses follow horses. It_s their nature._
_No luck accrues to anyone crossing his lordship of Amefel.
Horses may follow horses, Your Majesty, but disaster follows
Lord Tristen._
_Disaster? Only to his enemies. He owes us only good. We two
should be quite lucky, should we not, Your Holiness?_
_Don_t make light of it, if you please. What His Reverence
reports is grimly serious._
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Now he listened. _Say on._
_First, the people hail him Lord Sihhë&_
_So they did when I was there, and His Reverence knew it.
That_s no news. He probably is. What of it?_
_The appearance of it__
_What am I to do? Come down with troops on my friend because
cobblers and shopkeepers call out in the street? My enemy is
across the river laying curses on me daily. I save my efforts for
Tasmôrden._
_The law__
His temper flared. He restrained it. _He_s failed in some minute
particular of doctrine, probably two and four times daily, not
being a good Quinalt. But so does the Bryalt abbot! What of it?
We both know Amefel is exempt from the ordinances, and is so
by treaty and observance. If Tristen chooses to use those
exemptions, he is entitled._
_Witches. Witches have appeared. Witches traffic in the
marketplace, the forbidden tokens are sold without fear of
rebuke&_
_They did that when I was there, too. Reprehensible, but hardly
new, and His Reverence saw all of it. Had he news, or a history?_
_His Reverence witnessed witchcraft. Lord Tristen has promoted
thieves to household service, has displayed the black banners, has
consorted with witches, has&_ Coughing overwhelmed the old
man_s vehemence. _He_s conspired with Ivanor to gather an army
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and preferred Amefin officers over honest Guelenmen._
_It is Amefel, the black banners are my grant to him, written
down in the Book of the Kingdom, and locally sanctioned by His
Reverence, to boot, who_s seen them fly before this, Cevulirn left
here: I don_t wonder he_s paid a visit to Tristen. In fact I_m glad
he has. So what sent the patriarch of Amefel breakneck to
Guelemara, and what has a man I counted honorable and holy to
do with deserters?_
_The captain of the Guelen garrison__
_A deserter, with the other, who skulked away when Tristen was
out of the town serving my interests! A deserter, sir, and with the
kingdom at war. Tell me how I should deal with them? Shall I
encourage every man who has a quarrel with his lord take to his
heels? Every man who disagrees with his sergeant?_
_The point is__
_The point is these men are not credible._
_But the report they have&_ The Patriarch drew an old man_s
deep breath, seeming to fight for wind. _Majesty, take this
seriously. In the hearing of witnesses, of the Guelen Guard, out
in the country, a witch hailed him and prophesied to him. And
directly after, the lord of Ivanor appeared as if magic had
summoned him._
_A witch, you say?_
_Up from the roots of a great oak, that seven men couldn_t span
with their arms: the tree fell, the witch appeared in a great burst
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of snow and a wind of hell._
_I think I know the witch._
_Majesty?_
_Auld Syes. The witch of Emwy. Dead or alive_s a guess. She_s a
harbinger of trouble._
_And Ivanor came._
_I don_t wonder at that._
_After which Lord Tristen has cast down the authority of the
garrison, fomented lies against the viceroy&_
_Tristen is a wretched liar. He knows he is. As for Parsynan, he_ll
be lucky if I don_t hang him. That was Ryssand_s choice, mind
you. I never should have listened to him. Tristen was restrained
in dealing with the man. Don_t give me any blame for that. And
don_t trust him._
_Your Majesty._ The tone was one of agony. _His Reverence
brought men to swear to these things. He saw sorcery. His claims
raise questions, Your Majesty, which I cannot counter. The
orthodoxy, which Ryssand supports&_
_Ryssand._
_Yes, Ryssand._ His Holiness was short of breath, and inhaled
deeply before quaffing a great two-handed mouthful of the
heated wine. Drops stained his chin, and he wiped them with a
trembling hand. _But not only Ryssand. The strict doctrinists&
have adherents in the Quinalt Council and the ministries of
charity& and they were& they are& adamantly opposed to the
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appointment of the lord of Althalen and Ynefel to a province.
They are doctrinally opposed to Her Grace_s Bryalt faith, and
they demand a sworn conversion and a Quinalt adviser at very
least._
_They_ll whistle to the wind for that!_
_I know. I know, Your Majesty, but& but&_ Another spate of
coughing, another deep draught of wine. _Forgive me. But His
Reverence has documents, Bryalt prophecy. In every point, the
lord of Amefel fulfills every point of them._
_The Quinaltine is promoting a Bryalt prophet?_
_Listen to me, Your Majesty! The stricter doctrinists__
He was wrong to have baited the Holy Father. The old man was
greatly agitated, having come here straight from conference with
the Amefin father, which might not be the most prudent course to
have taken. It was reckless_ counting disaffections within the
Quinaltine itself. _Sip the wine for your throat, Holiness, and
give me the straight of it. I won_t spread it about. The doctrinists.
Is it Ryssand_s priests stirring this up?_
The Holy Father shook his head and sipped the wine. He was
calmer. A hectic flush had come to his white, water-glazed face,
while his hair had begun to dry to a wild nimbus in the fire_s
warmth.
_Not Ryssand_s urging. Not Ryssand alone. They are patrons of
some of the doctrinists, but so are Nelefreissan, Murandys& all
the north._
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_I am aware._
_I am an old man. They_re waiting for me to die._
_They can go on waiting._
_There_s no debate with these absolutists& and they_re not fools.
There_s power& power in their hands while they admit no truth
but their own. They wish me dead._
_The king wishes you alive. I imagine even Tristen does, no
matter what ill you_ve done him._
_I_!_
_You have the Patriarchate, Holiness. Use it! Be rid of these
priests! You have the electors!_
_I have enough of the electors_but they_re old, too, and divided
in their minds. Here we have a displaced patriarch of a provincial
shrine, whose authority was not respected, and, having these
damning witnesses& witches, Your Majesty& and the people
cheering the Sihhë&_
Idrys had arrived at the door, and at a nod, came in, apprised at
least of the last the Patriarch had said. He stood, a bird of ill
omen and dark news, with arms folded, rain glistening on the
black leather of his shoulders.
_Well?_ Cefwyn asked.
_The soldiers were legitimately discharged and have written
authority to have returned,_ Idrys said. _The patriarch of Amefel
overtook them after they_d drunk themselves half-insensible at
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Clusyn. He commanded their escort. When the Dragons_
messenger passed them on the road, they made all haste to
overtake him, but His Reverence met with a haystack and a ditch.
The Dragons_ messenger not unreasonably thought them bandits
and rode for his life._
Ludicrous. He could imagine the scene, the descending dark, the
patriarch in the mud, the courier, one of the elite regiment, in
desperate flight from the patriarch of Amefel.
_I beg you take this in all seriousness,_ His Holiness said. _The
devout fear this, among the electors, they fear us all endangered
by witchcraft and wizardry, and Your Majesty must remember
these are honest men, genuinely offended by these goings-on in
Amefel& if nothing else._ A cough brought another recourse to
the wine cup, which must be nearing its bottom. Cefwyn had not
touched his, having no wish to numb himself.
But the Patriarch clearly had no caution left tonight.
_Threats of violence,_ the Patriarch said, _omens. There are such,
as there is magic._
_No man who stood on Lewen field denies that, Holy Father.
What omens, and is it time we sent to Emuin? If you can_t stop
them&_
The Patriarch shook his head. _No. The Teranthines are no help,
and Emuin is less, in this business. I come here& I come here&
in hope of reason. Receive the Amefin patriarch, hear him
patiently, realizing& realizing that what he says the doctrinists
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take as the very substance of their fears, so much so& some
preach actions& actions which would aim at the lord of
Amefel_s life._
Idrys was not at all smiling, his dark-mustached face utterly
intent on what the old man was saying.
_Buren,_ Idrys said, naming a name which had at least crossed
his desk, a hedge-priest, a wild-eyed sort.
_Buren, Neiswyn, all these barefoot sorts._ The Holy Father
manifested no love for them either, and in truth, they were of
long standing, going about the countryside praying over cattle
and orchards and making their living off charity. They had
always been at odds with the well-fed priests of the great
Quinaltine. _Ryssand_s priests support them, call them holy. This
is what we can_t counter. These are holy men!_
_Holy troublemakers._
_This Buren wanders about,_ said Idrys, _prophesying, speaking
in vaguest terms about unholiness abroad in the land and blood
on the altar. It_s nothing new. He derives a living from it. He
always has._
Self-made prophets not within the Quinaltine turned up, and
vanished, and said things not quite blasphemy, not quite
treason& and did so freely, since they couched it in prayers for
the cleansing of the kingdom and the Quinalt.
_Your Majesty,_ His Holiness said in anguish, _it_s reached a
point of danger. There it is. This has come at a very bad time._
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_Then I suggest you draw a distinction between sorcery and
wizardry in your homilies, Holy Father, start now, and nudge
your doctrine toward some measure of reason on the subject of
magic& and soon._
_I dare not!_
_I suggest you dare, Holy Father. I more than suggest you dare.
You have authority over His Reverence. Wield it! Modify his
testimony! Be in command! The doubters and the ones who_d
follow you are looking to you to know what side to take. Give
them a signal, for the gods_ sake!_
_I am an old man, Majesty._
_Would you be an older one? Act!_
_Yes, Your Majesty. I_ll try._
_Well that you came tonight. Bravely done. Annas, see His
Holiness back to the Quinaltine in good order, and dry and
warm._
_Your Majesty._ It required an effort for His Holiness to rise,
between the wine and his exertions on the stairs. Annas assisted,
while a page brought the lay brother back, insisted he keep the
dry robe, found a dry cloak for him, and helped him on his way.
All the while Idrys had waited; and as the door latched, and they
were alone:
_Two letters from His Grace of Amefel,_ Idrys said, and drew
out a small, unsealed missive from his belt. _Yet another
messenger chased the lot of them& a postscriptum, at
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considerable effort. I did read it._
_Is it bad?_ Cefwyn asked, with a sinking of his heart.
_Only what we know,_ Idrys said. _The Lord Tristen realized the
danger in the patriarch_s flight.
He arrived home, evidently to find this, and bent a great deal of
effort for his second rider to reach us before His Reverence and
the guardsmen did. I find it worth remarking that he failed&
considering his abilities._
_I can_t assess his abilities,_ Cefwyn said, and took the letter and
sat down.
Be careful of the Quinalt father who has left Amefel and gone to
the Quinaltine. He did so while I was absent and Uwen had no
authority to prevent him, yet I wish we had done so. He is angry
with me.
Regarding the fortifications at Modeyneth and elsewhere I mean
to pay those out of the Amefin treasury. Many of the earls are
ready to lend help. Also the earls are willing to lend me men for
an Amefin company, which I will set in order by the spring and
send you the rest of the garrison at Henas_amef, as well as
Anwyll.
The work on the wall seems likely to go quickly. I hope that in all
these things I am doing what you will approve.
Raising an Amefin company for his guard instead of the Guelens
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was well within sense. The duke of Amefel had that grant of
power from his hands. It was the only thing in the message that
was clearly within Tristen_s grant and honor.
_You_ll note the bit about fortifications,_ Idrys remarked.
_My grandfather_s decree to bring down their strongholds was a
good idea then. It no longer is. I regretted not having them this
summer._
_Will you tell that to Ryssand?_
_Damn Ryssand. Damn the Amefin patriarch._ He folded the
letter and tucked it into his own belt. _At least we_re prepared in
the south. What he_s doing will turn the war north, when
Tasmôrden hears it, mark me. He_s being left no choice. And if
he doesn_t move toward him, we_ll be the hammer and Amefel
the anvil. Damn Ryssand twice and three times, he and Murandys
will catch the arrows if Tasmôrden invades. And as for
Ryssand& I may let my brother_s marriage go forward._
_You jest._
He swung around and fixed Idrys with a direct stare. _Artisane_s
husband would inherit, were Ryssand to fall in a ditch. My
brother might be duke of Ryssand and duke of Guelessar._
_Shall I find the ditch?_ Idrys said.
_After the wedding._ He found himself well out on a limb, far,
far from safe ground. _But maybe not. I_m not my grandfather._
_Your grandfather died in bed, my lord king, a grace the gods did
not grant your late father, who spared his enemies._
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_My grandfather died fearful of ghosts, master crow._
_And does my lord king fear them?_
_There has to be a wedding, before an inheritance. I_ll think of it
then._
_Think now, my lord king. If not Ryssand, then these
troublesome priests. The Quinalt won_t fault you._
_One doesn_t win by killing priests. They multiply. They become
martyrs. Gods know we need none. His Reverence of Amefel
will get his comeuppance, when His Holiness wakes up and uses
his wits. Then Ryssand will have his, if my brother weds the
Ryssandish minx. He far underestimates my brother._
_As my lord king wishes,_ Idrys said, _and again, as my lord
king wishes. And a third time, as my king wishes._
_Plague on you! You don_t approve. Say so!_
_Consider, I say, that Tristen himself would have wished his
messenger arrived timely; but he came too late. Our revenant is
still fallible. Wizards failed._
_He asked a man to make up days on His Reverence. He failed.
It_s not portentous._
_His Reverence fell in a ditch. And alas, survived it. Failed, I
say._
_He_d not wish for a death,_ Cefwyn said, and wondered in
himself why he held his hand. He had not been so moderate once.
He followed a wizard_s path without a wizard_s power.
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He wished not to be his grandfather, that was the truth. He
wished to win his battles on the field, not in some ditch.
He wished not to become the king his grandfather had been. That
dark pit was always there, a defensible place, a lonely, loveless
place& and he had been on his way there, when he had met
Tristen, and met Ninévrisë. He had listened to Heryn Aswydd,
adorned his gate with heads of men who might have been his best
allies, had he only known how he was deceived.
Then in Tristen_s company, seeing the mystery of forest leaves
and the wonder in a water-polished stone, a light had come on
him, a bright, bright hope, that this was the true world, all around
him, truer than his darkening sight. And ever after that and
forever, he hoped for himself, and whenever he thought of dark
and practical deeds, why, that light distracted him toward this
dream he had, and made him, perhaps, not a good or a reasonable
king, but a king who wanted to be better, a king who wanted all
his kingdom to enjoy their lives.
_My lord king?_ Idrys prompted him, and he knew he had been
woolgathering, looking toward that nonexistent but oh, so real
light, dreaming, not being responsible toward his duties.
_Let_s trust His Holiness,_ he found himself saying, covering that
soft part of his soul that could deal with Tristen and his
crownless queen, and finding the reason to gloss it over,
undetectable by Idrys_ critical eye. _He sees his danger: it_s
inside the Quinalt. Let_s see what he can do about it._
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Chapter 9
«
^
»
The wind blew and blew in the dark of night, battering at the
windows in the dark, spitting rain, not snow, wailing around the
eaves and rattling shutters.
_Like a spring wind,_ Lusin said, _an_ us not to Midwinter yet._
Tristen remembered the gray rain curtains that had swept down
on darker gray towers, and knew with a vague edge of fear that at
last his year was coming full circle: someone named a
characteristic of the coming season and it did not Unfold to him;
he recalled very keenly the look and the feeling of it at Ynefel,
the crack of thunder, rain, creeping wormlike along the horn-
paned window of his. room.
Here, his servants went anxiously about, even Tassand casting
worried looks at the besieged windows, and saying it was
unnatural.
_It_s only wind,_ Tristen said. _A true wind._
Yet he had wished fair weather on the south and all the ill to the
north, on Tasmôrden_s army, and if it rained here, he thought it
might snow to the north.
It was still his wish, ,and for more of it, but he feared such
tampering with nature. He thought, as the storm raged and
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thunder rolled above the roof, of going to master Emuin and
asking. But Emuin slept, when he wondered: was snug in his
blankets in the tower, ignoring the fuss in the heavens, and would
not be nudged to wake-fulness.
If master Emuin could sleep through the racket, he supposed it
was not so harmful& but he could neither sleep nor ignore it.
Neither, it seemed, could Uwen, who had been down to the
stables and now came back with his boots wet and his cloak
dripping.
_Not natural, m_lord, for it to be so warm so late in the year. The
yard_s a mud puddle._
_No trouble, however._
_All_s well, as I saw._ Uwen slung the cloak off, and a servant
took it. _It blew the lantern out, and the horses is all glad to be in.
Liss don_t like the thunder._
_Take a cup of ale,_ he said, for he knew Uwen liked it at the end
of a long day, and so they shared a cup, and talked of other
things, the building of a second barracks in the scant free space
of the Zeide court. That would go faster in warmer weather; and
so would the training of the Amefin guard, which Uwen meant to
oversee.
Uwen went off to bed, then the thunder quieted, and Tristen felt
the pigeons all snugged close, a sleepy feeling, somewhere near
in the eaves and the stable loft. Warm, warm together, and
peaceful, they felt.
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And with master Emuin sleeping, and all the world quiet, the fire
crackling and the spatter of rain against the windows, he found
sleep still eluding him. He read& read philosophy, the sound of
the rain comforting and peaceful. When he slept, he slept in the
chair, and so Tassand found him in the small hours of the night,
and threw a blanket over him.
In the morning Tassand called him to the window, that portion of
clear glass amid the colored, and showed him the hills.
They all showed brown, with patches of white. The snow had
gone, bringing the land back to autumn, all in a night.
_Do you see?_ he said to Uwen, as he came in for breakfast.
_Aye,_ Uwen said, _and a soggy mess of mud. I saw it from the
stable-court steps: I weren_t goin_ down in the muck before
breakfast. Did ye ever see such weather?_ Then Uwen laughed.
_O_ course ye hain_t. All_s to find._
_Have you?_
_No. A manner o_ speakin_, m_lord, ha_ ye ever seen? I ain_t, not
like this. The streets is runnin_ torrents, an_ the streams_ll Flood._
Flood Unfolded to him in a dismaying instant, bridges hit hard by
trees, livestock and houses swept away. He had not thought of
that in his wish. He wondered how much water was bound up in
the snow.
_Are the villages in danger?_ he asked. _The bridges?_
_The bridges is to ask,_ Uwen said, _but the villages is generally
set high, the countryfolk bein_ no fools. Amefel_s had floods
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afore this, an_ they_ll have brung up their sheep last night, I_ll
warrant, when they heard the rain._ ,
He had been careless, he had cast hardship on people who trusted
him, without thinking of the consequence to them. _I wish the
weather may be kinder,_ he said.
_It was you,_ Uwen said.
_I think that it was,_ he confessed. _And just as much rain as fell
here, I wished snow on Tasmôrden& not enough to prevent the
people from crossing the river. Now I wish the ground may dry._
_Then if it don_t happen by unnatural sort, I wager the winds_U
blow,_ Uwen said. _An_ blow for days._
And indeed by the time breakfast was done, the wind had risen.
When Tristen took the accustomed tribute of bread to the pigeons
on the ledge, their feathers were ruffled, and their wings beat
hard when bad manners shoved one another off the edge.
But despite the wind the morning was bright blue and clear
beyond the glass, and the change in the land was a curiosity. _I
may ride a turn, today,_ Tristen said to Uwen, who stood by to
watch. _I should see how the streams run. Dys wants exercise._
_It_ll be muddy,_ Uwen said. But all the same they laid their
plans, for they had very many horses due to arrive, and before
this master Haman had had men out in the snow and the frozen
ground walking the fences and building weather shelters and
moving hay and straw_against the belief that the winter was
sure to deepen, and that what they must do by Midwinter they
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must do now. Now the whole effort to prepare the province
waited for boats, and streams swollen with melted snow ran to
the Lenúalim, on which transport of grain depended_all such
things had become a worry. They had sent a message to Olmern,
overland& a cold and soggy messenger, last night, if he had not
stopped in a village& that, too, his wishes had done.
He vowed more caution, and went down to a muddy yard
somewhat sheepishly, not to confess the reason of the sudden
turn in the weather, or the source of the rising of the wind that
tugged at canvas shelters and whistled through the eaves, on this
bright blue morning.
_A fine mornin_,_ Uwen said, seeming to take it all in stride.
_Only so_s we get cold for a few days yet, enough to freeze the
fleas in the sheds, as I can swear ain_t happened yet._
_Do they freeze?_
_Time was ye were askin_ me what winter was._ Uwen said, _an_
now ye_re sendin_ it away. Aye, fleas do._
_I don_t think it_s a good idea to wish against what wants to
come,_ Tristen said, _and master Emuin slept through it all. He
calls me a fool, which is probably true. It shouldn_t have rained
last night. But I didn_t think of rain. I thought of snow and ice
melting and never thought of rain at all._
_So will we have fine weather for ridin_ today?_
_I think we will,_ he said. _Except the wind._
The pigeons walked about in the morning, slightly damp, looking
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confused as they dodged among the puddles, but dodging about
on very important business, always, at least to look at them.
Haman_s lads, as Uwen called them, saddled Gia and Gery and
the guard horses, for Lusin was coming down, with Syllan and
the rest. ,
_It_s a muddy mess down there, m_lord,_ Haman advised them as
they waited. _And there_s only piles of timbers as yet where the
shelters will stand._
_We_ll have a look, all the same,_ Tristen said. _Uwen says the
streams will be up._
_The east meadow_ll be under, afore all,_ Haman said, _but the
timber_s on the high end, where we_re building, m_lord. There_s
nothing lost, I_ll wager, and grass laid bare, which if it dries
before the horses tramp it down, is no bad thing._
It meant less need of hay, less clearing of stables& perhaps no
need of shelters at all for many of the horses if the weather held;
but dared he do that? They were not at Midwinter yet. Had the
heavens a store of snow that must fall, before all was done?
He saw he needed to face master Emuin and have his word on it,
if master Emuin would tell him a thing. He saw he needed
inquire afresh about the state of the villages, and pay at his own
charge any losses: fair was fair, as Uwen said, and none of the
folk of Amefel had merited flooded fields.
He could not have done such a thing when he walked the
parapets at Ynefel. He could not have done it before Lewen field.
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He was not sure when or how the gift had Unfolded in him,
perhaps that very day that he and Cevulirn rode home and he
foresaw the plight of the fugitives in Elwynor, harried by armed
men. Pity and anger had moved him; and could he say he had
thought as much as he ought before his heart swept the hills clear?
Young lord, he could hear Emuin chide him, in that tone of
disapproval, don_t ask me.
How could he ask Emuin& when by all he knew Emuin had no
such strength in him, an old man and frail, and very likely this
time to disapprove what he had done. He did not look forward to
that meeting, and did not want to face Emuin with only a guess
how the land had fared. He wished to see it, and assure himself
by the sight of what he could see that he had not done too great a
harm, that villages and the settlement at Althalen alike would
have come through it undamaged.
They had no official need, however, and escaped the display of
banners and all the commotion that went with them. On what had
become a windy, damp morning it was no procession, only a
snugly cloaked faring-forth, down the streets where shopkeepers
were sweeping debris from their walks, past the small repairs of
battered shutters and fallen roof slates and tattered awnings.
The day was, despite the fierce wind, warmer, and the town had
gone from white to brown and unlovely. The jewelry of ice had
crashed in ruin from the eaves of buildings up and down the
street and lay in dull heaps. Everything was muddy water and
piles of ice and dirty remaining snow, all the way to the gates.
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The gutters ran full, and great puddles of cold water stood in the
lower town, through which the horses went with disdain.
Outside the gates and to the west lay the establishment of the
stables, the pigs, the geese, the cattle, all manner of pens and
sheds, and some of those pens were covered in water.
South were orchards and sheep pasture, and near the walls, the
untidy small dwellings of the gooseherds and cowherds and
kennels and their yards, many of which had standing water. The
granaries were on a mound, and stood clear. And to the west and
north and up the nearer hills, the pastures spread out. Those that
master Haman claimed for the horses were, by his foresight, the
best drained and finest, where the land had streams running from
the hills, but no threat from rising water.
Dysarys and Cassam, his and Uwen_s heavy horses, had pride of
place in the stables, and when they came within sight of the
stables, there they were in the first two paddocks, out to tramp
about on this muddy morning. They were Cefwyn_s gift, and had
their own grooms from the day they were foaled: when the horses
came, so the grooms came to Amefel, and there was some little
ado while they turned Liss and Gery, their light horses that had
been on call in the fortress stables, out to the paddocks for their
turn at sunlight and room to run, and ordered the boys to brush
down and saddle Gia and Petejly, their other two mounts, for the
trip back up the hill.
That brushing down was no small task, for the horses out in the
pens had all coated themselves in mud this morning. Well-
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groomed hides stood up in winter coat and caked points, and the
stablehands were brushing and combing their charges in pens all
along the row.
More, Lusin and the household guard, too, had sent for their
second horses, and a sorry-looking lot they faced in exchange, to
the stablehands_ great embarrassment.
_As we didn_t know ye were comin_, m_lord._
_Saddle _em. An_ no mud on the gear,_ Uwen said gruffly, and
without any grace for the weather. Haman would say much the
same: horses should have been inside this morning, kept ready.
_Suppose there_d been Elwynim across the river. Suppose we_d
had to saddle, an_ ever_ man in the Guard callin_ for his horse,
an_ them muddy as pigs! Get to it!_
Boys ran.
_They_ll roll,_ Tristen said, seeing Gery do exactly that, turned
out in the paddock. She waved her feet in the air, then rose
triumphant, with a fine muddy coat.
_Horses,_ Uwen said in disgust, but there was little he loved
better in the world than being in the stables and having his hands
on a fine horse.
Dys and Cassam, however, were clean and brushed, first among
all the horses, and had no more than spattered legs. They were
ready to ride, to Tristen_s great pleasure, and with no ado at all.
The guards_ were not.
_Get us some horses,_ Lusin protested, _with His Grace bound
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out and us afoot. Damn the mud._
_We_ll not be far,_ Tristen said. _No great need. Uwen will be
with me._
_M_lord,_ Lusin said unhappily.
_At my direct order,_ Tristen said. _We_ll be riding just down the
lane._
Lusin was not happy, but in a trice they had saddled Dys and
Cassam and he and Uwen were out down the safe lane between
the rows of paddocks, an unprecedented lack of guards, a privacy
Tristen found pleasant. Dys and Cassam were in a fine, cheerful
mood, for they used the light traveling harness, not the heavy
fighting gear, and that meant it was exercise and frolic, not work:
both were tugging to have more rein as they reached the end of
the paddock lane.
_Oh, we_re full o_ tempers this mornin_,_ Uwen said. Indeed Cass
was taking Dys_ excited mood, throwing his head, working his
mouth at the bit, both horses tending to a quicker pace as they
made the turn. _Hold there, ye scoundrel._
The great feet spattered puddles far and wide as Dys took to a
quicker and quicker pace, and Cass did, and step by step it was
riders and horses in the same wild rejection of discipline, mud
flying. They made a wild charge past fences and to the very end
of the paddocks, far, far past the lane.
_To the trees,_ Tristen called out, his heart cheered by the lack of
troubles they had found. The wind stung his face and his eyes,
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tore at cloaks and manes, and had a bracing edge of cold.
_We told Lusin,_ Uwen began, but the horses_ excitement swept
them on, and it was only a little distance more. Off they went, as
far as the skeletal gray trees, and the turn there that led to the
west& the west, and riders on the road.
There were no pennons, no color about them; and they were not
Iyanim. Tristen drew in quickly, and Uwen beside him, at once in
sober attention, Dys and Cassam fighting the rein now, for they
had well-taught notions what to do with strangers confronting
them, and now the high spirits were for a charge and a fight.
But the riders, three men, who looked as if they had ridden far
and slept rough, never changed their pace, though it was sure
they had seen they were not alone.
_M_lord,_ said Uwen, _I_d have ye ride back. At least stand fast
an_ let me ride to _em an_ ask their business._
_No,_ Tristen said. They had their swords with them, if no
shields. They never left the Zeide gates unarmed or unarmored.
_Ye got that plain cloak, m_lord, an_ no color nor banner
showin_._
_Let_s find out their business all the same,_ he said, _and let them
explain who they are._
They came a little farther, then, until at a stand of beeches on one
side and a flooded patch across the road, they had come within
hail. _I_ll bespeak _em,_ Uwen said, Tristen saying nothing.
_Hullo, there! Ye_d be men out o_ Bryn, or what?_
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Then the riders did stop, on the other side of the flooded patch.
_Messengers,_ said the foremost, and raked his hood back,
showing a bearded face, and it in want of trimming and shaving.
A rough sort, they all looked. _We_ve come to meet with the
Sihhë-lord in Amefel._
_An_ to whose pleasure, if it ain_t his sendin_?_ Uwen replied.
_As it ain_t! What business have ye?_
_With him, I say._ The speech was not a common man_s, not
Amefin, nor like any but Her Grace_s, and hearing that lordly
tone, Tristen slipped his cloak back, showing the blood red of
Amefel and the black Eagle beneath.
_You?_ the man asked, suddenly respectful. _Your Grace?_
_Tristen,_ he named himself. _Duke of Amefel. Messengers from
whom? Not from Bryn._
_Elwynor, Your Grace._
_My men had orders to gather in weapons._ He saw a sword at a
saddlebow, and for the rest there was no knowing what the men
hid: armor at very least, perhaps heavier armor than his and
Uwen_s, but he trusted to his own skill.
Yet his remark brought no threat. Instead, the leader of the band
dismounted from his weary, head-hanging horse and went to one
knee in the mud at the edge of the puddle.
_They said at Althalen Your Grace had given them leave to make
a settlement, and we_ve come to ask shelter for all the men in our
company, our arms to serve Your Grace._
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_Ye didn_t come by the bridge on this road,_ Uwen said, _where
His Grace has appointed ye to cross._
_No. East. East of Anas Mallorn, such as we could, where we
could._
_Gettin_ horses across in this weather,_ Uwen said in amazement.
_A hard thing, that._
_A raft and rope, sir, all we had. We crossed to Bryn, but the lord
in Modeyneth said we should go to Althalen, and so I sent the
company there under a sergeant. But we four came to pay our
courtesies and ask&_ The officer had taken to trembling, there
exposed to the cold, and the others slid down from their horses
and caught him up, themselves in no better case. _To ask your
lordship for relief for Elwynor,_ the man reprised with a fierce
effort, _and to swear to your banner, because we _twill never
swear to the likes of Tasmôrden._
_So all of us,_ another said. _Lord, men, and horses, numbering
near sixty, of ten houses, all to your service._
_Such houses as they are now,_ said the third. _And our lands all
cinders and ash._
They were no common soldiers, by the sound of their speech:
Tristen had learned that distinction, little attention he paid to it
when men were as brave as these seemed. They were noble by
their actions and by their deeds, and while armed Elwynim were
the very presence he had wanted to keep away from Henas_amef,
considering his duty as duke of Amefel, here were Ninévrisë_s
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men, at war with Tasmôrden, carrying their quarrel into his
borders.
But here, too, were horses near to foundering and men who had
camped or ridden through the storm he had raised. He felt keen
remorse for their hardship.
_There_s food and shelter ahead,_ Tristen said, _for you and your
horses._
_I_ll walk, by your leave,_ the foremost said faintly. _I can_t get
up again, and my horse can do with the relief._
Indeed the man set out walking, wading knee-deep through the
water, unsteady in his steps and leading his horse, and so the
others walked, leading theirs.
So Tristen and Uwen rode on either side of them, escorting them
all the way to the paddock lane, and the muddy track there.
_Ho!_ Uwen called out as they came down the lane. _Boys for
these horses, an_ quick about it! See to _em and mind them legs!
These horses has come through that storm an_ through flood!_
Boys appeared from sheds and shelters, and so, too, did Lusin
and the rest, from the grooms_ shelter, near the wall.
The bedraggled Elwynim managed to walk that far, where Aswys
and other senior grooms marshaled a warm place, dry blankets,
and a cup of warmed wine apiece, even fresh bread and butter&
at which the grimy-handed visitors could only stare in exhaustion
and desire, too weary even to eat more than a few bites.
But Tristen, wrapped in a warm cloak and having dry boots, as
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these men did not, sat by the fire and listened, with Uwen, to the
account of men whose news was as they feared, that Ilefínian had
gone down in looting and confusion, and that very little of
Elfharyn_s force had escaped the walls at all.
These men_s company, losing touch with any coherent resistance,
had run from east of Ilefínian to the river, and escaped with their
weapons and their horses, by great resourcefulness, expecting to
live like bandits in the hills of Amefel and to get a message to
Ninévrisë, to learn whether they might have refuge.
_But from the new lord in Bryn we heard different things,_ said
the foremost, whose name proved to be Aeself, a lieutenant, a
nephew of Elfharyn_s line. _We heard in Modeyneth about the
old wall and Your Grace and Mauryl Gestaurien, and so we came
to offer all we have, ourselves and our weapons and our fortunes
such as they are._
All they had was very little, except weapons and exhausted
horses, but not of little account was the courage and the
persistence that had carried them this far, to a town that, before,
had seen the heads of Elwynim messengers adorn its gates.
_Sleep,_ Tristen said, for he judged these men had had no rest
last night. _Come to the Zeide when you have the strength, and
borrow horses for the ride up. You_ll show me on maps where
you crossed._ It was in his mind that what these men had
managed, more might do, and not only Ninévrisë_s men. They
lacked sure knowledge of such crossings as scattered intruders
knew to use.
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To Uwen he said: _Find two riders to carry a message to
Althalen. Tell them their men came here safely._
_Better send more grain from here,_ Uwen said. _Wi_ horses to
feed, they_ll need it, and it_s quicker than sendin_ to Modeyneth._
_Do so,_ he said.
_Tents,_ said Uwen. _And axes and good rope; that too. _At_s a
whole damn village they_ve become, m_lord, and now there_s a
company._
No longer the domain of mice and owls, Tristen thought, and as
he was taking his leave, Aeself, falling to his knees, insisted to
swear, and gave his oath to him.
_Take my pledge,_ Aeself said, _to be your man in life and death,
and gods save Elwynor._
_So with the rest of us,_ said Uillasan, oldest of the three, and
went to his knees and took his hand and swore.
But Angin, the last and youngest, said, _To the hope of the King
To Come& for I_ve seen him._
That brought sharp looks, even from Uwen.
_I_d have a care there, m_lord,_ Uwen said for Tristen_s ear
alone, _and not take that oath from him. It ain_t wise, an_ it ain_t
loyal._
_What Uwen says I regard,_ he said to the young man.
_All of us think it,_ said Aeself, _and damn us if you like, the
boy_s said it for good and all, my lord. You are our lord._
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He saw the distressed looks of the Guelenmen who guarded him,
and Uwen_s look, and the shocked faces of the grooms, Guelen
and Amefin together.
_I was Shaped, not born,_ he said bluntly, _and some say I_m
Sihhë and some say I was Barrakkęth. That may be. But I say my
name is Tristen, and while I say so, not even a wizard_s wish can
turn me to any other creature._
_What my lord wills,_ Aeself said, and so the others said, in
exhausted voices, wrung thin by cold and hardship, men sinking
to the last of their strength.
_Take care of them,_ Tristen said to the grooms, for it seemed
added hardship to send them to horseback again, and up the hill,
when they were only now warm and eased of sodden armor: here
in the grooms_ quarters were men skilled in medicines and armed
with salves and every comfort for men or horses. _Send them up
the hill when they_re well and able._Are our horses ready?_
_That they are, m_lord._
_An_ as for what they said and what they wished to swear,_
Uwen said gruffly, _an_ all ye witnessed, the wine come over
_em, is all. Talk, an_ ye_ll have me to deal with._
_The wine came over _em,_ Aswys said. __At were the case. Isn_t
a man here heard aught else or remembers it, or I_ll skin _im,
m_lord._
Heated wine might have brought out the oaths, so Tristen said to
himself, and held in his heart what Uleman had said of him, and
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what Auld Syes had said, and now these men.
But the Elwynim might hail him king or High King or whatever
else they wished: things were true in a wizard_s way of speaking
that were not true to ordinary Men, and the converse, as well. He
had been Barrakkęth and he was not, while he was Tristen,
Mauryl_s heir, and that was what he chose. Sihhë-lord Barrakkęth
might have been, and lord of all the lands the High Kings ruled,
but he had never been king, in the sense the later lords had been.
_If it were true I was Barrakkęth,_ he said to Uwen and Lusin and
the rest on the way back to the gates, while they were still outside
the streets of the town and alone, _if that were true, still,
Barrakkęth was never King. What the Elwynim think doesn_t
change that._
_Wine an_ truth,_ Uwen said, riding bay Gia beside Tristen, on
honest, shaggy Petelly. _They meant it wi_ their hearts, an_ think
they_ve sworn. So thank the gods His Reverence is in Guelessar.
Their lord dead, one an_ the other, an_ the Elwynim lookin_ for
their King To Come for the last sixty years, so who_s to say?
That old prophecy_s been rattlin_ about for sixty years lookin_ for
a likely place._
_This is not that place._
_Ye_re Sihhë an_ you_re a lord, an_ ye must say that_s uncommon
in Ylesuin, m_lord._
_Duke of Amefel, Cefwyn_s friend, and Her Grace_s. Mauryl_s
heir. Emuin_s, someday. That_s enough._
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_Ye should say so often enough the Elwynim hear it,_ Uwen
said, _beggin_ pardon, m_lord, but I_d be damn careful to say so,
because the Elwynim_s apt to get notions._
The people who on festive days called him Lord Sihhë in the
streets saw nothing unusual in his coming and going on this day,
and lacking the signs of an official procession, they only paused
in their business and bowed as he passed.
A handful of children ran along beside, untrustable and noisy, at
which Petelly also looked askance. Such were the hazards of
Henas_amef. It had assumed a beloved, homelike character, even
its obstacles and hazards: he loved it, he decided, and the men in
the stable threatened that love& threatened him as much as they
helped Her Grace.
He had to make them understand that. They wanted from him
what he could not give, and wanted to give him what was not his
to hold& what he had never held. This was his Place in the
world, his, Crissand_s, the two of them, as Barrakkęth had valued
Crissand_s remotest kinsman, long, long ago_so he fancied, yet
remembered nothing, saw nothing further Unfold. Three riders
from the north could threaten his peace this winter, and ride in on
the wings of storm, but he drew a deep breath and willed his land
quiet, and his visitors safe, and the war far from the people he
battered with rain and wind_far gentler enemies than otherwise
threatened them.
Deep let the snow lie on Ilefínian, deepest there, and give no
relief to the enemy; and a blessing of wind on the south, drying
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the puddles, drying the fields. Let the river empty out the flood,
and give easy passage to Olmern_s boats, and let them come to
feed the hungry and to provision the defense of Amefel: that was
his business, and he found in all he saw that he had not done
badly.
So he wished. And when he reached the citadel again, and his
own apartments, he gathered up his maps, he called in Crissand,
and sent also to Azant, as the lords nearest to hand.
_We have guests,_ he began, in the intimacy of what was, at
other hours, his dining table. _We have guests in the downhill
stables and others at Althalen. An Elwynim company escaped,
with its weapons, and swears to our service._
What the men had wished to swear to him, and what they might
have sworn in their hearts, he did not say, nor did Uwen. By now
he was sure the men were sleeping, and likely to remain asleep
for hours.
In all of it since his return he was aware of Paisi slipping about,
and running here and there for master Emuin, and by now he was
aware that master Emuin was listening to all that happened.
It seemed superfluous to mount the stairs to master Emuin_s
chamber, but when he had told Crissand and Azant all he knew,
he took that belated course, quietly, even meekly.
_Well, well, well,_ Emuin said when Tristen shut the door at his
back and faced him, _and what have we done today, young lord?_
_I_ve settled Althalen with a village and had men swear to me as
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the King To Come._ He flung all of it out, the bald truth, and felt
oddly abashed. He feared in the matter of inviting the Elwynim
there was very much more than he had yet accounted of, and that
he had been very much the fool Emuin called him. Done was
done, yet not as widely or as publicly as might have been& or
might yet be. He was at least forewarned.
_Well, well._ Emuin was seated at his table, charts spread far and
wide and weighted with dubious small pots and a teacup. _And
you say you_re distressed, young lord? But are you quite
surprised?_
_I wish nothing to Cefwyn_s harm. And what shall I do?_ His
voice sank, so difficult was it suddenly to utter. _I find myself
afraid, sir. The Elwynim are in the stable, with men who_ve
sworn to me not to talk. But they said it, all the same. And they
will say it, and the lords of the south will come here, and what
will happen then? This army is Cefwyn_s army. Elwynor is Her
Grace_s, not mine._
Emuin rose from his table and turned his back, setting his face
toward the window shutters. Paisi was out and about somewhere,
for which Tristen was thankful: he could at least speak without
another witness.
_Cefwyn knows,_ Emuin said in a voice as quiet. _So did his
father, for that matter._
_Ináreddrin? About me?_
_Cefwyn wrote to him this summer saying he had found the
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Elwynim King To Come. Saying also he_d bound you by an oath
of fealty_underhanded, since at the time you had no notion what
you are, and presumptuous in the king_s way of thinking, his son
and heir taking oaths from&_ Emuin gave a long breath. _From
the heir of the Sihhë. And directly after, Ináreddrin rode south in
a fair frothing rage of suspicion& which sent him into the
Aswydds_ ambush, failing a little of delivering all the Marhanens
to one battlefield. There was folly, if you wish an example of
royal extravagance. He could have sent someone. Sending
subordinates would have changed everything, a fact I_ve urged
on Cefwyn most vehemently. And Ináreddrin died for that
extravagance of passion._
He heard it all in alarm. And one thing came clear to him.
_Cefwyn knew._
_Oh, no doubt._
_He knew the prophecy when he gave me Althalen._
_Oh, aye, indeed he did. For that matter, young lord, I thought
long and hard on what he_d done. But do it he must, perhaps, one
way or another, and chose the easiest course, with no blow
struck._
_I_d not strike any blow at him. Ever._
_Of course not. You call him your friend. So now we may
wrestle with prophecies, and wizardry. He_s your friend, and
therefore has avoided the worst pitfalls. He knew from the first
he laid eyes on you that he saw something uncommon in you,
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and yet he liked you well, and he made you his friend on my
advice. That was my advice to him, and it served him very well._
He was struck to the heart. _I_m glad you gave it, sir. But only on
your advice?_
Emuin shook his head. _No, not only on my advice. He does love
you. That_s the truth of it, as you love him._
The fear was no less. _What should I do? And do not you give
me a glib answer this time, sir. Should I take horse and ride back
to Ynefel and face his enemies? Perhaps&_ The thought had
come back to him, as he had thought this fall, that perhaps
Mauryl had set a limit to his Summoning and Shaping, and that
there was no time for him beyond this year, or some night this
spring. _If Mauryl_s spell vanishes with some midnight this
spring, that would solve it all, would it not? Will I vanish, with
it? And should I?_
_I don_t know,_ Emuin said. _As to wizardry, I see no reason the
spell should end._
_I do. I see very many reasons, if Mauryl had any care for the
Marhanen._
Emuin looked at him with the arch of a white brow. _Care for the
Marhanen? None that I know._
That gave him no cheer at all. It had begun as a remarkable day,
and the day came down to dark in one frightening admission after
another.
_Was Mauryl their enemy? What was in those letters to the
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Aswydds? This is where you lived, was it not? What was in the
letters?_
_Ah. A good question._
_Then answer it!_
_Mauryl used the Marhanens to bring down the Sihhë. They were
not friends, but they saw the use in each other& as Selwyn
Marhanen exempted two wizards from the Quinalt ban. I was
one._
_And Mauryl the other. What of the others who helped him at
Althalen?_
_Dead. Three there, others over the years. One in Elwynor._
_In Elwynor!_
_Dead, I say. An Aswydd. Taryn was his name. But if he were
alive, I_d know it._
_How can you not have told me this?_
_Perhaps because it doesn_t matter. Taryn Aswydd is irrelevant to
you. The others__
_The others__
_May have relevance. The Aswydds living and dead Cefwyn
exiled from this province. Dug them up, hauled them out of their
tombs, and sent the whole lot over the border to hallowed ground
in Guelessar. That for necromancy. The only one missing is
Taryn, in some tomb or grave in Elwynor._
_I need your advice this time. I know you wish me to think of
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things for myself, but in this, I ask you, sir, tell me most
solemnly what you see._
Emuin breathed deeply. _Advice? I_ll cut through all the cords at
once. One stroke. As I advised Cefwyn to win your friendship, I
advise you& win his._
_Have I not& his friendship?_
_Win his._
Emuin at his most obscure, most informative, and most obdurate
and maddening. A dead Aswydd in Elwynor, live ones in exile in
Guelessar, Elwynim down in the stable, and Emuin talked of
friendship. Cefwyn had lamented that trait of obdurate silence,
and cursed it, but Tristen did neither, at the moment. Curious
strictures bound Emuin, he had begun to know that: to know
somewhat, and not to know enough, and to know that naming a
thing had power& that was a burden. He had let loose a wish for
snow and fair weather and had almost loosed disaster, unthinking.
The narrow escape sobered him, chastened him, made him think
twice how he railed on Emuin, who did very little and that after
long, long thought.
_Thank you, sir._
_For what?_
_For your constancy. Your silence. Your thinking things
through._
Now Emuin laughed, of sheer surprise, it seemed. _Mauryl said I
was fickle as the breeze._
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_As hard to catch._ Now the boy Paisi was on the stairs,
thumping and gasping, carrying something heavy, and their time
of privacy was ended.
Win his. Win Cefwyn_s friendship, of all tasks Emuin might
have set him the dearest to his heart, and perhaps the thorniest.
He had come here almost in despair, and now opened the door
for the boy with a light heart and a consciousness that, no, he no
longer was the boy, the wizard_s fetch-all and carry-all. Master
Emuin had set him a task he could do, and wished to do, a great
task, a lord_s task.
Paisi had baskets with him& supper, meat pies, by the delicious
aroma. _Shall I fetch for you, m_lor_?_ Paisi asked in dismay. _I
didn_t see your guards, m_lor_._
_I escaped them,_ Tristen said, and went his way out the door and
down the steps as if his feet had wings.
Below, far down the hall, two of his exasperated guards did find
him. So did importunate workmen, pleading that the doors had to
be finished, and they were fine carpenters, not makers of stables.
_Yet it_s stables and barracks we need,_ Tristen said in all
patience, _so we needn_t have axes at these doors again, if you
please. Finish your carvings later. Make them fine when there_s
time. Now we need beams up, and roofs._
_Get along there,_ Lusin said& only Lusin and Tawwys had
come for him. _Shame, to be pestering His Grace with plaints
and preferences, gods bless!_ M_lord, the Elwynim has come up
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the hill, or Aeself has. The others& master Haman_s seein_ to
_em, sayin_ they_ve the look of fever an_ he don_t want sick men
in the town._
Disease and all the ills of war, Tristen recalled the warning.
Would an unscrupulous wizard unleash that against them? Any
gap in their armor had to be seen to.
_Master Haman can deal with fevers,_ he said, _but all the same,
go up and tell Emuin. He_ll have something for them, to prevent
it. He_ll know._
_Aye, m_lord._ Tawwys was up the stairs in a trice, but Lusin
stayed below with him, and the two of them walked toward the
stairs. _Cook_s sent supper to the little hall, m_lord, an_ a small
table set, countin_ the visitor._
_Set out the maps,_ he said. _Not all the maps, but sufficient to
ask the man where he went and how he crossed, and where
Tasmôrden might be, and doing what._And I_ll want a clerk, to
have it all written down._ The whole day had passed in one rush
after another, and Lusin caught a passing servant, sending her
running for the archive and the clerk.
He would write to Cefwyn with what he learned. He would
deserve Cefwyn_s friendship.
Meanwhile Uwen was coming down the stairs, and Crissand
joined them from the west, in from the stable-court, with his
bodyguard. Durell was close behind him.
Likely curiosity had spread through the court, until he had as
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well have used the great hall for his welcome to Aeself and the
rest. Lords he had not summoned were finding excuses to come,
and obtain an invitation.
_Here, and here,_ Aeself said, a noble conversant with maps and
charts, a commander willing, in the carrying-away of the dishes
of their simple supper, to move a trembling and much-injured
hand over the canvas map and show them all what he knew.
_There,_ he said, drawing a line by Ilefínian to note the presence
of Tasmôrden_s forces, and the road that led up to the border and
the riverside Cefwyn defended, all but one of its bridges
destroyed. _The Guelenmen move with heavy wagons,_ Aeself
said, _and this Tasmôrden expects._ He had a cough, himself, and
took a sip of wine laced with one of Emuin_s potions. _So Lord
Elfwyn believed the reports we had. My lord is dead, now,
almost beyond a doubt& and so all this army&_ Aeself passed
his hand over the region of the town. _The gates did not
withstand him. They opened._
_Force of arms?_ Tristen asked. _Or did he use other means?_
_My lord&_ Aeself lost his voice a moment, in coughing. _I
don_t know. They opened at night, and if a man of ours would do
it, then damn him for it, but we don_t know how, otherwise,
except wizardry, and that we don_t discount._
_Is he known to have such help?_
_He_s known for one himself, my lord._
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That was not quite a surprise, counting that the claim to be a
High King meant Sihhë blood, however thin.
_But sufficient for that?_
_No one knows. Some say it_s all trickery, to fulfill the prophecy.
Some say he hides what he does have, and sheds his soldiers_
blood when he could win past without a battle, all to hide his
wizardry from us. To this hour we don_t know._
Either a strong wizard or not: again, no news, and Tristen had no
knowledge of his own on the matter.
_We were on the outside of Ilefínian,_ Aeself continued, _had
been, attempting to bring relief to the town, back from the north.
But when we came there, we found the gates breached, the earl_s
men inside looting the town. We attempted to turn the tables on
him, and besiege the besiegers, but he was cannier than that, and
we rode into archers at the east gates. So twenty-two of us died,
and the Saendal, the damned brigands, dragged two more of us
down. It was no honor to us that we ran, my lord, but I looked to
save something, and we_d no prospects there. There was no
knowing then where the earl was. They knew where we were,
they always knew, and if that was natural, he_s a clever man._
_What do you think?_
_He claims the Kingship, and he claims to be Sihhë. He has to
have the blood, so he has to say so, true or not. He has somewhat
the look._
_Does he?_ asked Crissand, and Aeself faltered.
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_Not so much as m_lord does,_ Aeself said faintly. _Seeing him,
one knows the difference, as I_ve never seen, not in my life._
_Tasmôrden_s army,_ Tristen said, unwilling to allow that to go
further. _Where?_
Aeself touched the map, the circle around Ilefínian. _Here_s the
most of his forces, which with the loot and the taverns, isn_t
likely moving. And here to the east, there_s a shred of Her
Grace_s men under arms, that the earl hasn_t gone to take yet, but
the loyal army is thin, they_re thin, my lord. There_s force on the
earl_s side and force in his hands, and there_s some who say he is
what he says, and has the blood, and the magic in him, but if he
has, he can_t keep his men out of the wine stores. That saved us,
if anything._
Tristen listened, hands braced before his lips, eyes fixed on a
canvas land that became visible to him with Aeself_s telling, and
a fair telling it seemed to be. He had come to Emuin in fear, he
had come from Emuin in hope, and now he saw the quandary laid
before him& bad news regarding the forces at Ilefínian, bad
news regarding Her Grace_s loyal forces in the country, and a bad
outlook for the eastern bridges where Cefwyn proposed to force a
crossing, but Cefwyn had foreseen that would happen, and had
good maps& had taken the best maps, as he knew, out of
Amefel, leaving him older, less reliable ones. He had brought
two good ones with him out of Guelessar, but they informed him
no better about the height of hills or the difficulty of a given road.
Aeself might. Aeself, however, was all but spent, and had grown
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more pale and more unsteady as a fair-sized supper and the ale
combined with the volley of questions. Now he looked torn
between desire to be believed and the exhaustion that was near to
claiming him. Tristen set a hand on Aeself_s arm, and said, _Will
you go back to your friends, sir? Or rest in the Zeide tonight?_
_At my lord_s will. But I_d rather go to my comrades._
_Go,_ he said. _Tawwys will escort you down._ He reached into
the gray space as he said it, and gathered nothing of presence
there, as he had not for these men from the time they had met.
But within that space he could do some things he could not do in
the world of Men. He brought out a little of the brightness of the
gray space, and encouraged the life in Aeself: he snared a little of
that silvery force and lent it to Aeself, so a ring on his wounded
hand flared with an inner spark_and Aeself gathered himself as
if he had gotten a second wind, and looked at him with
trepidation.
_My blessing on you,_ Tristen said. He had gathered that word
with difficulty out of Efanor_s little book and Uwen_s anxious
seeking; but now, faced with pain, he knew the use of it, and he
saw the ease come on Aeself_s face, and the light into his eyes.
_My lord,_ Aeself said, all open to him, utterly, so that what
Aeself knew he was sure he knew, and it was not great. A second
time he touched Aeself, this time on the hand.
_Go. Rest. Take the little basket with you._
Emuin had sent down a collection of simples during their supper,
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odorous little pots, wizard-blessed and potent, Tristen was well
sure, salves and pungent smokes that would cure horses and men
alike. And Aeself understood him, and the need for silence:
Aeself saw how authority sat in this small council, and that he
met as a man among men with these friendly lords, needing no
kneeling or other signs of respect. M_lord he was. He made that
enough.
_Go,_ Tristen said again. _M_lord,_ Aeself said, and taking the
basket, took his leave.
His guests, still standing about the table and the maps, had no
awareness that something had transpired in that last moment.
Durell was contentedly diminishing the quantity of wine
remaining.
Crissand, however, sent a thoughtful look at Aeself_s back, a
look not completely pleased.
_You find something amiss,_ Tristen said quietly, between the
two of them.
_No, my lord._
He caught Crissand_s eye by accident and the gray space gaped
around them, not of his own will.
He was amazed. To assail him in the gray space was temerity on
Crissand_s part, a rash venture at meeting him in wizardry, on his
own ground.
The gray place exposed hearts without mercy, and that exposure
Crissand might not have realized until it was too late& for
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Crissand whipped away from him, angry and ashamed, and the
gray winds swirled and darkened steadily.
_That he has sworn to me? Tristen wondered, and would not let
Crissand go or break back into the world of Men. Are you
jealous? Why?
Crissand was snared, and could not escape. And shame burned
deep in Crissand_s heart.
In the world, he bowed his head. _My lord,_ Crissand said, red-
faced, and all the while Durell sipped his wine. So with Azant.
But he looked straight at Crissand, in whom, more than any
other, of all the earls, he saw a love, not of what he was, but of
him.
But what Crissand wanted he wanted with a great, a heartbending
passion, exclusive of others. It had become a stronger and
stronger one, his rebellion just now an assault of love and need,
desperate, and now confounding both of them in its sudden,
disastrous misdirection.
_Have I offended you? Tristen asked.
There was a stilling of the clouds then, a great heartbroken calm.
_The wrong isn_t in you, but in me. I_m Astvydd, doesn_t that
say it? The flaw is in the blood. I was not with you. For all of
this, I haven_t been with you, and now you have an army
without us&
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_You_ve found this place. Who told you?
_I followed you, my lord.
Followed him, indeed. Friendship, love, jealousy, all had broken
down the walls. And Crissand had perhaps done it before, but at
distance, and learned what could set him in danger.
_Being here is easy once you find the way, Tristen said. Isn_t
it? That_s the very easiest thing. You believed me when you
swore. Believe me now. Jealousy moved you.
_Truth, Crissand said, downcast, then, fiercely: But we are
your people, my lord. We were first.
He weighed that, and a sudden sureness made him shake his
head.
_For now. But there_ll be a day I_ll only have you for my
friend. You_ll sit where I do. You_ll be the aetheling. So Auld
Syes said. Have you forgotten that? Or didn_t you hear?
_Never in your place, my lord!
_Never separate from me, Tristen said, oddly assured and at
peace in his own heart. But not lord of Amefel. Lord of Althalen
and Ynefel. Cefwyn was right, was he not?
_My lord,_ Crissand said aloud, shaken, and pale of face.
_Go home,_ Tristen said, then, to all the company, and Crissand,
too, bowed and went his way, downcast and ashamed.
He went with Uwen and his guard.
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But he was with Crissand while Crissand walked the hall, and
while he gathered up his guard near the doors.
He was aware when Crissand walked out and down the stable-
court steps, in fearful thought.
He was aware and while he himself walked upstairs and Crissand
walked, farther and farther away, across the muddy cobbles of
the stable-court, seeking the West Gate, and his own house.
He left Crissand standing confused on the damp cobbles outside
the gate. _My lord?_ Crissand_s guard asked him, finding his
young earl lost in thought.
But Tristen did not approach him further, only left him to think
his thoughts, and to reach his conclusions, inevitable as they
must be.
Aetheling. Ruler of Amefel.
He went into his apartments, into the care of his staff. He
suspected that, in the stir the two of them had made in the gray
space with their quarrel, Emuin had been aware, and that Emuin
at least did not disapprove his action_or his warning to Crissand.
He gave his cloak to Tassand, his gloves to another servant, let a
third remove his belt, and set his sword in its accustomed place,
by the fireside.
Illusion was the writing on one side of his sword, and Truth was
written on the other.
And he had learned the edge was the answer.
Finding Crissand_s edge was no simple matter. Crissand he
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feared would cause him pain, as he had caused Cefwyn pain.
They were models, one of the other. Cefwyn had doggedly
followed Emuin_s advice, regarding him; now he must do the
same for Cefwyn_and for Crissand.
He took up his pen, dipped it in ink, wrote on clean paper what
he dared not say openly, but what he hoped Cefwyn would
understand obliquely& truth, and illusion, trusting Cefwyn again
to find the useful edge.
_Ye should rest,_ Uwen said, straying bleary-eyed from his
bedroom. The candles had burned far down. Some had gone out.
It was the dead part of the night, and nothing was stirring but the
wind outside and the steady battering of wind against the
windows. _Ye don_t sleep near enough, lad. Now what in hell are
ye doin_ at this hour?_
Now that Uwen said it Tristen felt the weariness of actions taken,
decisions made, the small hope of things accomplished. Before
him, he saw a stack of matters dealt with in a night that for many
reasons, Emuin_s answer and the Elwynim and the confrontation
with Crissand included, had afforded him no prospect of sleep.
It was the second such night in a row& yet weary as he was, he
had no inclination to sleep.
Uwen had gone sensibly to bed at midnight, but his face too,
candlelit, stubbled with gray beard, seemed weary and fretted
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with responsibility and his lord_s sleepless nights.
How much had Uwen watched, he asked himself.
_I nap,_ he said to Uwen. _Go back to your bed. Don_t worry for
me._
_I don_t know where ye find the strength to stay awake,_ Uwen
said with a frown, _or again, maybe I guess, an_ I_d ask ye take to
your bed like an ordinary lad an_ rest your head if I thought ye_d
regard me. I don_t know whether witchery_s a fair trade for hours
again_ a pillow, but honest sleep is afore all a good thing, m_lord,
and makes the wits work better, an_ I_d willingly see ye have
more of it._
_I_ll try. Go to bed._
He thought that Uwen would go away then. But Uwen lingered,
came closer, until the same circle of two remaining candles held
them both, the other sconce having failed.
_Ye recall,_ Uwen said quietly, _when ye was first wi_ us, how
ye_d learn a new thing and ye_d sleep an_ sleep till the physicians
was all confounded. D_ ye recall that?_
_I do recall._
_And now it don_t happen, m_lord, _cept down there in hall, wi_
you an_ young Crissand staring back an_ forth an_ not a sensible
word. Ye don_t sleep. Ye_re not helpin_ yourself._
_No,_ he agreed. _I suppose I_m not._
_An_ by me, my lord, I_d far rather the sleepin_ than the not
sleepin_, if ye take my meanin_. So I ask ye, please. Go to bed.
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Take some wine if ye will. But try._
He had been all but set on a more forceful dismissal, but of all
others, Uwen did not deserve a dismissal or a curt answer.
Indeed, differences. A change had happened in the way he met
the world of new things, and the way he ordered Men here and
there. What new things he encountered did not so much Unfold
to him these days as turn up inthe shadows of his intentions,
warning him only a scant step before he must wield the
knowledge. His life had acquired a sense of haste, and feeling of
being a step removed from calamity. He was engaged now in
battle with paper and clerks and carpenters, with Elwynim
companies and grain from Olmern, with the adoration of
desperate men and the jealousy of his friends.
He resented sleep.
But& Flesh and blood as well as spirit, Mauryl had indeed
warned him, with the sharp rap of his staff on the steps. Crack!
Crack-crack! The echoes still lived in his memory, still made
him wince. Pay attention! Mauryl would tell him. Uwen had told
him. Should he not heed?
_See here,_ Uwen said with a sidelong glance at the brazen
dragons. _Will ye take my bed? I don_t have any of them things
leaning above my rest. I don_t wonder ye don_t sleep un_erneath
them damn things, but rest ye must._
_I promise. I promise, Uwen. Go off to bed. I_ll put myself to bed
in a very little time._
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Uwen looked doubtful, and began to leave, then turned back, feet
set.
_Swear,_ Uwen said.
_By the gods?_ he asked wryly, knowing Uwen knew where that
study sat with him, in Efanor_s little book.
Uwen said not a thing. But neither, now, would Uwen leave.
_I_ll go to bed,_ Tristen said, conceding. _Go on. I_ll not need
Tassand._
_Tassand_ll have my head if I don_t call _im,_ Uwen said, and
went off to do that.
So difficult things now became. And now Uwen had set his teeth
in the matter of his master_s difficulties and would no more let go
than a dog a bone.
_M_lord?_
Uwen was merciless, and insistent.
So he took himself to bed, attended by two sleepy servants,
loomed over by Aswydd dragons.
Then, lying still in the dark, he found himself at the edge of
exhaustion, and afraid, wanting just the little assurance things in
the place were in order& he stretched out his awareness as thin
and subtle as a waft of air to the rooms around him, touched
Uwen_s sleeping thoughts, and his guards_ drowsy watching at
the door. Gathering sleep was like pitching a tent for protection,
stretching thin ropes this way and that to ground he knew was
stable.
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And when he extended his curiosity farther still, he was able to
reach Emuin, who was distracted, and a boy, whose feet were
cramped in new boots, and who kept Emuin_s night hours.
He had not alarmed them or even attracted notice in his tenuous
wandering. The boy poured tea and served in fear, his
concentration all for the gray-haired untidy man in the tower with
him, while Emuin chased the mysteries of the stars through his
charts. The boy thought mostly of food and whether he dared
reach for the last small cake.
It was enough: he had succeeded once at subtle approach, assured
himself his household was safe and folded around him like a
blankest.
He spread himself thinner and thinner on the insubstantial
winds& was aware of all the servants and the guards throughout
the Zeide, all about their own business when they were not about
his; he was aware of the town, asleep but for a few who watched
or worked, and one man of ill intent whose hand shook under his
attention and faltered of the lock he had meant to open.
The man ran, and did not elude him, but hid shivering in the
shadows, in fear of justice that might last him for days.
But fear was enough, unless he found the man twice.
He sailed away, longed to reach Crissand, but in this fey mood
sent his thoughts past that house, down the street, to the gates.
He was aware even further, of men and horses outside the walls,
and villages drowsing under a sifting of snow north and south of
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Henas_amef.
He felt the lonely camp at Althalen, and the soldiers_ camp on the
Lenúalim_s cold and windy shores; he dreamed of wings
shadowing the road, broad, blunt wings, peaceful in the night.
Snow began, and fat flakes whirled and spun beneath those wings.
He had found Owl, so his dream told him. At last he had found
the source of his fey restlessness, and rode Owl_s thoughts, as
Owl showed him all the land from high, high above.
Owl flew right across the village of Modeyneth, the guard posts,
the bridges, and the river, and soared on above the land of
Elwynor, to a city afflicted by siege and ravaged by fire.
There was Tasmôrden. There was the enemy that threatened
Ninévrisë_s people and Cefwyn_s peace, and Owl circled above
that place, finding the insubstantial Lines of the fallen town also
broken and faltering in their strength.
Now he was well awake in this dream, and angry, and violating
every sense of caution he had urged in Crissand.
He saw, yes, the faint glow of wizardry about Tasmôrden, not
that Tasmôrden himself wielded it well, but that it was in the air
of the place, and that somehow it moved there, raw and reddened
and white with struggle.
There was wizardry about the town as well, ragged blue of guard
and ward, Uleman_s making, Tristen thought: that clear light,
however fragmentary, was like Uleman_s work, Ninévrisë_s
father. His care, his courage, all, all defended Ilefínian, but had
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not prevailed to hold it. The ragged red had come in on the edge
of sword and axe, leapt up in the burning and smoldered in the
glow of embers.
Bodies, untended and unburied, lay frozen in doorways and at
shrines, under a dusting of snow that began to bring innocence
back to the night.
A banner flew above the high fortress of Elwynor, and he knew
that banner& not the black-and-white Checker and Tower of the
Regent of Elwynor, no, but a black banner, a single star that was
very like the black banner of Althalen.
With a crown above the star.
Was it a vision of things now, this very night, and was that the
banner Tasmôrden claimed? If so, dared this man appropriate to
himself the land and honor Cefwyn had given, and then set a
crown on it, the emblem of a king?
Away, he wished Owl, on a thought, and Owl soared away south,
bending a long, long turn, and crossed the river again far to the
west, where Marna Wood shadowed the snow, and glimmered
with far more potent wards.
Up, up, up and aside from the barrier, Owl_s wings tilted sharply,
and Owl took a dizzying plunge through buffeting winds as Owl
met something and flinched.
Suddenly Tristen found the wind rushing past him and the earth
rushing up.
Air turned to substance, became the bedclothes, and the frantic
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pounding of his heart became a leaden rhythm of recent threat.
He was still in midair, even lying on his bed. That was the way it
felt. And Emuin had stopped his pen, having blotted his page.
His agitated next reach overset the inkpot. He righted the pot
without a second thought and held his breath at the feeling that
shivered through the night.
_Tristen? Emuin asked.
_Safe, he said within the gray space.
Yet the west in the gray space shadowed dark as his dream, and
the winds blew cold to the bone.
_It was a dream, sir, no more than a dream.
_Was it? Emuin asked. Hovering there within Emuin_s heart
was a question and a fear directed toward that shadow, for that
was a deep and dark one.
But in the east, now, a second shadow grew, a niggling small
one, and a faint glow of light that had no explanation.
And a third, in the north, where the black banner flew.
_There is a wizard, Tristen said, and sat up in bed, catching the
covers about him against the chill. There is someone, here, and
here, and here. Do you see the glows, sir? It is more than one.
One_s come close& one_s followed me&
_Be careful! Emuin chided him.
But Tristen flung himself out of bed, caught the bed covering
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around him and trailed it to the room next, losing it as he
reached the hearth and his sword that stood against the stones.
He snatched up the hilt and slung the sheath off.
The silver inscribed on the blade, Illusion, flashed in the dim
light, and the sheath clattered across the floor. Naked, sword in
hand, he faced the window into the shadowed night, and saw all
the town of Henas_amef flared up in Lines beyond the glowing
Lines of the Zeide_s walls. There were all the wards, all the
magic of craftsmen and householders warding their own doors
and walls: the common magic of parents and homekeepers and
the pure trust of children& all these things Unfolded to him in
that unworldly glow, block by block, house by house, outward
toward the great defensive wall of Henas_amef itself, a blue
bright Line often retraced and constantly tended.
Something had challenged them.
But they held. They held.
Uwen_s reflection arrived in the glass, Uwen_s pale skin
ghostlike across that angular maze of Lines before his vision.
Uwen_s silver hair was loose and at odds about his balding
temples; he had his sword in hand and a cloak caught about
him, nothing more, nor asked the nature of the alarm& he had
simply come, armed, to his lord_s side, the two of them naked to
the cold of the threatening night and the glory of the town.
_The Lines,_ Tristen said, _all have leapt up. Stand, stand still._
_What does _e mean?_ Other reflections arrived, night guards
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coming in from the doorway, servants from their quarters and
the back hall.
_Nothing_s gotten in,_ Tristen said. He was aware of all the
Lines before and below and behind and above him, even with
his eyes open, a net in which he stood; and then of the stairs
that ran to Emuin_s tower.
At that, he was aware of E^rnuin, who with stealth and subtlety
he was only learning had been there for the last few moments.
Emuin stood with him, there in the gray space, and the blue
lines glowed softly, running along the edge of the steps of
Emuin_s tower and down and down again and along the lower
hall on the opposite side, and up again, quick and live as the
spark of the sun on winter ice.
_M_lord?_ Uwen asked.
_Nothing has come in,_ Tristen said. _The place is safe._
_Aye, m_lord,_ Uwen said, and the guards with him said
nothing at all, only looked about them uneasily.
Then, only then, Tristen set his hand on the stone of the sill and
wished the whole town safe.
Only one place resisted him, and it was that discontinuity of
stones in the lower hall, that change from old to new that
marked the join of the old fortress to the new: from the first
time he had confronted it he had known it was a weakness in
the building.
And was it lack of courage, he asked himself, that he did not
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tonight go down and dare that black middle of the eastern hall?
Was it, instead, prudence, that he did not directly challenge
what at the moment was doing no harm& and what had, with
the whole town, resisted whatever his foolish curiosity had
roused out of the dark.
He traced the one compromised windowsill, drawing the Line
with his finger, and willing it sound and safe.
Then he could say, with some assurance. _I_m sure now. Go
back to bed. Go back to bed, all of you. The threat is gone._
The night guards went, quietly and doubtless to talk among
themselves once they reached the hall. Uwen_s reflection
remained, pale ghost against the dark that now filled the
window.
_I dreamed of Owl,_ he said to Uwen. _There_s wizardry
abroad._
_Aye, m_lord, that I rather guessed._
It struck his fancy, Uwen_s quiet humor. It touched his heart
with a relief almost to tears, that Uwen still dared deal with him
as friend and guide, and he would not profane that offering or
examine it.
_I don_t think it_s a danger tonight._ He turned and faced
Uwen_s solid presence with his own, and handed Uwen the
sword he held, for he did not trust his own steadiness to sheathe
it: his eyes were still bemazed by the vision of Ilefínian and of
Henas_amef, and the black banner and the Lines. _Tasmôrden
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is flying the banner of Althalen._
_Is he?_ Uwen failed to ask how he had seen that, and simply
heard it for the truth. _He ain_t right wise, then, is he, m_lord?
You an_ His Majesty will have summat to say on that score, I
fancy._
_That we will,_ Tristen said, not without thinking of Auld Syes_
birds, and the use to which he had put Althalen_s ruins.
Tasmôrden thought to claim back or kill those who had fled his
brutal seizure of their land; and by that banner Tasmôrden
thought to claim not merely the Regency but the High
Kingship, the office the Sihhë-lords had last held and which
Cefwyn himself did not aspire to hold.
And did he fly it defiantly above the devastation of Her Grace_s
capital and the murder of its citizens?
_Go to bed,_ he said to Uwen. _Forgive me the commotion._
_Forgive you, m_lord, when I persuade ye to sleep an_ the
whole night turns on its ear? If something_s amiss out there, it
certainly ain_t your doin_._
_Nor mine. I know now I didn_t draw the lightning stroke on
the Quinalt roof. And Cefwyn had to send me here. I had to
come. The Quinalt father has gone where he has to go, and
Aeself and his company have all come where they have to be.
Lord of Althalen and Ynefel: that_s what I am._
_Spooky to think of, m_lord, an_ odd as it is._
_The truth,_ he said, with the sudden conviction that all the
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world would have bent itself to achieve that one thing. He could
not resist it any more than he could have resisted Mauryl_s
summoning.
Mauryl_s handiwork? he asked himself. Had it always been? Or
was it yet?
_Will ye go to bed?_ Uwen asked meekly. _Or dare ye? If ye
wish_t, I_ll watch._
It was a draw, his concern, Uwen_s. And after such debate, and
thinking on it, he found himself wearier than he had thought,
and after many late nights, at last very inclined to sleep, as if he
had waited for this event, and now it had happened, he could let
go.
_Yes,_ he said. _Yes. I will._
_Ye_re sure._
_I am sure. Good night to you. A peaceful night._
_An_ to you, m_lord._ Uwen remained dubious. He wished
Uwen a peaceful night, wished it with wizardly force, so that he
hoped Uwen would sleep soundly and take no chances with
such things as wandered the night.
He himself went back to bed_Orien_s bed, Heryn_s bed, he
could never forget it, and the dragons loomed above him with
claws outstretched and brazen wings spread.
Dreaming of Owl was better than some dreams, and better than
the lack of them, for he had no imagination of the time to come,
such as he understood Men had: it was his misfortune to see
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only time present and the recollections of his brief year thus
far, but any notion of where he was going, any imagination of
the year after this still appeared to him in conjectures and
fragments, and he had no notion how much Men knew of their
life to come.
An unwritten slate, Mauryl had called him once; and in some
regards that was still so, and truths were still finding space in
the blank ground.
Perilous to write on, Mauryl had said that of him, too, but many
people had written their truths in his heart: Mauryl, Emuin,
Cefwyn& Uwen, even, and Tassand, and Lusin and the rest.
Crissand. Orien Aswydd, in her way. And Ninévrisë. It was why
he gathered up Aman and Nedras, the gate-guards, and young
Paisi, whose wizardry was a candleflame in a strong gale, and
apt to go out if he ventured away from safe walls, or flare up in
wizardous fire if he someday touched the right substance.
There was Cook, who had fed him, Haman, who had provided
him an example of honest work and good management& all
these men and women who had given their skills to him, now he
ruled, and managed, and attempted to manage wisely and
honestly.
He had stood on a hill in Guelessar not so long ago wondering
what it would be to remember far back in years he did not have;
and what it would be like to imagine forward from the moment
of his standing on that hill.
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He could not have imagined this, or ever foreseen that he
would return here.
He still could not imagine with complete confidence that he
would see the spring, or that the Zeide and Henas_amef would
not swallow him down in its long memories.
Had not Emuin said that the Midwinter was the hinge of the
year, when all things done turned again and the year began to
fold back on itself? Then, if ever, did not magic have its
moment, when all things swung into a new path and all things
were possible?
And in mid-spring, his year of life would be complete. And
would he have another? Despite Emuin_s assurances, it was
never promised him. Mauryl had called him into the world in
spring and by summer he had done all that Mauryl purposed&
had he not?
Had he not? Or was it still shaping itself, and moving through
the world?
The gray space roiled gently with Emuin_s contemplation of
that question, and of him.
But Emuin said not a word to him of why all the wards of the
town had flared at once.
_«o«o»o»_
Interlude
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_«o«o»o»_
Stitch and stitch, pearls and more mounds of blue and white&
since Murandys_ colors, blue, the Quinalt sigil on a white field,
bend or, were very like those of Ninévrisë_s own house of
Syrillas. None of the stitchers, inching their way pearl by pearl
across plains and hills of satin, could miss the irony in that
coincidence.
Least of all did Ninévrisë miss it. She dreamed at times of the
more pleasant hours of her own preparation, and the candlelit
glow of her wedding in the great, echoing Quinalt shrine.
Luriel of Murandys, applying cordings to a satin sleeve,
maintained her delicate posture between affront to her former
betrothed_s wife and praise of the lordly bargain she had in her
current betrothed& wise, since the gentleman_s sister,
Brusanne of Panys, was seated close by her, another and prior
member of their small society. Luriel professed herself utterly
charmed by Rusyn of Panys& had never, in fact, considered
him as a suitor, but now that he put himself forward, why, he
was fine and handsome and witty, he had become quite the
young man, and she thought she might be falling in love& an
extravagance of charity, perhaps, but a brave effort.
The peaceful meetings would have been intolerable if Luriel
were a fool, but she was not, thank the gods.
Nor did Ninévrisë intend to be one. If jealousy reared itself in
her heart it was not because Cefwyn had ever loved this lady_
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in fact she was convinced that Cefwyn had never cared for
Luriel at all beyond the chivalry he had for all ladies who had
ever drawn his eye. The marriage he had almost made with
Luriel had been an affair of state, the same necessity Efanor
now faced_and if Ninévrisë was jealous, it was jealousy that
this bride of a minor noble, while she drew the inevitable darts
of Bonden-on-Wyk, seemed so in command of the court & her
court. That was a situation she had not foreseen, and one
which she meant to remedy, but had not yet discovered how.
Stitch and stitch, and tongues flew rapid as the silver needles,
la! the sins of Artisane, the ambitions of Artisane, the onetime
leader of the malice in the court, were now under intimate
examination. The ladies smiled to Luriel_s face, gossiped absent
Artisane to her least flaw of taste and wit, and the barbs sped.
And believe that Artisane was the only subject of their talk? No.
Ninévrisë was sure there were other topics& the only pillar of
sober sense in the women_s court being Dame Margolis, the
armorer_s lady, who would say the truth, and the honest truth,
and tolerate none of the more wicked gossip.
Of course, it meant when Margolis was in attendance one
learned less, too& and by now the rumor of a royal message to
Ryssand had broken in various houses, with a clamor that was
worth hearing& if not for Margolis_ presence. All the court
was sure this message meant negotiation and reconciliation
with the king.
And that meant all alliances, some newly formed and
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unprecedented, were now to reconsider.
Might Ryssand return, and in some chastened new connection
to the throne? Might Ryssand have found a means to come
back intact, and, la! what might Artisane do, having thus
affronted the Royal Consort? Would there be redemption? A
nunnery, perhaps? There were shudders at that, for none of
these young women fancied the contemplative life, bereft of
festivals and dancing & Quinalt that they were, there was not a
one who could say what she thought by reason of her
philosophy, only by rote learning of what she must avoid.
Curious, Ninévrisë thought, making small, neat stitches on her
rival_s hem. Curious that the soul and sense of all these Quinalt
maidens_ morality was not to be seen to love. La! it might be
witchcraft that the king had given his bride an acorn as
countryfolk did, and witchcraft and wizardry were what the
Bryaltines did, oh, and did anyone mark how the Bryalt father
ran his fingers round the rim of his wine cup at the feast?
Her maid had told her that yesterday, since the ladies had not
remarked the maid_s presence before they began to talk. In
anyone else that gesture with the cup was insignificant: but in
Father Benwyn_s case, oh, certainly a strange Bryalt practice,
warding his cup from poisons, and, la! who would poison the
Bryalt father, who truly was an inoffensive sort& though a
heretic, of course. Or nearly so.
So her maid, Fiselle, a girl of good sense, had reported to her.
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So the days drew on, pearl by pearl, stitch by stitch. She smiled
at Luriel every day, and saw troops and bridges to Elwynor.
Every night was love, unthought and measureless, a warmth of
candlelight and a lover_s passionate embrace. They were mad
things, she and Cefwyn. They burrowed beneath blankets and
invented their own kingdom to explore. Then everything was
wonderful.
But every sun came up on the world and measured it with a
cold, wintry eye. She had headaches, and craved raspberries,
which could not be had, and did not confess the desire, but
measured herself in her mirror and wondered, desperately, to
what wild chance of fate she had committed herself.
Every day her people died and still the needles flew, seeding
pearls and schemes in a world of virgins and matrons. Efanor
courted Artisane, Cefwyn redeemed Murandys, and rebuilt the
walls of his kingdom.
I bear you no ill will, Ninévrisë had said to Luriel, early in their
meeting, in their one conversation on the matter of old loves.
_Your Grace is generous,_ Luriel had said, _beyond all
women._ And then Luriel had added, in that deadly honesty
that partook a little of contempt, _I could not be, were I in your
place._
It warned her, then and from the start, that neither generosity
nor love had made it possible for them to sit side by side. It was
that they both were set on separate campaigns, both desperate,
both under the weight of censure, both willing to endure any
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other affront to secure what they wished& and their wishes
were not mutually exclusive. On that slender point, peace rested.
She had not retorted, Because you cannot be generous, you are
not in my place& although that was what she thought. Luriel
had stinted Cefwyn of her love, her troth, her loyalty, and
Cefwyn, not being a fool, had never given her his. Cefwyn
could not love this woman, and the closer he had grown to
Luriel the more he had known it.
Ninévrisë had thought that, too, on that occasion, and had not
said it.
But she had taken that conversation for her one moment to tell
some truth to Luriel of Murandys. _What I do,_ she had said,
_I do for my husband_s sake. Never mistake my tolerance for
folly._ And having said that, she never placed her trust in
Luriel.
Stitch and stitch. In the patterns one could lose oneself. In the
making of stitches, small and precise, there was no tomorrow
and no yesterday, only the need to count threads and
remember. The prattle of schemes and suppositions was only
idle noise. Outside, the weather spat, and drizzled, then burned
bright blue and icy cold. Cravings for raspberries turned to
dishes of custard, which she had had as a child, and could not
well describe to the cook, though her tongue remembered the
taste exquisitely. Custard after custard failed her expectation.
_Did you hear?_ Odrinian came in saying, one morning.
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_Someone painted the Quinalt sigil on the street outside Father
Benwyn_s door last night._
_Did they?_ asked Bonden-on-Wyk.
_Benwyn will lay a curse on them,_ Odrinian said.
_If he sobers enough,_ said Brusanne.
Ninévrisë had said nothing in this exchange. Glances drifted
toward her like moths to the forbidden fire, and hers to them.
Needles stilled. There was the least hint of fear.
_He_s not a wizard,_ Ninévrisë found herself saying. _No such
thing. That_s not right._
The silence lasted a moment. They never asked her what it was
to be Bryaltine, and in fact she failed to practice the faith in
any nightly observances. Benwyn did, nightly visiting the
shrine, and having his wine flask with him& but most times
being sober, since Idrys had lectured Benwyn very sternly.
He made fine salves, did Benwyn of Amefel. Bonden-on-Wyk
used them. Her feet and hands pained her, and she swore
Benwyn had given her more relief than the Quinalt with their
charms and herbal baths. But Bonden-on-Wyk did not speak up
on Benwyn_s behalf now. Only Margolis said, _Well, painting
the sigil on streets is no great respect of the Quinalt, either, is
it?_
_No,_ said Ninévrisë, gratefully, _it is not._
Tristen had acted recklessly: Cefwyn_s letters advised him so;
and so did Idrys, which she hoped Tristen would heed, but one
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was never sure with him. News of the schism in the Quinalt
frightened her. So much was fragile. Elwynor itself had become
fragile, poised on the edge of starvation and dissolution. The
prophecy of the King To Come might well be fulfilled in
Tristen& she saw the signs, and for that she was also afraid&
a selfish fear, she had thought at first; but more and more she
knew that there was more than need of Guelessar that had
turned Cefwyn from crossing the river last summer_s end. That
he might fulfill the prophecy was something they shared, and
then she had been swept by doubts, one time desiring to be
queen and not a stranger in Guelessar, one time asking herself
dared she stand in the way of prophecy and was she so great a
fool?
But now when she heard the women talk of attacks on her
priest she knew another fear, for nowhere in the prophecy of
the King To Come did it promise miracles or even salvation for
Elwynor. The King To Come was the High King, the King at
Althalen& and Elwynor only a province in his hands, nothing
said of its safety or its fate when all was done.
She spoke for Elwynor itself. She secretly nursed a hope within
her, as yet untested.
Meanwhile Efanor courted Artisane, sending her letters and
gifts, and Ryssand remained unprecedentedly quiet, while she
knew the Holy Father of the Quinalt pursued debates with
priests Ryssand sponsored.
All these things, all these things, troubled her thoughts when
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her hands fell idle.
Her heart and her hopes, had soared when she heard that
Elwynim, her Elwynim, had found safety with Tristen, but oh,
there were dangers still. Spring, spring would bring their
answers; and in the meanwhile events proved that in Tristen_s
hands the prophecy was a dangerous thing, much as she loved
him for his innocence and his devotion to Cefwyn.
Now the angers pressed in on her, angers she would have been
free to satisfy if they had crossed the river this summer and
engaged all of Elwynor without warning.
And at such moments she wondered if it had not been unwise
ever to have entangled herself with the Bryaltines instead of the
Teranthines, difficult as that had seemed. Benwyn, poor man,
had no understanding of the currents that swirled about him.
Angry Guelenfolk painted signs at his door. They gossiped
about him.
The rare times she had ever talked with the man, it was not
philosophy or religion, but herb lore out of Elwynor, and the
obscure history of the shrine in Amefel. The sad truth was
Benwyn well knew he was hated, and drank when he must face
roomfuls of good Quinaltines.
Consequently he drank often& not the wisest solution, but
then, if Benwyn had been wise, he would have confined his
ministry to Amefel and not been the only Bryalt priest in
Guelessar.
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While she, if she were wise, would have bowed her head and
accepted the Teranthine compromise, and never accepted this
priest, near as he was to her father_s observances. She saw now
what a difficulty it was to force Ylesuin and Elwynor into
union, and she knew that if there could not be a peaceful
compromise of the Guelen clergy, Ylesuin itself might be rent
apart. As might she.
_It_s shameful,_ Ninévrisë said now, regarding this latest
outrage. _It_s shameful to use the Quinalt that way, and it_s
shameful to treat poor Benwyn that way._
For the Crown itself could not, dared not defend Benwyn too
zealously. She knew how delicate a balance that was.
_Oh, dear,_ said Brusanne, and began that urgent search of
her skirts that told of a lost needle. Others began to search, too,
about her, through the mountains of fabric around her, for the
needles that sewed the pearls were fine and easily lost, and
tended to turn up in the folds of the work, to prick the wearer
when she next tried the garment on.
_Here it is,_ said Margolis, and returned it to the daughter of
Panys, who thrust it through the sleeve above her wrist.
_There,_ said Brusanne. _I_ll not stab my brother_s bride. I_m
sure it_s bad luck._
_It_s bad luck to say bad luck,_ said Bonden-on-Wyk.
_There,_ said Luriel, vexed. _Will you not refrain from saying
it twice, then?_
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BOOK
THREE
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Chapter
1
«
^
»
Sergeant Gedd was back from Guelessar, a fortnight past all
expectation and after they had all but given him up for lost.
_And glad to be here, m_lord,_ Gedd said fervently, reporting to
Tristen in the privacy of his apartments. Gedd had surely come
straight up from the stables, stopping only to wash the dust
from face and hands, for the fair hair about his face was wet,
his beard, ordinarily carefully trimmed, had stubble about the
sides, and his clothes were spattered with two colors of mud
different than any in the stable yard.
In such guise, too, of dirt and disrepute, Gedd handed him a
precious and very belated letter. Stripped of coverings of dirty
cloth, it emerged cleanly, resplendent with red ribbon and the
royal seal. _Forgive me that I_m so late. Word directly from the
Lord Commander, too, m_lord, that I have in memory._
_Tell it to me,_ Tristen said. He laid the letter on the desk
before him, as Uwen stood near his chair, silent as the brazen
dragons. _What happened?_
_Respects first, m_lord, from the Lord Commander, and then
this, which is weeks late: that the guardsmen who left the
Amefin garrison by your leave have gone to the Quinalt for
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protection and so has the patriarch of Amefel. The Lord
Commander says to tell Your Grace kindly give him no more
such gifts. His words, my lord, as he said them, forgive me._
He could all but hear Idrys say it, and he was glad it was no
sharper barb. He knew he deserved one.
But weeks late. He had no more recent news and had feared to
send.
_And from His Majesty,_ Gedd said, _who says to tell Your
Grace that the patriarch of Amefel put the Holy Father in a
difficult position, and that there_s trouble in the Quinaltine.
Those were His Majesty_s words. Trouble in the Quinaltine. He
said tell Your Grace that His Reverence has friends in
Ryssand._
_Was that all?_
_Yes, my lord. He gave me the letter with his own hand, and I
was straight off and away._
_But late._
_Yes, my lord._
_Why?_ Uwen asked, from the side and behind, and Gedd cast
an anxious look in his direction.
_I had someone on my trail. I took up to the hills. But& Your
Grace might want to hear& talk started about the tavern&_
_Tell me everything,_ Tristen said. _Don_t hurry._
Gedd drew a breath. He was a strong man and a good soldier: it
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was from exhaustion, surely, that his hand shook as he raked
back the damp hair. _Priests are going about the town
preaching, talking against wizards and Bryaltines and
generally against the war, that_s one thing. There_s talk among
the people against Amefel and Her Grace as a bad influence on
the king, and the war as costing too much, being too
dangerous, and bringing honest Guelenmen among wizards
and heretics. That_s everywhere._
It was dire news. And unjust. Cefwyn was good. What he did
was good, and they said as unkind things about him as they
said about Heryn Aswydd.
_Everyone says so?_ he asked.
_Say that it_s safer to say that than to praise His Majesty,_ the
sergeant said, _on account of His Majesty_s friends don_t damn
you to hell or look at you as would curdle milk. There_s
ugliness in the town, and it_s got knives, m_lord._
_He_s in danger._
_As I_d say, and as the Lord Commander knows, and I think
His Majesty knows. But,_ Gedd said, _His Majesty rode against
the dark at Lewen field, such as none of the layabouts
complaining never had to face, and if a common man can say,
m_lord, there_s a king._
_He is that,_ Tristen said, and added, half to convince himself,
_and if he knows, then he_ll deal with it._
_Only so_s he guards _is back,_ Uwen said, _against Ryssand._
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_And you were attacked?_ Tristen asked.
_Not as it were attacked,_ Gedd said, _only there were men
after me that I knew was the Lord Commander_s, and then they
weren_t there, and these were, and they weren_t his. And right
or wrong I decided a late message was better than no message
and went to ground. There_s a nasty mood even to the villages,
such as I was glad I wasn_t wearing Amefin colors on the way
in. Safer to be a common traveler, out of Llymaryn, says I, as I
came into Guelessar: they_re pious down there, left and right,
and I know the brogue. And being Guelen,_ Gedd added, _I
could get through. On the way back, I gave up being Llymarish
and in the open and just hid and moved as I could& I let my
horse go. Master Haman says he_s not made it here; he might
have run for his old pastures, up by Guelemara. And the one
the Lord Commander_s men gave me& no telling where he is. I
walked._
_Well ye did,_ Uwen said, _by that account._
_The other news__ Something came to Gedd, on a deep
breath. _The other news, which may not be news, now:
Murandys_ daughter_s to marry Panys_ son, by the by. She_s
come back to court, and she_s betrothed to Rusyn of Panys._
_Luriel?_ He had heard of the lady in his days in Guelessar,
and that she had been Cefwyn_s almost-betrothed, and had left
to something like exile.
That she had come back to court was surely no good news.
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_Come on His Majesty_s invitation,_ Gedd went on, _as had to
be, of course. Her Grace met her in the face of all the court and
took her amongst her women. This isn_t what His Majesty told
me, but it_s what I heard in the town, and I heard it in more
than one place, so I take it for true. And the Lord Commander
isn_t himself daunted, but it was his instruction to wrap the
message up in rags and shove it deep in the rocks or heave it
down a well if I thought I was followed. And I thought of that.
But I thought I could get it through._
_Well-done in that,_ Uwen said, _too. _Ye were careful what
ye said, yourself, I wager. Was it in Guelessar ye picked up
these followers?_
_Captain, I swear to you, my tavern-going was discreet.
Between talking to the Lord Commander immediately as I
reached the town and being called to His Majesty the same
night, in secret, in all that time I had the Lord Commander_s
men close by. I gave out freely that I was a courier, but I said I
was from Llymaryn, and hoped I didn_t meet a Llymarishman,
which I didn_t. After I had my meeting with His Majesty and
left the Guelesfort, I had the Lord Commander_s men in the
street, them as I knew were his, while I nabbed my gear and my
horse from the tavern where I_d left him. And I had the Lord
Commander_s men on the street, too, and out past the gate,
where they gave me a horse besides my own that they_d
brought. That was how they watched over me, and I took the
warning, m_lord, and was watching my back, when one hour
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they were there and the next was a pair of riders coming up on
me. That morning was when I saw a third show up, and I ran
hard and sent my horses one way and I went to ground, right
then. The rest was walking, mostly at night._
_And gettin_ the better of the Lord Commander_s men,_ Uwen
said with a shake of his head. _That ain_t ordinary bandits. And
from the town. I_d almost say there_s a man amongst _em as
ain_t on the straight. That_s too damn quick._
_We can_t warn him,_ Tristen said in distress, _except by
another messenger._
_I_d trust the Lord Commander to figure it. His men ain_t fools,
but I_d lay to it one_s a scoundrel._
_I wish he may find out,_ Tristen said, with all intent, such that
the gray space shivered.
_And you an_ I_ll have a talk,_ Uwen said to Sergeant Gedd,
_an_ a healthy sup of ale, an_ see what little things ye might
know else, if there_s any ye_ve forgot. Besides which, ye_re due
the cup, and a good horse, as I_m sure His Grace will say._
_I do,_ Tristen said, his thoughts meanwhile ranging to Guelen
hills, and ambushes, and Idrys, with Ryssand_s men insinuated
into every council, in among the priests, likely; and now spying
on Idrys_ spies.
_Thank you, Captain. My lord._
_Thank you,_ Tristen said fervently, and as Uwen gathered up
the sergeant and showed him out, he uneasily cracked the seal
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with a small knife, and spread out the letter that had been so
long in coming.
My dear friend, it began, which he heard as warmly as if
Cefwyn had said it aloud.
The weather has held remarkably well. We are now moving
supply.
The good sergeant who carries this letter will have other, more
common news for you. I should say that Her Grace is well and
sends you her love and her great thanks for your rescue of her
subjects, and I send also my approval of all you have done.
Yet I pray you recall the Quinalt steps and the means by which
a very little thing became a great controversy. You must know
that various persons returning from Amefel have spread
rumors concerning the people_s regard for you, and the open
display of Sihhë symbols in the market, which I am sure is true.
They were doing it this summer. But remember that certain
men hold all that is Amefin in great fear, and the tale of
strange doings on your riding out to meet Ivanor has reached
the Quinaltine, although it is possible that the story has grown
in the telling.
Grown and grown, Tristen thought. He was part of the
discontent among Cefwyn_s subjects, and the source of trouble
with the Quinalt, and now a messenger going to the king went
in fear for his life. He did not know how to mend it.
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Her Grace takes great encouragement in your support of
Elwynim women and children. I find encouragement knowing
you are doing as you have always done in defending them, and
I give you all authority you may require to secure them a safe
haven.
There are many things I would write, but the messenger is
waiting.
We hope that Emuin is well. This cold damp always makes his
joints ache, and we hope he is keeping himself well and warm.
This, in full knowledge of Emuin_s habits with the shutters.
We are close now to the Midwinter and wait for spring. You, not
being Aswydd, I hold not therefore bound by the prohibitions laid
on the Aswydds. I hold that your preparations against incursions
from the north are in accordance with your oath to defend the
land. To this I set my seal, below, with all love and confidence in
your just use of that authority.
Cefwyn gave him liberty then to defend the helpless, clearly
aware of disaffection in his own Guelenfolk on his account, and
still adding to his authority& but it was not alone Aeself and his
men, but enough scattered bands to double the settlement at
Althalen& so Drusenan had sent word two days ago. Bands of
Elwynim loyal to the lady Regent or opposed to Tasmôrden_
they were not quite the same_had avoided the bridge that had
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stood open with Guelen and Ivanim forces on the watch, as a
potential trap. Women and children and the old and lame had
come that way as the only way they knew how to take, but the
fugitives from the lines at Ilefínian were veteran men and wary of
what seemed too easy. They had crossed the icy waters at other
points, however great the effort; they had kept their weapons and
sought refuge with sympathetic Amefin, who had sent them to
Drusenan, and Drusenan had directed them to Althalen_for they
refused to go to the Guelen camp and turn in their weapons to
Guelenmen: Drusenan had sent an anxious message, but the
accommodation had been peaceful, even counting two different
loyalties amid the armed bands& their situation was so
desperate, fearing Tasmôrden and with their own lord lost, they
declined to fight each other.
Walls were up at Althalen, so Drusenan had also said in his
report, and two roofed halls stood, built of the tumbled rubble
and the still-standing ruin, one hall for the women and children
and one for the men, dividing some households in the need for
quick and snug shelter, and flinging Ninévrisë_s men in with
those who were otherwise minded. The Elwynim doubtless
wished better, but they had not yet built better, and had to work
together to have the roofs they did have.
The birth of a child in the camp, Drusenan had written, seemed to
have brought men to some better sense.
But Drusenan had sent word, too, written for him, for Drusenan
was better at building than at writing:
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Some of Her Grace_s men ask to settle a camp on the river and
attack Tasmôrden from there, but I have not agreed, believing
Your Grace to hold a contrary opinion. What shall I say to
them?
Refuse them, he had sent back that same day, and urgently. They
will have their day, and justice done, but not yet.
There were more men now than women in Althalen, with horses,
and grain was now a matter of critical need. Cevulirn_s men had
ridden home after their seven days of watch at the bridge, with
the lives of fifty-eight women, old men, wounded, and children
saved at that crossing and now settled at Althalen; Drusenan_s
men at least now had the help of the Elwynim who were whole of
body, who carried supply on their backs, and who hewed wood
and raised their walls with little grumbling and in decent
gratitude.
Gratitude flourished far better there, it seemed, than in the streets
of Guelemara.
We have missed you, Cefwyn_s letter said, a postscript, below
the. seal.
The pigeons are in deep mourning. I have taken to feeding
them myself. I have become superstitious on their account.
He could scarcely imagine. Cefwyn had so many important other
concerns.
The weather continues to amaze me. I think of your urging
after Lewenbrook and yet I know well the hazards if we had
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proceeded.
Below the seal Cefwyn the king had fallen silent and at that point
his friend had begun to write to him, a hasty scrawl, an
outpouring of the heart after he had said everything so carefully,
so discreetly. What followed was not discreet.
In some measure I trusted your urgings then and wished to go on
across the river, and yet I see around me the disaffections and
distrust that would have rendered all we might do ineffectual to
assure a just and true peace. Talk to Emuin. I would that I could.
Consult with Cevulirn. I recommend him as a friend and a wise
man.
Then the handwriting changed, and grew more careful.
I add one other thing: some see in you the fulfillment of Elwynim
prophecy. I have been aware of this from the start. If you are the
one I think you are, no matter how dark, you have no less of my
love and regard, which I hope you have in kind for me. This
Emuin advised me to win for myself, and it was the wisest advice
and best he ever gave me.
Cefwyn knew it all, and trusted him, and was not angry.
It was a precious letter, and Tristen sat with his hands on it as if
that in itself could bridge the distance and place his hands in
Cefwyn_s hands. His heart beat hard, a knot stopped his throat,
and he heard again the bells that had rung the hour they had
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parted, the wild pealing, so joyous, when there was nothing of
joy for either of them in the hour, but only for their enemies.
His pigeons had sprung aloft, the banners had flown bravely on
the wind, but in that hollow pealing of bronze, the warmest thing
in the world had been Cefwyn_s embrace, and the look Cefwyn
had flung him eye-to-eye before the Quinaltine steps.
You have no less of my love, Cefwyn wrote now.
And the world became warm and safe for a heartbeat.
Win Cefwyn_s friendship, Emuin said, but he did not take
Cefwyn_s reassurance to fulfill that, not entirely, not truly, in the
magical sense. Emuin had given his advice, and like Mauryl_s
advice, it struck at the root of intentions, not at the flower.
And both root and the flower were important to him, one having
to do with what one meant to do& and the other, most fearsome,
with the outcome of it.
With all his heart he wished to write back to Cefwyn& but
considering the message within Idrys_ message, the way he had
protected Gedd, and the danger Gedd had run to reach him, the
exchange they had already had exposed not only the messenger
but Cefwyn and Ninévrisë to danger. If their enemies did not
know the content of the message, at least they knew a message
had come and gone, and at such a time.
He had no news worth the risk of the bearer_s life. The business
with the bridge was done: in spite of Idrys_ urgent message to
send him no more gifts& he had to fear he had: all the discontent
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carters who had labored in one service after another, who might
even as he sat here be telling theit tale of Elwynim and walls and
settlements at Althalen in every tavern in Guelemara.
There was nothing he could do but wish Cefwyn_s people to see
the truth, and to know their welfare lay more with their king who
wished an honest, lasting peace, than with Ryssand, whose
wishes were tangled and dark with hatred, some for Cefwyn, but
far, far more of it for the Bryaltines and the Teranthines and
everything southern& himself not least or last in that reckoning.
There was fertile ground for hostile wizardry, or ambitious, or
greedy, or any that did not scruple to use a hateful, hating man.
Ryssand_s son was dead. He had a daughter for his heir& which
the Quinaltines, ironically, would not allow, and he the greatest
supporter of the strict Quinaltines. What was he to do?
Something to save himself, that would somehow twist and turn
until it came out profitable to himself, that was more than likely.
And meanwhile he could get no message to Idrys to tell him
there was a traitor within his ranks, no message to Cefwyn to
assure him of better news from the south_not without risking a
life and possibly putting a dangerous letter in the hands of Lord
Ryssand.
He had now only boats to look for& Sovrag lord of Olmern_s
boats, and the grain they carried. The storm surge had gone down
the Lenúalim, the river ran calmly now at its ordinary level, by
the reports he had from Anwyll, and there was no reason for
delay, unless Sovrag_s boats had suffered_
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Or unless Sovrag had doubts or fears of aiding him, considering
the storm brewing in the heart of Ylesuin. Any of the lords who
had awareness of the situation Gedd had reported might well
think twice about joining their Midwinter feast& and Sovrag_s
grain had to be here to avoid famine.
He gave it another day and then he must send a messenger south
to Olmern, a far safer direction to ask reasons; and he had to send
another rider to Cevulirn to inform him of the delay in supply for
the horses.
Midwinter was coming on apace, and the needs of the province
were absolute. If Sovrag for some reason failed them, then they
still must obtain the grain, all the same& if not from Sovrag,
then they might appeal next to his constant enemy among the
allies of Lewen field, the lord of Imor Lenúalim, dour, Quinalt
Umanon.
Umanon might or might not favor their enterprise, might or
might not be keenly aware of the sentiment against him, and
might or might not answer Cevulirn_s invitation_and if he came,
might or might not tell everything he learned to friends to the
north. The plain fact was that Umanon was a Guelen, different
from all the other southern lords, associated with Lewenbrook
only because Cefwyn as a Guelen prince had brought him in to
have the heavy cavalry Cefwyn relied on.
Now a southern call had gone out, furtive and hoping for
secrecy& and yet they had not omitted Umanon, who had been
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one of them, whatever else he was.
And would he answer the call, or betray them?
A gathering of all the south was a difficult secret to keep& and
the more difficult as the time drew closer and all the staff down
to Cook and her crew assembled the makings of a great holiday.
The best news in recent days was the assembling of young men
of Amefel, earnest young men& feckless boys, Uwen called
most of them, but well-meaning, with some experienced veterans
in the number. It was a good lot. But they were far from the
Amefin guard that was yet to be& that must exist by the time the
buds broke on the trees.
The Guelen Guard, at Uwen_s order, had undertaken to show the
men the use of the long Guelen lance and the small sword, and
that the training and short tempers and stung pride failed to
provoke Amefin and Guelenmen to open warfare, it was itself a
wonder& but that was the regiment they had at hand, and that
was what had to be.
The southern longbow many already knew; and perhaps half had
horsemanship enough, but those were green youths on the edge
of nobility, accustomed to ride to the hunt, vying with one
another to be first to the quarry_not to make an iron front
against an enemy. The lads, as Uwen called them, were in great
earnest for their lords_ pride and their own, but there were two
sent home with broken bones, and one all but died of
Maudbrook_s icy water on a windy day_ his horse had sent him
there.
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But in recent days the recruits had gone out about the land, faring
out toward the remote villages to parade their weapons and make
known the authority that sent them.
More, even given the chance there were enemies in the land, they
practiced ambushes on one another in the bitter cold and the
winter-barren land, merry as otters, Uwen called them. They
were noisy, determined, and since the Guelenmen teaching them
had not killed them, they had necessarily improved in the lance
and the sword.
Tomorrow, orders which also lay on Tristen_s desk, under his
hand as he read, they were to ride east to Assurnbrook, as far
west as the limits of Marna Wood; they had already ridden down
to Modeyneth and to Anwyll_s camp, to Trys Ceyl in the south
and Sagany and Emwysbrook, to Dor Elen, Anas Mallorn, and
Levey, displaying the banners, answering questions, bearing
news.
That was one thing he wished he could tell Cefwyn. And, aside
from the want of grain, stores had turned up, out of cellars in
town, out of caves and cists in the hills: reserves of grain,
preserved meat, gold and silver which the lords had held secret,
and, mysteriously, too, but from different sources, a number of
weapons which had not been in the armory since Lewenbrook
had shown up in the hands of these young men.
_As they ain_t fools,_ Uwen had said wryly, _an_ now they know
they have a lord who ain_t Guelen, why, back the gear comes
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from under their beds._
Over all, while the news from Guelemara chilled Tristen_s heart,
there was reason to think the south was safer than it had been. If
Tasmôrden intruded into his lands at this very hour he would
meet both an armed and organized band of Elwynim veterans&
and the otters, those small, scattered squads of an Amefin cavalry
he would not expect, on horses that were increasingly fit.
And that Amefin cavalry was armed with both bow and lance, for
harrying an enemy and making his foraging impossible: such
were their orders_no all-out engagement, but a deliberate
harrying, keeping contact with an enemy band while they sent a
series of messengers with word to Henas_amef, to bring in the
heavier-armed Guelens.
There was that force out and about.
Modeyneth and Anas Mallorn, which lay near the sites of likely
crossings, had built stout shutters and towers for archers.
The old wall beyond Modeyneth was now, by work proceeding
by day and night, man-high across the road, with a stout gate,
braces, and an archer_s tower. The men who built there, both of
Modeyneth and other villages of Bryn, built in weather which
never mired the roads, and built with the advantage of stones
already cut.
Not least, Anwyll and the Dragon Guard at the river maintained
close, fierce guard over sections of decking which could again be
laid rapidly over the bridge frameworks, and which were stout
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enough to support even wheeled traffic_once his Midwinter
gathering determined to secure the other bridgehead as theirs, and
set up a camp inside Elwynor.
They were as near ready as he could hope& save only the grain
to feed all these men. And the fear, now made clear in Gedd_s
report, that he might have taken far too much for granted,
regarding the Guelen and Ryssandish fear of him and the south.
Talk to Emuin, Cefwyn had written him.
Paisi, hair disheveled, roused from the diurnal night of the
shuttered tower, made tea. Emuin read Cefwyn_s letter atop the
clutter of charts, then nodded soberly as Tristen meanwhile
relayed Gedd_s report in all its alarming substance.
_Well, well,_ Emuin said, and bit his lip then, shaking his head.
_What Cefwyn wishes me to explain when he says consult me, is
the Quinalt, and its distaste for things Amefin. I think you know
that._
_I know the guardsmen I sent and the patriarch all went to
Cefwyn_s enemies. And the drivers of the carts I sent back will
talk._
_The carters you sent back will talk, and the soldiers that went
without leave have talked, and the Amefin patriarch has certainly
had words to say within those walls, all manner of words about
the grandmothers in the market, and about me, and any other sign
of wizardry. That_s nothing we can prevent now._
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_As for the other, sir& the prophecy&_ He disliked even to
think about it, but it was there, part of the letter, with Cefwyn_s
assurances.
_It_s all one._
_It is not one, sir. I fear it_s not. The carters will talk about the
same things the patriarch complained of, charms in the market,
and about the Elwynim at Althalen__
_No small matter._
_But the greater is, Ninévrisë_s father called me young king.
Auld Syes did much the same. The Elwynim wait for a King To
Come, and Tasmôrden flies the banner of the King of Althalen
above Ilefínian._
_Does he?_
_Yes!_
_What will you do about it?_
I won_t allow it, he almost said. But he thought then of the
disparate elements he had just set forth to Emuin, and found in
them subtle connections to events around him that frightened him
to silence.
_Tea, sir, m_lord._ Taking advantage of the silence, Paisi
desperately set the tray down and poured. It was bitter cold in the
tower, and Paisi_s hands trembled, hands as grimy as ever they
had been in the street.
_Wash,_ Emuin said. _Treat my potions as you treat common
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mud, boy, and you_ll poison both of us._
_It_s only pitch, sir._
_Dirt,_ said Emuin. _Scrub. You shouldn_t sleep dirty, boy.
Gods!_
_Sir,_ Paisi whispered, and effaced himself.
Emuin took up a teacup. _What will you do about it?_ Emuin
asked again.
_I don_t know, sir,_ Tristen said, turning his own in his fingers. _I
think the first is coming here and asking you what I ought to do.
And I earnestly pray you answer me. This is beyond lessons. I
can_t take lessons any longer. What I do may harm Cefwyn._
There was long silence, long, long silence, and Emuin took a
studied sip of the tea, but Tristen never looked away or touched
his cup.
_So you will not let me escape this time,_ Emuin said.
_I ask, sir. I don_t demand. I ask for Cefwyn_s sake._
_And with all your heart._
_And with all my heart, sir._
_Do you think you are the King To Come? Does that Unfold to
you, as some things do?_
He asked Emuin to give up his secrets_and his question to
Emuin turned back at him like a sword point, direct and sharp
and simple.
_No,_ he said from the heart. _I_ve no desire to be a king or the
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High King or any king. If I could have Cefwyn back as Prince
Cefwyn and his father alive so he didn_t have to work so, and all
of us here at Amefel, that_s what I would most wish, for
everything to be what it was this summer& but I can_t have that,
and I could only do him harm if I wished it, so I don_t. I won_t.
You say I must win Cefwyn_s friendship& and that doesn_t
come of anything I_ve done that I can see. Everything I_ve done
has turned his own people against him!_
_Young lord,_ Emuin said, _you_ve gained very many things, and
know far more, and now you_ve almost become honest._
_I have never lied, sir!_
Emuin fixed him with a direct and challenging stare. _Have you
not?_
_Not often. _Not lately._
_Ah. And have you often told the truth?_
_Have you told it yourself, sir. Forgive me, but is this not the
lesson you showed me, to keep silent, to leave and not answer
questions. I keep quiet the things I fear could do harm, and the
things I don_t understand!_
_Exactly as I do._
The anger fell, left him nothing, and still no answer.
_Is that all you learned of me?_ Emuin asked. _Silence?_
_No, sir, there were very many good lessons._
_And do you not, as you say, count it good, to keep silent when
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speaking might work harm?_
_What harm would it have worked, for you to have stayed by me
this summer? What harm would it work now, for you to tell me
the dangers ahead, if I swear to take your advice?_
_Harm that I might do? Oh, much. Much, if I interfere__
__If you interfere with Mauryl_s working. But do you say, then,
sir, that you can interfere with Mauryl_s working? Or can
anyone? Are you that great a wizard?_
_Who are you?_
Back to wizard-questions, the quick reverse, the subtle attack,
and that one went straight as a sword to the heart.
_Who are you?_ Emuin repeated. _This time I require an
answer._
Tristen drew a deep breath, laid his hands on the solid table
surface, on the charts, the evidence and record of the heavens, for
something solid to grasp& for very nearly he had said, defiantly,
out of temper, and only to confound the old man,
I am Barrakkęth.
So close he had come, so disastrously close it chilled him.
_I am Tristen,_ he said calmly, lifting his head and staring
straight into Emuin_s measuring eyes. _I am Mauryl_s Shaping. I
am Cefwyn_s friend and your student. I am the lord of Althalen
and Ynefel. Tristen says all, sir, and all these other things are
appurtenances._
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_Not lord of Amefel?_ Emuin asked with that same measuring
look, and his heart beat hard.
Crissand, he thought.
Crissand, Crissand, Crissand.
_Cefwyn must grant me Amefel,_ he said to the wall, the wind,
the fire in the hearth, not to the boy sitting silent or the wizard
gazing at his back. _Cefwyn must grant me this one thing._
_Has he not? It seems to me he granted you Amefel._
_No. He made me lord of Amefel, in fealty to him. He hasn_t
given it to me. And that he must do, for his own safety._
There was a long, a very long silence.
_You know,_ said Emuin, _if other things have disturbed
Ryssand and Murandys, this one will hardly calm their fears._
_Crissand Adiran is lord of Amefel. He is a king, master Emuin,
he is the Aswydd that should rule, and if I set him here, on this
hill, and see him crowned, I would think I had done well, and
that I had done Cefwyn no disservice at all._
There was long silence, a direct stare from Emuin and Paisi_s
eyes as large as saucers.
_The next question. What are you?_
_Mauryl_s Shaping, sir. Cefwyn_s friend, and your student, lord
of Ynefel, lord of Althalen._
_And of those folk there settled?_
_If they remain there._
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_And this is your firm will._
_I am Mauryl_s Shaping._
_What we say three times gathers force, and what you say three
times has uncommon force, lord of Althalen._
_I_ve told you all I know, sir, and beyond, into things I hope. So
what do you advise me to say? More, what to do, sir? Idrys has a
liar in his service, and Cefwyn is in danger._
_If I knew that, young lord, I_d sleep of nights._ Emuin moved
the letter aside and moved one of his charts to the surface, a dry,
stiff, and much-scraped parchment. He looked at it one way and
another, and then cast it toward him, atop a stack of equally
confused parchments.
_This, this, young lord, is as much as I do know. This is the
reckoning that Mauryl himself would have seen coming, that
once in sixty-two years these portents recur in the heavens, and
where they occur at the Midwinter, there is the Great Year begun,
that is, the time until the wandering stars hold court together and
move apart again. This is the season of uncommon change& but
this is nothing to you, I suspect._ Emuin_s tone took on a forlorn
exasperation, much like Mauryl_s when confronting his
helplessness. _Nothing Unfolds. No great revelation._
_No, sir._ He looked at the parchment, and considered the things
Emuin said and cast it down again, unenlightened. _I don_t know
what you_re saying. About the stars, I gather, but nothing more. I
know Mauryl studied them. And you do. But I_ve never
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understood the things you find._
_Magic is an unfettered thing. You& are an unfettered thing. But
wizardry, wizardry, young lord, is a matter of numbers&
patterns, as nature itself is patterns, and the gathering of forces.
Think you that winter happens by magic? No. Everything in
nature, young lord, is a march of patterns, the chill in the air, the
sleep of the trees, the waning of the summer stars and the rise of
the winter ones, that in their turn will set&_
_These things I see, and you tell me they recur._
_Yes! So if you would work a great work of wizardry, do you
see, there_s no sense doing hard things, only the easy ones. Do
you want a snow? Ask for it in winter! Much easier. Find
patterns in nature and lay your own Lines where they go, much
as you set the Lines of a great house, observing doors and
windows where they want to be._
Emuin seemed to expect agreement, understanding_something.
_Yes, sir._
_But you don_t! All this is frivolous to you! You treat patterns
the way a young horse treats fences, to have the fine green grass
at your pleasure. And gods save us on the day you treat natural
laws as that great dark stallion of yours treats stall slats, and
simply kick them down._
_I trust I_m never so inconsiderate of your work, sir, as Dys of
master Haman_s boards._
Emuin grunted, then gave a breath of a laugh, and at last
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chuckled and for the first time in a long time truly did regard him
kindly. _Good lad. Good lad. When I fear you most, you have
your ways to remind me you are Tristen._
_I am. And shall be, sir. And never would treat your patterns
carelessly. I have more understanding than my horse._
Emuin did laugh, and wiped an eye with a gnarled finger, and
wiped both, then his nose. _Oh, lad. Oh, young lord. We_re in
great danger._
_But we are friends, sir, and I_m yours, as I am Cefwyn_s._
_That, too, is a snare, young lord, and one I avoid very zealously:
we must both look at one another without trust, assuming
nothing, as we love one another, as we love that rascal Cefwyn.
Fear friendship with me! Avoid it! Examine my actions, as I do
yours, and let us save one another._But you asked, and I
answered, and let me answer, again, such as I can. Hasufin__
_Hasufin!_
_Regarding this matter of the Great Year, I say, sixty-two years
of the ordinary sort, and Hasufin Heltain, who was a wizard, and
who bound his life to the cycle of the Great Year. Great works
need great patterns. And his was the most ambitious: to use the
Great Year itself would have given him more than one
opportunity for a long, difficult magic, at long intervals. But
there is more: there_s a Year of Years, a pattern of patterns that
only the longest-lived can see, let alone use. Do you guess?
Hasufin is old, as Mauryl was old. And the dawn of the last Year
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of Years was the hour of Hasufin_s first seizure of Ynefel, when
he drove Mauryl Gestaurien to seek help in the north. But before
it was done& the Sihhë came down. And that was the pattern of
that beginning. That was what Mauryl did to Hasufin Heltain: he
wrought the Sihhë-lords into Hasufin_s rise, so he could never be
free of them_and the Sihhë-lords, like your horse, respect no
boundaries and kick down the bars. He lost. Mauryl rose& and
the Sihhë-lords reigned._
_And fell._
_Ah, and the dawn of the last cycle, the second such time, you
may well suspect, sixty-two years ago& was Hasufin_s second
rise. We are in the last of the sixty-two years of the Great Year
that marks the Year of Years. The spring solstice, last spring,
when Hasufin overthrew Mauryl the second time& Mauryl knew
his peril; and chose his moment: the time of rebirth, your birth,
young lord. Now that Great Year closes and a new Great Year
begins the next Year of Years in the season of the deepest dark.
At Midwinter the last element of the heavenly court will enter the
House in which all the others stand. This movement marks the
dawn, at midnight, of that new Year of Years. At Midwinter the
moon stands, changeable queen that she is, at the darkest of the
dark. By the time the sun rises, either the elements of the Great
Year favor Hasufin& or something stands in opposition to him.
What is, at that dawn, will be, for centuries of years as Men
reckon time._
_So Mauryl never sent me to Lewenbrook. That wasn_t what he
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wanted of me._
_Oh, it was certainly part of it. But Cefwyn opposed Hasufin.
Cefwyn opposed him, and opposes him now, and there_s that
damned Elwynim prophecy of a King To Come. It_s probably
true, more_s the pity. Uleman was a good wizard, but he talked
too much, and now everyone expects there to be a new High
King. It doesn_t serve Cefwyn well at all& and by chance it
doesn_t help Uleman_s daughter, either._
Here was truth, so much truth it was hard to know what part of it
to seize and question, but he found one question salient and
unavoidable.
_And is Hasufin our enemy still?_ Tristen asked. _And shall I
fight him again? And where?_
_I can_t say,_ Emuin answered him with a shake of his head.
_Above all, Midwinter Eve is perilous to us, and of all damned
days you might have chosen to assemble the lords& that one you
never asked me._
_I had no knowledge. Now I do. What other times shall I fear?_
_The spring solstice& evidently,_ Emuin said. _But what more
may happen I don_t know. I haven_t lived through a Year of
Years. You have._
_I haven_t lived._
_As much as Hasufin. Mauryl_s the only one who_s lasted one in
the flesh, as it were. And now is stone, in his own walls, so you
say._
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He shivered, not wishing to recall that day of waiting, that
terrible hour, when he knew the enchantment of the faces was not
the ordinary course of the world, and that there was something
dreadful about Ynefel, where the Sihhë had ruled, where the Lord
Barrakkęth had maintained a dreaded fortress& where at last
only Mauryl had lived, alone, in solitary correspondence with the
latter generations of Men, at Althalen, and what Men had used to
call Hen Amas, and now Henas_amef.
_So Mauryl did the best he could: sent you, without warning,
without guidance, without instruction& lord of Althalen. That
you surely are. Lord of Ynefel& I would never dispute. That you
are Tristen& I leave that to you, and would never say otherwise.
This I do tell you: the stars point to Midwinter. The hinge of the
year. The hinge of many years, this time, when all things reach
an end, and a beginning, and when patterns begin for the next
Year of Years. Against your years, I am a youth._ Emuin reached
across the table to lay his gnarled hand on his young one, a touch
like Mauryl_s, half-remembered, touching his very heart. _Tristen
is your name. So be it. Have a sip of tea. It_s grown cold, boy.
Boy!_
_Sir!_ said Paisi, scrambling up.
_Tea. Cakes if they_ve escaped your avarice._
_Avarice, sir?_
_Things don_t Unfold to him,_ Emuin said, aside, _and, thief that
he was, he has no notion what avarice is. A fine boy. A discreet
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boy, who has no desire to become a toad. Where are the cakes,
Paisi?_
_I_ll ask Cook,_ Paisi said, swinging the kettle over the fire and
poking up the heat. _I_ll be back, I_ll be right back, sir. I di_n_t
hear a thing, I di_n_t._
_Toads,_ Emuin said, and Paisi adjusted the kettle and fled,
banging the door, or the wind did it, seeping in from the cracks in
the shutters.
Quiet occupied the tower, then, only the slight whistle of the
wind.
_He_s no trouble, is he?_ Tristen asked, hoping he had not
inconvenienced master Emuin.
Emuin gathered up a handful of beads, a collection of knots and
strings and feathers, beads and bits of metal. _A grandmother_s
spell, a protection. He came back clattering with it, a thing of
moderate potency, in very fact. Do you see the Sihhë coin?_
_Yes,_ he said, curious, for just such a coin had banished him
from Guelessar. _And you keep it?_
_The wretch gave it to me,_ Emuin said, _saying I surely needed
protection. And he had bought it with coin your Uwen gave him._
_There_s no harm in it,_ Tristen said, lifting it in his fingers. _Is
there, master Emuin?_
_You see nothing amiss in it, do you?_
_No, sir. I don_t._
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_A grandmother_s spell, cast on me, if you please, and bought
with Uwen_s spare pennies, from the rise of his good fortunes._
Emuin shook his head, and cast a pinch of powder into the fire. It
burst in a shower of smoke, and a smell that would banish
vermin. _Boys,_ Emuin said. _He takes greatly to the powders
and smokes. They make him sure I_m a wizard._
_Yet so is he._
_And steals cakes, the wretch!_ Emuin laid aside the cords and
trinkets, and dusted off his hands. _When a request would obtain
them, he steals._
_As you say, he is a thief. That_s his trade._
_Out on it! But he must not curse. I fear that in him, above all
else. I_ve told him so, in no uncertain terms._
_Accept his gift,_ Tristen said. _His stealth is a skill._
Emuin lifted a white brow. _That it is, in its good time._ There
was a riffle of touch in the gray place, an overwhelming sight of
Emuin as a presence there, and the place they occupied was small
and furtive in itself, their visits there few, these days, and now,
after so much of shared confidences, they sat, touched and
touching, only for comfort.
A little removed was a little mouse of a presence, visible, if one
knew to look for it. Paisi the Gray, Tristen thought. Paisi the
Mouse.
Above them the day, and before them the night and the ominous
stars. He had a question and wrenched himself out of the comfort
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of the gray space and into the clutter of Emuin_s tower, where the
old man sat, far less imposing than in that other place, with tea
stains on his robe and ink on his fingers.
_What were the stars when Mauryl Summoned me, sir? Tell me
something else. Am I bound to one year? Or to this Great Year of
yours?_
_Gods know what you are bound to. Or& being Sihhë, gods
know._
A horse, running in the field. In his heart he had not known there
was a boundary, a place, a fence, a limit to freedom, until Emuin
and Uwen had begun to make him know the seasons, and the
Year had unfolded to him, in its immutable cycles. He had
viewed it with some dismay, to know such repetitions existed.
On such things Men pinned their memories. Uwen would say, in
the winter of the great snow, or in the spring I was fighting in the
south, and such wizardry did Men practice, fencing things in,
establishing patterns as they made Lines on the earth.
_Is it wizards who made years?_ he asked. Questions still came to
him, though few there were he dared ask, these days.
_I believe it was,_ Emuin said. _For so much of the craft relies on
it. Yet we have no constraint on the moon, which observes its
own cycles._
_And what have you bound to this Year of Years? And what have
you wrought, regarding me, sir?_
There was a smail silence, and Emuin turned as furtive as Paisi,
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and did not look him in the eyes at once.
_I_ve chosen to do very little._
_Keeping an eye on me, as Uwen puts it._
_So to say. And I can_t fault you, beyond your disposition to
raise walls and give away provinces._
He laughed, obediently, but his heart still labored under all that
Emuin had said.
_Gods know what you are,_ Emuin said then, _but I know what I
am, which is an old wizard who has seen the largest pattern he
knows reach its end and swing round again& or it will do so, on
Midwinter, when my young lord is holding feast with the lords of
the south. Then_s the hour to keep the wards tight and the fires
lit. _After that, I_ll breathe more easily._
_The wards._ He had forgotten their strange behavior, in that way
wizardry slipped past one_s attention. _Do you remember that
night, sir? Did you see it, the night when all the town stood in
light?_
Emuin gazed at him curiously, as if struggling to recall. _Yes.
That night. And I wondered was it you._
Tristen shook his head. _Not that I was aware. I thought of you,
sir. Or even Paisi. It wasn_t so much that something tried the
wards. It was as if the town waked. As if the building did._
Something happened then in the gray space, perhaps a subtle
inquiry. And a two-footed mouse skipped on the stairs, fearing
shadows and sounds in a hall gone strange to his eyes.
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_Get up the stairs, young fool!
Emuin was stern and protective at once, and there was a rapid
running on the steps from the scullery, and a rapid passage
through the lower hall, wherein there was special danger, to a
boy with a tray of cakes and a pot of jam.
_I_m coming, sir. I_m coming.
So Ynefel had seemed at times to live, and what he knew now for
ghosts to haunt the stairs and trip an unwary lad.
In a strange way he felt grieved not to be Paisi, with no danger
apparent to him but his own wise fear of shadows and cold spots
on the stairs.
Had he not learned theft himself, and stealth, and known all the
nooks and crannies of the old fortress at Ynefel?
And had he not gone as oblivious of its wards and its terrible
secrets?
_Silly boy._ Emuin sighed. _He_s learned to hear us, you can tell,
and we have few secrets. Now if he only learns a bit more, and
respects the wards, we_ll have something in him._
The grandmother_s cords and charms seemed peculiarly potent,
almost a point of light in the gray space. Elsewhere in the town,
an old woman had wished well, and now stopped in her weaving,
and held a hand to her heart, for that wish might require a
strength she had never had called. That heart all but burst with
the shock, the life all but fled, before Tristen realized the
outpouring of it and closed the gap with his own hand as he
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touched the cords of the charm.
He gathered them up, held them in both hands, and drew a bright,
burning line from the Zeide to the roof of a house near the wall,
and an old, old woman who had nearly died.
_Rash,_ said Emuin. _Rash. You_ve made that woman a target._
_I_ve given her a shield. So with all the town._
There was a clatter on the stairs, a crash and a rattle just outside
the door, a rush of wind as Paisi struggled to open it, wide-eyed
and sweating from his haste.
_I di_n_t break the pot,_ said Paisi, but edged a cake back from
among the rest. _This _un fell. I_ll eat it._
_Nobly offered,_ Emuin said. _Take two. Go, the water_s long
since boiled, and His Grace is patient. Don_t offend him. He_s
terribly dangerous when offended._
_Aye,_ said Paisi faintly, scrambling for the cups. _Aye, an_ I
washed, sir! Cook made me._
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Chapter 2
«
^
»
Tailors and purveyors of costly goods were having a prosperous
winter& first the royal wedding and now the wedding of Rusyn
of Panys with Luriel of Murandys.
Luriel, who had come within a vow of being queen of Ylesuin,
would yield nothing to a royal bride in show or extravagance: she
was absolutely determined to have a pageantry to erase all
memory of her disgrace, and her expense in satin cloth might
have sustained the villages of her province through a far worse
winter.
Cefwyn watched the bustle and hurry with a cautious eye,
wondering himself just how much show and pageantry Lord
Murandys would allow, and how much Luriel dared, with a keen
eye as to whether at any point it went over that fine distinction
between the redemption of Luriel and an affront to his wife.
Most of all he was glad that the to-ing and fro-ing and measuring
now involved another bridegroom_ and yet, and yet& to his
astonishment the piles of fabric in the old scriptorium, the Royal
Consort_s domain, brought down another controversy of
petticoats, beginning with the fact that Luriel had chosen the
traditional gown, and had not modeled herself off the fashion of
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the consort.
It was a decision which might have signified the bride_s desire
simply to avoid controversy, and to avoid a slavish flattery of her
royal patron, who, among other things, had no reason to invite
comparison with her lord_s former lover.
But that lack of adherence to Ninévrisë_s side of the petticoat
controversy ended up angering him, curious notion. He was
offended, when Ninévrisë refused to take offense, and he could
not lay his finger on what in Luriel_s choice annoyed him.
The fact was, the ladies did whisper that Luriel wished a
traditional wedding, with all the Quinalt blessing: so the rumor
reached him through Idrys, of all unlikely sources, and he was
incensed, all but ready to signal his disfavor of Luriel in a public
snub.
But he was not willing to bring the Majesty of Ylesuin to the
issue, not ready to stamp the royal seal on a decree, gods help
him, regarding ladies_ petticoats. There were limits. He had
fought his battles on that ground once, and Ninévrisë had, and he
told himself it was done.
And just as they held back, Fiselle, Ninévrisë_s maid, vain and
feckless girl, unwittingly struck the telling blow in the fray,
prattling on to Luriel_s maid how Her Grace refrained from
sweets and heavy foods to keep her lovely figure, which one of
course had to have, in order to wear Her Grace_s shape-revealing
clothes.
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A siege engine could hardly have kicked up more consternation,
and as of one morning_s news, two of the ladies were wearing
Ninévrisë_s single petticoats.
Then Luriel cast all hers away, down to a shift, even taking two
panels from the gown.
If wishes were mangonels, bodies would lie like cordwood.
But everyone sincerely praised Luriel_s form, and the single
petticoats had, in a sevenday, scandalized the Quinalt.
The frivolity of women, certain priests called it, and the flaunting
of immorality.
Then, on royal suggestion, His Holiness countered from the
pulpit that certain priests spent too much time considering
frivolity and not enough attending the needs of the people.
Seven days of shot and countershot, and, portentous surely, while
the snow piled higher across the river, the wind blew steadily
warm in Ylesuin until most of the hills were bare. Sorcery, some
said, and blessed sigils turned up on doors, and candles burned a
sweet savor to the Quinalt, the prayers of the honest faithful,
while the priests fired barbs at one another in a doctrinal war that
had begun in the women_s court in the issue of petticoats and
tradition and continued over the uncommon weather.
It made the king_s court seem lately quiet by comparison, and in
the absence of controversy on his own doorstep, Cefwyn found
himself spending untroubled evenings at his own fireside&
comfortable and pleasant evenings, in which he might sit in
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private with his own wife and dine without the constant
intervention of ill tidings from the riverside or the Quinaltine.
Without, too, the clack and clatter of court proceedings, since the
lords seemed weary, also, hoping only to pass the wedding
without disarrangement of the arrangements that had settled a
winter truce. At last they knew where they stood, at least in the
middle lands. At last they knew what they must do, beyond all
the furor Ryssand had kicked up_and that was to see their
young men equipped for war and their lands so arranged that the
fisheries and the orchards would not much suffer for the young
men_s absence for a season. The grain lands were exempt from
the muster, and also the royal granaries would open, giving out
the abundance they had stored in the good years previous.
It would be enough, all taken together.
In the meanwhile he looked forward to Luriel_s marriage for very
private reasons: there seemed something mildly indecent in
hearing from his own wife_s lips the doings of his former
mistress and confidante, and while both of them could find wry
humor in the situation_Luriel was a witty, wonderful young
hothead, if it were someone else at whom her malice aimed_he
was very ready to have an end of Luriel_s crises.
She might be some sober use when she had settled in as a
married lady, for as often as not her shafts of wit flew at her
uncle, for now that she was marrying well, she gained a voice,
and her uncle had to worry whether Luriel the featherwit had any
interests beyond finery.
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_She_s likely gathering a fine dowry from her uncle,_ Ninévrisë
remarked, _just from her silence. One wonders what she knows._
_Murandys has approached Panys seeking a conference,_ Cefwyn
said, holding her close, the two of them in night robes, and the
fire crackling and friendly. _But Lord Maudyn isn_t guesting
with him. He_s staying at the river in his tent until the Wedding,
not even coming to the capital. Gods send me a dozen like Lord
Panys._
The damned carts had come home, thank the gods, undamaged,
not mired on the roads or lost in snowdrifts& with a discontent
lot of carters complaining of the high-handedness of the duke of
Amerel, true, but Idrys had been ready for them, this time. With
no more than a day_s sojourn in the town, the discontent carters
had gone on to Lord Maudyn.
So the offended carters, ousted prematurely from the joys of
Guelemara, surely spread rumors among the troops. But the
guardsmen stationed there had the sobering sight of the river
before them, and would surely find no fault in Tristen for making
strong preparations in the south& not when they faced the eerily
snowy shore of Elwynor just a wooden span away from their fair-
weather side. And they would not fault a little friendly wizard-
work in the distant south, when sorcery was a constantly rumored
threat from across the river. Many of them were veterans, and the
carters themselves might sing a different tune when the veteran
guardsmen told their Midwinter tales.
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Meanwhile, too, another simmering stew, the negotiations
between Efanor and Corswyndam of Ryssand meandered on, and
as yet Efanor signed no document. Ryssand was still aghast,
perhaps, not having expected his proposal to be seriously
considered& let alone accepted. More, there was the queasiness
of a wedding preparation during an official mourning: Ryssand
was high enough to set convention aside; Efanor certainly
could& but by now Artisane had launched her own campaign,
sure she would come back to court in all her glory.
Efanor had not broken to the lady the news that he had a fine
estate wanting a lady_s hand, oh, at the remote end of Guelessar.
And in genuine courtesy to Luriel_s moment, they delayed the
official announcement& but now with couriers rushing back and
forth, necessarily through Murandys, Murandys ached to know
what was in the messages& and evidently Ryssand had held
Murandys, his old ally, from knowing anything.
_Do you suppose Ryssand holds Prichwarrin responsible for his
son?_ Ninévrisë wondered quietly.
_I_ve wondered, too. Prichwarrin urged it too far. It was Brugan_s
stupidity, no mending that, but Prichwarrin didn_t take strong
enough action. It wouldn_t grieve me if those two fell out._
He asked Idrys, on the following day, whether there was any hint
of breach.
_Murandys sends home often,_ Idrys said, _but I_ve no report
he_s receiving messages from Ryssand. He seems genuinely
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concerned, and has a worried look when anyone mentions priests.
This is a man who may not know as much as we do._
_Perhaps after the wedding he_ll seek Ryssand out._
_Leaving his niece unwatched, and no presence in court?_ Idrys
said. _No, my lord king. I very much doubt it._
His Reverence of Amefel, meanwhile, being an old man, had had
a taking, a serious crisis of health_Idrys swore his innocence.
But His Reverence had had a falling spell, and retired into an
apartment within the Quinaltine, spending his time between his
bed, his privy, and his prayers for his benighted province.
The controversy and the division was by no means healed.
Efanor himself had argued vehemently with Ryssand_s priest at a
most uncomfortable state dinner, a mincing of doctrine and
dogma at that table that Cefwyn hoped not to see repeated. There
was no profit in it, none: neither Efanor nor the priest emerged
converted, the damned petticoats figured in the issue, and
everyone_s digestion suffered.
_Silence this damned doctrinal nonsense!_ Cefwyn had insisted
to the Holy Father_s face, utterly out of patience, and the result,
the very next morning, was a hesitant, rambling homily from the
Holy Father on the subject of unity in the state, a discourse that
made no sense, seeming to court all sides& a parable of brothers
and the healing of breaches and somehow off to the rights of a
father to order his family and a king to order the state and a
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husband his wife.
_Damned useless,_ Cefwyn said to Idrys in his apartments after
services. _Is this his word against that damned priest wandering
the taverns? He_s a father and that priest_what_s his name_is
some errant son? Or a wife? Fetch me Sulriggan. No, tell
Sulriggan bring His Holiness and I_ll talk to him. Good gods,
can_t the man come to a point, say yea or nay, not both in the
same sermon?_
_And what more is my lord king, but yea and nay regarding this
priest that_s preaching sedition? I still advise my lord__
_Dead priests are trouble, master crow, of a sort even you stick
at, don_t deny it. Now the patriarch of Amefel_s taken residency
in the Quinaltine, where you can_t reach him, save his bad
stomach._
_Unhappy man,_ said Idrys, long-faced. _And holy men have
been known to vanish. It_s a known aspect of holiness._
_For shame._
_For a long reign, my lord king. I_ll be far plainer than His
Holiness. Kill this priest._
Cefwyn looked long and soberly at his Lord Commander, saying
to himself he had just asked for the hard truth, asking himself
whether he was not a fool for sticking at this one deft, swift act,
that might, in fact, save other lives.
But there was, beyond his own scruples against murder, the
prospect of outright disaster in any miscarriage of Idrys_ proposal.
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_I have observed this priest meet with those who meet with
Murandys and Ryssand,_ Idrys said. _Often. I_m not sure there_s
a content beyond the offices of priests, but the fact remains: this
priest has their patronage, and if messages do flow between
Ryssand and Murandys to which we have no access, there is a
conduit for them. The man_s no dullard, no wide-eyed believer,
and he has far too sleek a look for a man that sleeps in
hedgerows._
_You have suspicions of Ryssand, do you? Is he playing two
games?_
_Oh, of suspicions of Lord Corswyndam I have full store and
several wagons over; of substance, there is only that one priest I
know has his ear, and the ears of a half a score of the barefoot
and hair-shirt sort, the ones who plague the streets. But what this
one might sing if I laid hand to him could be valuable. If we can
come at Ryssand that way, His Highness needn_t marry to rein
Ryssand in. If we can find a cause to shorten Ryssand by a head
_gain to the whole kingdom._
It was a tempting thought. But he dared not. Would not. _I am
not my grandfather. And, gods, if something went wrong__
_Your grandfather lived to die in bed, his son with two sons and
the kingdom secure. I ask instead of acting because I will not
trample on policy. I serve my king; I beg to serve him well._
Idrys chided him and provoked him humorously on many things.
This time there was no humor, no mask. _You_re saying I_m a
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fool to let Ryssand live. What need to justify it, if I were my
grandfather?_
_I say if Ryssand had died before this, you_d have no priest
stirring up resentments in the populace. Now, lo! the priest. If my
lord king fears to become his grandfather, let him remember his
royal father failed to be rid of Heryn Aswydd, and look how that
tree grew._
It was not a pleasant memory. Idrys was telling him what was the
more prudent course. Profitable if Efanor could somehow convert
Ryssand_s interests to the Crown_s interests, for Ryssand_s
talents and resources were formidable; but that still left him with
Ryssand for company, and Ryssand_s narrow doctrine to battle
for all the years of his reign& while he hoped to settle a lasting
peace with Ninévrisë_s kingdom. The Elwynim would never
become Quinalt, and it was a far leap to think he could bring
Ryssand away from his doctrinist allies, on that score. When he
looked that far, he saw all manner of trouble.
But that was far, far downstream from where they stood.
_If I do this,_ he said, _we risk dividing Ylesuin. We risk years of
unrest. We risk making a holy martyr, in this priest, and that is
nothing we can sweep away. My grandfather, with all his faults,
avoided martyrs._
_What to do is Your Majesty_s concern. How, I consider is mine.
But the harm grows, day by day._
_Ryssand_s no easy horse to ride. There_s no one I could set in
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that saddle but Lord Ryssand, precisely because he is a narrow,
provincial doctrinist like every other man in Ryssand. I_ve
thought about my choices. I detest the man. We_re well rid of
that son of his. But what do I set in his place, if not my brother,
gods help him! And I_ll postpone that day at least until there is a
wedding._
_Disarm him of this priest._
_If not this one, there_ll be another one._
_Oh, aye, my lord king, and if we down one of Tasmôrden_s
men, there_ll be another. Shall we forbear to fight Tasmôrden?_
_You know it_s not the same._
_Be rid of this one. And the next. And the next. Eventually there
will be a dearth of Ryssandish priests._
_And enough anger to breed there and fester. Words deal best
with words._
_Ah. Another of the Holy Father_s sermons?_
He let go a breath, beaten down by the mere memory of tedium
and indirection.
_Give me leave,_ Idrys said briskly. _And the matter is done by
evening._
_And the town stirred up to a froth._
_A lack of a priest isn_t noisy._
It was ever so tempting: his piety, such as it was, halfway argued
him toward it, as the safest course for the peace, and all the lives
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he held in his hands. But he had Luriel_s public show
approaching, on which there would be crowds, tinder for a spark,
and that rode his thoughts, inescapable.
_I want the town quiet. I want Luriel safely wedded and bedded
and no untoward event to undo that alliance. When Murandys has
Panys for a bedfellow, and we have Panys reporting to us& then
we can consider measures._
_I fear I_ve not told you everything, my lord king._
Cefwyn drew a lengthy breath and sank, somewhat, against the
back of his chair, Idrys black-armored and seeming by now like
an implacable fixture of his office. _Sit, damn you, crow. My
neck aches from looking at you. What morsel have you saved for
dessert?_
_Cuthan, my lord king._ Idrys reluctantly settled his black-
armored body onto a frail, brocaded chair. _The priest is a
straightforward matter. Lord Cuthan, I fear, is not._
_Cuthan._
_Your Majesty may remember him& the one Tristen exiled, that
vain old scoundrel&_
_Out on it! I know who Cuthan is and where he was and where
his cursed ancestors slept, in their own beds and out! I know
Tristen exiled him, and I know he_s in Elwynor._
_He is not in Elwynor, my lord king._
_Where, then? Dare I guess?_
_Ryssand?_
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_Damn._
_Ryssand is honest in one thing,_ Idrys said, _that he bears a
father_s grief for a son and heir. That, marriage with His
Highness or no, he will never relinquish& not greed, not
ambition, not the promise that his line might weave itself into the
Marhanens can ever erase the matter of his son._
_His one virtue and more inconvenient than his sins. Now he has
Cuthan. And Parsynan. What a merry court!_
_I_ve not told His Highness yet. What I wonder is how he passed
through all of Elwynor and its weather and all the way to
Ryssand._
_A rowboat. We_re not speaking of a regiment._
_Yet my lord king knows the man is old, in no robust health.
How did he bear the snow, the ice, the pillaging army, if nothing
else? A very hardy man, or a very lucky, if he did that alone._
_Damn. Twice damn. Tasmôrden!_
_Exactly so. I fear Cuthan may be very close to Tasmôrden. He
may bear a message, or gather one._
All of a sudden the depth of Idrys_ knowledge suggested a
fearsomely deep involvement in Ryssand, volatile as it was,
dangerous as the spying was_and fruitful as it proved.
_How did you learn this?_
_Efanor_s messenger._
_Efanor_s messenger. Crow, it_s my brother_s name, his
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reputation& his safety, for that matter__
Idrys, rarely abashed, looked at him with a half-veiled effrontery,
defense in every line. _Your Majesty, you once asked whom I
served, your father, or you. And where there was a choice of
loyalties, your father is in his tomb, and I have only one lord, as
does His Highness._
_So you insinuated a spy into Ryssand, a spy wearing my
brother_s colors._
_Briefly._
_Do you know the furor if he were found? Efanor is honorable to
a fault!_
_Very much to a fault. My lord king, but some risks are worth
taking, and spies within Ryssand are hard come by._
_Wearing my brother_s crest, good loving gods& I_d like to
know where else you have them._ No! Don_t tell me! I_ve
become worse at lying than Tristen is._
_I fear you were never good at it. It_s Tristen who_s become
adept in the art._
He was not certain for a moment it was no jest. But Idrys_
expression advised him the matter was serious.
_You don_t fault him,_ Cefwyn said. There seemed a fist still
clenched about his heart. _You don_t tell me he_s deceived me.
This is my friend, damn you! You_ve spoken against him before,
and you_ve been wrong._
Idrys gave a rare and rueful laugh. _Lord Tristen is extremely
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canny about disposing my spies at distance from him. As a result,
I have not a single man in Henas_amef. He_s sent them all to the
river, beginning with Anwyll. I have better intelligence of
Ryssand than of His Grace of Amefel._
_And what do your spies learn, beyond his sins at Althalen and
his wall-building?_
_His fortification of the province? His permissions to the witches
to flourish? His countenancing of Sihhë emblems, spells and
charms openly displayed in the market?_ Idrys held up fingers
and ticked off the points, one by one. _His banishment of Guelen
Guard, his appropriation of Your Majesty_s carts and drivers, his
holding of Parsynan_s goods in consequence__ Idrys began the
tally on the left hand. _His alienation of the Amefin patriarch, his
banishment of an Amefin earl old as the hills in his title&_
_All these things he confesses. Justify your spies, master crow. I
defy you to report to me one thing Tristen hasn_t freely owned._
_He_s holding winterfeast and invited all the lords of the south to
come and camp under arms, for, one suspects, some use besides a
winter hunt. The preparation is for a host as many as took the
field at Lewenbrook._
He forgot to breathe.
It was, on the other hand, exactly the sort of feckless doing he
could always expect of Tristen_and it was not aimed at him.
There was nothing of Ryssand_s poison in what Tristen did.
Rather it was Tristen_s doing what his king could not do& and
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so secretly it had taken Idrys this long to know it.
_He_s doing what I did this summer. He_s gathering his allies
about him, people he well likes& men who like him. He_s
reknitting the damned southern alliance, is what he_s doing&
and gods save him for the effort! What I can_t, he does, and I
wish him success. I wish him every success._
_But it will provoke just a small bit of comment among the
northern barons, will it not? He_s told Anwyll prepare a landing
for boats bearing grain. An immense amount of grain, out of
Casmyndan._
_He_s importing grain? I had to show him the use of a penny this
autumn, for the gods_ good sake._
_Well, and made him lord of Amefel, my lord king, which I do
recall counseling you was a__
_You agreed it was a good idea._
_I agreed he would be a most uncommon lord of Amefel, and
perhaps it was a safe direction for him, considering the Elwynim
prophecy._
_Damn the Elwynim prophecy! If he wants to be king in Amefel,
between the two of us__ He drew a deep breath, his heart still
laboring from the realization of new complications in all his
plans. _Between the two of us and the walls, master crow, if he
would be High King at Althalen and rule the damn province
between me and Nevris_ kingdom, I_d grant it. The Aswydds
styled themselves aethelings._
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_So does he._
_When?_
_That the first night, in the oath of Crissand of Meiden, my lord
king, who is also Aswydd, may I say? And who swore to him as
aetheling. And may I say that that small rumor is starting to make
the rounds of the taverns? The word came out of Amefel, I
daresay._
_Like Cuthan._
_Never forgetting that now troublesome man. And now
Ryssand_s priest knows._
_Damn this zealot priest_what is his name?_
_Udryn, my lord king. Chief of them, at least. And while Your
Majesty has a very sensible desire to have the Lady Luriel_s
wedding without incident_very many rumors may begin to
make the same rounds, from the same lips, from the same source.
Do you still bid me refrain from this priest?_
_I want none of his crowd creating a commotion at the wedding.
No. No blood. Just keep that priest out of the way. That_s all I
ask. If the Holy Father can_t rein him in& see to him. Frighten
him. That_s the best course. And don_t let him know who_s done
it._
Idrys accepted that thrown stone without a ripple. _Will Your
Majesty still wish, then, to see His Holiness today? Or
Sulriggan?_
_No. I don_t need indigestion. But I_ll do something, perhaps, to
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uphold His Holiness._
_A wedding largesse& that might serve._
_And on the day of the wedding, for the hour after. Make
preparations, noisy preparations, all for the Wintertide, and a
wedding feast in the square. Gods give us good weather. That
will sweeten the mood in the town. Hard to make converts
against a feast and free ale. Particularly if that zealot priest is too
scared to show his face._
_Dancing in the square, all the merry townsfolk._ No more
unlikely proponent of festivities ever arranged a ball. _I_ll have
the Guard drawn up, martial display. They will be there, and the
weapons will not be the parade issue. A royal decree to make
merry and a proclamation from His Holiness to sanctify the
wedding. Then a royal gift._
_A penny a head. No, two. Make them say, Gods bless His
Holiness, and give them the pennies, as from him. Gods! To
think I should be doing this to bolster the old fox._
_And your former__
_Never say it! And for the gods_ sake don_t make any noise about
this Udryn._
_For the gods_ sake?_ Idrys asked with irony. _Perhaps. Certainly
for the kingdom_s sake. And a greater reward you could never
give His Holiness._
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Chapter 3
«
^
»
The doors in Henas_amef were hung with winter garlands and the
shrines in the Zeide_s East Court were festooned with evergreen
and berries, with every manner of garland and banner, in
anticipation of Midwinter Day and the turn of the world toward
spring.
For the duke of Amefel the tailor brought forth splendid clothing,
red, with black eagles on the sleeves; and a warm cloak with the
arms of Amefel worked on it. It was wonderful new wool, kind
as an embrace in the winter wind. Tassand and the tailor had
insisted, for their own pride, to see he did not go to a new year in
old clothes. There was magic implicit in that choice, and he
agreed with it in all its meaning.
Still the weather held fair. It was cold enough to sting faces, but
not a bitter cold.
Ale flowed with particular good cheer all over town, so the staff
reported, and the two youngest of Tristen_s servants came back
from town late, and in disgrace. The taverns were hung with
lights and kept their doors open all night.
Pack-ponies went out the gates of Henas_amef heavy-laden with
supplies for Anwyll, who was doomed to the watch by the river
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for the festive season: it was on Tristen_s order they sent him a
special load of ale.
Another train of mules kept continual rounds between
Henas_amef and the river and between Henas_amef and the
winter camp at Althalen, where more and more of Auld Syes_
sparrows came. The mules brought special supplies, sweets, for
the Elwynim, the same as the Amefin, hallowed Midwinter Day.
But beneath the cheer of the festal season, and despite the new
clothes and the well-wishes, Tristen worried, for there was no
sign yet of grain or boats. Especially in the evenings he watched
the main gate from the windows where his pigeons gathered.
Noting this congress of pigeons, some of the house servants said
the birds were his spies, but this was never so, and his birds
brought him nothing but comfort_never a hint of the passage of
boats or of any other sort of transport that might bring him guests
or grain.
What would be the outcome if he had made all this preparation
and only Cevulirn returned?
So he wished, and he wished for days, all but in despair, and
Uwen_s best wishes could lend him no assurance.
But one morning that he waked after a deep, peaceful sleep, he
faced the windows early and with a joyous, inexplicable
confidence.
He said no more to Uwen than that he had a hope this morning;
and Uwen cast an eye to the banners cracking and straining at
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their poles, and said with that good south wind he had the same.
For the next three days after the wind blew from the south, so
strong and so constant it might even melt the snow across the
river& so Tristen began to fear, and he sent word to Anwyll not
to let down his watchfulness a moment during the holiday.
But on that wind, he believed the boats were coming. Olmern
was on the wing. His pigeons flew out to the north on the third
day, and returned at evening, noisy on the ledge, all accounted
for, but not so hungry as he would expect.
Paisi came in the same hour, announcing that master Emuin
would attend in hall the Midwinter celebrations, and begged
Tassand_s assistance to make his robes presentable.
There were travelers on the road as well as on the water. Tristen
became convinced of it& distracted while Tassand complained
that whatever master Emuin had spilled on his gray robe would
not come out, and he must call on the tailor, who was busy with
other holiday requests, and at his wits_ end, and might he afford
the tailor an extra coin for the effort?
Cook had more preparations now than a general contemplating
battle, for an arrival Tristen assured her was coming precisely on
the day.
There were the tables in the stable-court, well to the side of the
stables, where staff and servants would hold their feast, in a tent
set up for the purpose, with torches set up to light the premises.
There was the table in the South Court that would be spread for
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the notables of the town, aside from those high lords and guests
the great hall would accommodate.
The hams, the preserved meats, all these things laid by since fall,
came out to be decorated; so did the stored apples and nuts and
spices. There were partridge pies. The whole west wing smelled
of baking apples and spice cakes.
Tristen bade Tassand advise the lords to expect a Midwinter Eve
banquet as well as on Midwinter Day, for as he had dreamed of
white-sailed boats coming to Anwyll_s camp, now he dreamed of
Modeyneth and Trys Ceyl, and of camps more distant, all with
weather blessed with the south wind and not a hint of snow or
hindrance. Emuin had foretold Midwinter Eve as full of chance,
fearsome and dark, but now the prospect was of wishes fulfilled.
On the afternoon of Midwinter Eve, indeed, while the sun was
still high, the bell at the town_s South Gate announced arrivals_
and shortly thereafter the courtyard erupted in brawling
confusion, horsemen and banners of not one but two lords,
Umanon and Sovrag, who had arrived both from the riverside
and down that short northern road from the guard stations.
Their arrival was the fulfillment of a promise. Their arrival
together was a marvel, and the fact that they had traveled
together was a miracle. Neither lord had liked the other. Yet here
they were, and Tristen stood amid the din of yapping dogs and
shouting stablehands to welcome them in great relief.
There were never in Ylesuin two more opposite men& even a
wizard_s Shaping knew how very little likely they were ever to
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admire one another. Umanon was Guelen, Quinalt, proper and
lordly, fastidious with his person, and Sovrag of Olmern was a
stout old river pirate lightly glossed with nobility_king
Ináreddrin having found it easier to ennoble him than to ferret
him out of his river-cliff stronghold.
Umanon, having just precedence over Sovrag in any courtly
encounter, hung back frowning and amazed at Sovrag
swaggering ahead to meet his host with open arms and a broad
grin on his red-bearded face.
_Well, well-done, lad,_ Sovrag declared, clapping Tristen
fiercely about the shoulders. _Lord of Amefel! Gods damn, I said
to myself when I had the horse-lord_s letter that the Marhanen
had a rare good sense, damn but he does!_ Sovrag stood back
then, ceasing his friendly battering in favor of a broad, estimating
view of him. _And a far better neighbor ye_ll be to us all than
lord thievin_ Heryn Aswydd or his sisters ever could be, an_ by
this beginnin_, a good customer, too. I asked His Grace here__
this with a nod back to Umanon__I said as he was supplyin_ the
grain, he might as well come on the river and have a look at the
far shore hisself. As I might say, your grain is all safe at the
landin_ with that Guelen captain, who I trust_ll get it moved to
some right place, wherever ye wish it._
_He_ll manage,_ Tristen said, having all confidence in Anwyll_s
resourcefulness.
In truth, he had expected to feel great pleasure at the sight of
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familiar faces, but Sovrag_s assault was not within his plans, and
his heart widened dangerously in the honest joy of that friendly
embrace.
Yet he feared the disaffection of the silent man in the meeting. If
Sovrag had never been his enemy and had never dealt coldly with
him, he could not say the same for Umanon, who, being Quinalt,
was least likely of all the lords to approve of a wizard_s Shaping.
He had somewhat doubted Umanon would come. He had thought
Sovrag might go to the south for grain rather than to Imor_s
ample warehouses, for one thing because Umanon supplied
Cefwyn, and might not have grain to spare from that army_s needs
_and for the other, because Umanon would never trust Sovrag.
Yet Umanon had come with the grain. And on boats, not the
heavy horses that were the pride of Imor. Umanon had, therefore,
a share of Lord Heryn_s gold dinnerplates& he did hope it was a
fair one.
With all that in mind he resolutely braved Umanon_s icy calm
and dared a warm welcome and a reach toward Umanon_s hand.
_Thank you for coming, sir. Thank you ever so much._
_Lord of Amefel,_ Umanon said, distant as ever, but pleasant,
amazingly so. In fact Umanon had a far different expression
toward him than he had ever had, not so much that the face
changed, but that the eyes lacked hostility and the hand that met
his had no coldness at all.
_Welcome. Very welcome, sir._ He found he had no idea quite
what to do with Umanon, or how to keep him in this good
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pleasure, but he had learned at Lewenbrook that this was a brave,
hard-fighting lord, if a prickly and difficult one; and well-begun
with him secured all the rest.
_A bold choice on His Majesty_s part, your appointment,_
Umanon said. _I take it there are northern noses sorely out of
joint._
_Very much so, I fear._
_And this moving of grain? What_s the purpose here? To finish
the business we left unfinished this summer?_
_Aye,_ said Sovrag, having followed on Tristen_s heels.
_Cevulirn_s man had no great store of news, and your man out
riverside_s no better. But partridge pies was a lure good as gold,
well, close on it, and here we are. There_d better be those pies. I
promised me lads there_ll be pies._
_There will be,_ Tristen said. _Cook says so. Master Haman!
Take the horses!_ The horses on which Sovrag and Umanon had
ridden in had Imorim and Olmern emblems on their tack, no
mark of Anwyll_s company. And how they had gotten them
upriver on boats he could not imagine. More, they were
handsome, well-groomed animals, having no signs of a hard
passage. He was quite amazed, and thought of large barges, as if
the thought had Unfolded to him, Boats such as he had never
quite imagined.
_And our answer?_ Umanon asked. _Is it to Ilefínian, then?_
_Sir, before we say much, I think we should have all of us at
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once. But you do know Ilefínian_s fallen._
_That news indeed traveled,_ said Umanon, and Sovrag:
_I said we_d pay for not goin_ on across last summer, didn_t I say
it?_
_Many of us said it,_ said Umanon, and then, dryly: _Our grain is
in this Olmernman_s boats, to which I have tally sheets, fair
written, and signed to, and in my possession._
As if the grain coming from Umanon might somehow become
confused with the tally coming from Olmern_s warehouses.
Tristen would not have understood that possibility so long ago,
but he knew it now, having dealt with Parsynan_s accounts, and
saw Sovrag_s wicked grin.
_Enough grain for an army,_ Sovrag said, _twixt his warehouses
an_ mine._
_I_ve men on the way,_ Umanon said, _heavy horse. I took
Cevulirn at his word; my escort is large._
_An_ my boats,_ Sovrag said, _an_ my men with all their war
gear. Are we goin_ deep into Elwynor? Is that the game? Or do
we sail to the northern bridges?_
Cefwyn had found it hard to contain Sovrag_s disposition to
bluntness. Tristen foresaw no less difficulty. But there was no
one, in hearing who was not aware of this gathering of forces,
even down to the stableboys busy gathering up the horses, and
that Cefwyn was preparing in the north.
_The question is what Tasmôrden may do when he learns boats
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have come,_ Tristen said, _and since you_ve come, and we have
supplies, his choices are more limited._
_I asked had you indeed taken counsel of His Majesty in our
gathering,_ said Umanon, equally blunt, and straight back to
Sovrag_s question about the north. _Ivanor_s messenger professed
not to know that answer._
_I_ve not yet advised the north,_ Tristen said with utter candor,
_and I was never sure till now whether I could gather everyone.
He_s given me leave to build, and to fortify, and that I_ve done,
so Tasmôrden won_t cross the river southward. But here and
now, sir, nothing against the king_s welfare, sir, ever. The
northern barons have objected to my being here, they_ve raised
accusations against Her Grace, and the last man I sent to
Guelessar with a message went in fear of his life, going there and
bringing back Cefwyn_s message. Idrys watched over him, and
even that wasn_t enough. It_s not safe to send. I_m not sure
Cefwyn is safe._
That brought a worried frown to both lords.
_At dinner tonight, when the others come, then I_ll tell you what
I know besides,_ Tristen said. _I_ve asked you here for your
advice, among other things._
_By way of advice,_ said Umanon, _wise to move sooner rather
than later, considering the temptation of all that grain, not to
mention the boats._
_Which I_ll wager already ain_t stayed at Anwyll_s crossin_,
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beyond the night,_ Sovrag said. _Is that right, Sihhë-lord?_
_He_s to move it behind the Modeyneth wall. Modeyneth_s to
send men, to carry it on their backs if nothing else._
_Drays are coming with our heavy gear,_ Umanon said.
_And the boats is off south,_ Sovrag said, _quick as they set their
cargoes ashore, and back after more grain, supposin_ Marna stays
passable. Hooo, such a place as that woods has become._
_Is it different?_ Tristen asked.
_Unsavory,_ was Umanon_s succinct answer. _A place I was glad
to go through by day. All that passage, there was no breath of
wind on the river, yet we saw the treetops bend. We heard voices
in the woods, the sounds of a battle, but no sight of anyone._
_Them old trees,_ said Sovrag, _is sadder an_ lonelier than they
ever looked in Mauryl_s day. Haunted, if ever a place was._
_Even before Lewenbrook,_ Tristen said, _it was haunted._
He had not ventured into that part of his lands, not in the gray
space and not in the world. He was sad to know that it had gone
darker than his fond memories of it under Mauryl_s rule& it had
frightened him, then, too, but that had been a moderate fear, a
friendly haunt to him, much as Sovrag had treated it with casual
familiarity in all his trade with Mauryl and never professed to
fear it.
But now Sovrag gave a different report_and still came. He
valued Sovrag of Olmern, for the courage he had, and found new
respect for Lord Umanon, who had dared it in coming with him.
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_I wish them safe passage,_ he said. _And I_ve lodgings ready for
you, west or east or south, whatever your preference of windows,
since you_re the first here. The west, above the kitchens, is
warmest._
_The south, for the clean good wind,_ Sovrag said, and Umanon:
_The east, for the morning sun._
He had looked to dispose these two men at opposite ends of the
fortress, but if they had shared the boats and the river, there was
surely no fear of quarrels breaking out among, their bodyguards.
They went up the stairs and down the inner hall together, asking
news of Cefwyn_s court, and asking what he knew, and most of
all what things were coming to when the Lord Commander
himself had to protect a messenger.
The halls echoed back things that had been secrets and servants
paused, respectful of lordly visitors, wide-eyed at what they
heard: Tristen did not miss the fact. But Sovrag had come: there
would be few more secrets in Henas_amef with him here, and
certainly there was no more secrecy for what would gather in the
fields and pastures beyond the walls.
An army was on the move, and Tasmôrden, if he reached out to
have the grain, would find that out to his peril; but learn it soon?
Beyond a doubt he would.
It was not the last arrival of the day: for before Sovrag_s and
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Umanon_s horses were sorted out in the stable, the bell rang
again at the town gate, reporting more travelers in the distance,
this time on the western approach.
The banner they flew, a rider informed them, was the Heron
banner of Pelumer of Lanfarnesse; but it was no great number of
men.
They had provided for five hundred men, as Cevulirn had said he
would ask of each lord. But Pelumer at last came riding in under
the West Gate of the Zeide, lord and men alike in modest gray
and green, he came with only his banner-bearer and eight of his
house guard.
They were likely rangers, these men, riding horses, as they did
not when they fought& Pelumer_s was a foot contingent, far
more comfortable in deep forest, even daring Marna_s edge&
and on that thought, Tristen did not give up hope of Pelumer.
_Welcome,_ he said.
_Ah,_ Pelumer said as he stepped down and cast a glance to the
banners in evidence, two lordly banners flying in equal honor
with the Eagle of Amefel above the curtain wall. _Olmern and
Imor._
_Your own banner to join them, sir, and be welcome, as you were
in the summer._
_Good news out of Amefel, after a great deal of bad. I_ve
watched this business since summer in no good heart. I was glad
to hear the call. I have wagons, with the winterage of a company
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of a hundred, and other men disposed on various byways among
the villages. My rangers know the intrusions to the west, and the
gathering at Althalen, not spying, I trust you_ll know, but being
aware you have forces there, sir, being aware is all._
A hundred men, not five. Lanfarnesse fielded few men, and
despite all assurances managed never to fight in the field.
What Lanfarnesse knew before any battle, however, might pay
for all, and though Pelumer had fallen out of the favor he had
once enjoyed with Cefwyn, perhaps, Tristen thought, his heart
beating more quickly_perhaps these elusive few men never
belonged on a battlefield.
_At Althalen,_ Tristen said, _Elwynim have settled, and we
supply them. But you know that, too._
_Ah,_ Pelumer said as if he were surprised. He turned evasive the
moment anyone asked him his men_s doings, and that had
repeatedly angered Cefwyn, to the point their alliance was in
jeopardy.
But these were not heavily armored men who fought in the
Guelen way.
_Settle your men where you will, sir. At Althalen or here, or any
lands between.__
That did catch a glance, a second, even alarmed assessment.
_Where you will,_ Tristen repeated. _For their best service to us._
_I take you at your word,_ Pelumer said, and earnestly so. In his
youth Pelumer had been first to the taking of Althalen, Tristen
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recalled, and forever after had the right of precedence over all the
lords of Ylesuin, north or south. Selwyn Marhanen had valued
him& but Ináreddrin and Cefwyn, steeped in the Guelen way of
war, had ordered him.
_I need you,_ Tristen said from the depths of his heart.
_Welcome, Lord Pelumer._
_Amefel,_ Pelumer said with uncommon warmth, and clasped his
hand in both of his. _Well, well, we_re here with our finery, for a
feast. Where shall we lodge?_
_Olmern is south and Imor is east. The west is free, and warmest.
Come, if you will. I_ll bring you there._
Pelumer had wounded him once, when he had overheard how
Pelumer spoke of him, and then was friendly to his face. But
Pelumer went in gray and green through a forest; he had no less
skill to put on the right face with every man: so Tristen saw, and
forgave him his past offense. Pelumer learned most from men
who thought Pelumer was of their opinion, and what Pelumer did
then was the important thing.
There were only the horses, and them, Haman_s lads attended;
Pelumer himself took up the light saddle kit he brought, and
ordered his banner set beside the others on the wall.
_Olmern reported the forest darker and sadder than ever,_ Tristen
said, as they went up the steps together, his guard and Pelumer_s
easy in company and admitted to confidences. _Did you see it
so?_
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_Remarkable if not,_ Pelumer said. _It_s very law-abiding,
Marna_s verge, at least in Crown law. The bandits all are dead.
We_ve found them by ones and twos, fallen in hazards sane men
would avoid. A rash of bad luck, or the like. I_ll not risk my men
in the heart of it. I trust it does very well by itself._
_Do you think it does well?_
_You would know that sooner than I, if it were otherwise, would
you not, sir?_
_I think I would._
_Ghosts aplenty walk that woods. The old trees have their roots
amongst far too many bones._
A gloomy sort of converse it was, but it lent a vision of the
Pelumer who had served the first Marhanen& wary now, having
saved his life when many another had died, and having lived long
enough to be a repository of old lore, interesting tidbits_and
warnings.
_We should have crossed this summer,_ Pelumer said. _So I told
the king._
It wanted only Cevulirn. And the day went on toward dark,
cloudless and still.
The lords had rested since their arrival. Now they began to ready
themselves for the festivities of this day of welcoming, and
servants ran to and fro with buckets of hot water for baths,
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buckets and towels, turning the stairs treacherous. Others
mopped, lest someone slip, while still other servants laid fresh
fragrant evergreen along the tables in the great hall.
The musicians warmed their instruments by the fire, sending up a
disordered, somehow soothing sound. One tuned a drum.
Tristen walked the circuit of the great hall with Uwen at his
heels, assuring himself that everything was in order to
accommodate the guests that he did have, and trying not to worry
for the one yet to come. Certainly he had no need to remind
Emuin of the doings in hall. Tassand had taken Emuin his festive
robe, and Paisi was in and out and among the preparations
downstairs in a beatific anticipation of cakes.
Tristen himself stole a morsel from a platter, and Uwen had one,
too.
_Not to spoil supper,_ Uwen said with a wink, _only to stave off
the pangs, and make sure the ale don_t land in an empty spot.
All_s ready. Be easy, m_lord._
The timely arrivals were, as he had heard from Lord Umanon by
way of Tassand, no accident: Cevulirn had prudently appointed
the day before Midwinter Eve as the day by which they all
should arrive& and on Cevulirn_s word these lords had set forces
on the road and traveled ahead, themselves, trusting that there
would be a camp, there would be stabling, there would be food
and firewood and all such things as they needed without their
transporting it over winter roads.
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All these men had trusted him, and committed men to be
encamped here in the uncertain weather. More, the men with
them were separated from their homes during the festive season,
either here with their lords or still out on the roads, and by
Uwen_s attentive management the earliest come had their feast:
the garrison set up a tent for the lords_ men the same as the
festive tents for the town, and under it the garrison_s cooks
prepared to serve kettles of uncommonly thick stew and baskets
of bread, and kegs of ale bought from every tavern.
That was to last all through the holiday, and to repeat for every
contingent to arrive. It set the men in good cheer.
And just as the sun was at its last, the gate bell rang, heralding
their last, most welcome visitors.
_The White Horse!_ one of Haman_s lads ran in to say, wide-
eyed. _The Lord of Ivanor, and all his men!_
It was not all the men of Ivanor, but certainly a goodly number,
bringing their tents on packhorses. They set to work making
camp on last summer_s site even as their lord, in a fine gray
cloak, and dressed fit for a lord_s hall, rode up through the town.
Cevulirn had not failed the day, after all, but had come exactly at
the last of the daylight. In the dusk one of Haman_s lads set the
White Horse of Ivanor in its place on the wall, and in the firelight
from below the creatures of the banners tricked the eye, as if they
were bespelled to life.
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Crissand arrived, and Drumman and Azant, all the lords who had
come to the shrines and the tombs of the East Court, and now
trooped in, all in modest finery_no extravagance in these days_
and met the lords of the south with open arms and honest delight.
It was the best, the most wonderful sight. Tristen came to
Crissand in particular, for Crissand had ridden out to his villages
and made it back again, hard riding, for this night before
Midwinter Eve.
_You came,_ Tristen said, and Crissand:
_I_d have ridden through drifts, my lord: as it was, I followed
tracks on a fair road and fell in with Ivanor._
The old keep rang with voices. Outside, the several courtyards
were all packed with guests and their entourages going here,
going there, with horses being brought uphill and down and food
being sent out.
It felt as lively as it had felt in the summer& but then had been
days of dust and sweat. Now the nip of winter was still potent
enough at night to sting cheeks of arriving guests to ruddy color.
And the smell of spices, rich meats and bread baking wafted
through the gathering, while the pungent scent of juniper fought
that of horses and leather and wool& all these things were in the
air when Cevulirn, arriving last in the hall, accepted the embrace
of brother lords, both Amefin and otherwise.
_We are all here,_ Tristen said, and felt something settling, solid
as stone and almost as old, into place. He had his hands one on
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Cevulirn_s shoulder and one on Crissand_s, as he turned and
faced his guests.
The gray space flared before him, a bright flash of light. We are
all here, rang through the wizardous air and touched Emuin in
his tower, and rang all the way to Assurnbrook.
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Chapter 4
«
^
»
The morning of Midwinter Eve dawned pearl and pink, fit for a
wedding& and that well-omened weather together with the event
was a relief so great Cefwyn had difficulty to keep a silly
cheerfulness from his face, even with the necessity of wearing
the Crown and the royal regalia.
They were marrying off Luriel of Murandys. He wished to smile
at everyone.
Most of all he smiled at his royal wife, likewise bedight in her
regal finery, with the circlet crown of the Regent of Elwynor on
her brow& for they had reached this day without a rift between
them and in good sorts. And by his order, Ninévrisë, whose small
court all attended the bride this morning, went attended not by
ladies, but by the martial display of Dragon Guard, the whole
power of the Crown, and a very clear statement for all witnesses
both that the king held her very dear& and that she did not attend
Luriel this morning.
It was for the lesser lights, the maids and matrons of the court, to
be sure all the requisite things, the book of devotions, the sprig of
broom, the small packet of salt, and the pinch of grain, found
their way into the bride_s possession, disposed about her person
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in various traditions old as time.
_I_ve made her gown,_ Ninévrisë had said with acerbity, in
deciding not to attend the bride_s robing. _Her kin may see her
into it._
Peace had prevailed just down to the night before, so Cefwyn had
heard, when Luriel had gone into a fit of temper about her shoes,
which had turned out too small, despite careful measuring.
Luriel_s feet hurt, and now the unfortunate shoemaker went in
fear for his life and trade.
_She ate this sweet and that,_ Ninévrisë said, _and she would
have the shoes the finest, the daintiest when she had the measure
taken, oh, no, no grace given, all advice disregarded. We heard a
thousand times how all her house has dainty hands, dainty feet.
Now the shoes pinch. Pray, shall I pity her, or the shoemaker?_
_Mark that man, and I_ll order a pair of boots,_ Cefwyn vowed.
Ninévrisë had extended the utmost of tolerance and kindness to
Luriel of Murandys, and now when she should be most grateful,
the bride had thrown a tantrum about the shoes and flung scissors
and a sewing basket in Ninévrisë_s presence.
_Plague take Luriel,_ he thought, and said. But he wished honest
good fortune to the bridegroom, young Rusyn, and had sent him
a prayer book, a kingly gift, and traditional for a young Quinalt
groom. His friends, besides, would present him a silver dagger,
and a sprig of rue, the groom_s other gifts. Young Panys would
bathe in water brought in from Panys, without benefit of
warming, and commit the first shavings of his beard, saved for
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this purpose, to a holy fire.
All these customs the groom bore with, and the pranks besides,
which Rusyn was likely not spared: the king of Ylesuin at his
wedding had had only a boot stuffed with stockings when he
tried to put it on, Annas_ doing, he was sure& but to his
disappointment no one else had ventured a wedding joke, not
even his brother.
Now&
Only have us through the day, Cefwyn prayed as they went down
the stairs from the royal apartments toward the lower hall.
Holiday evergreen entwined the balustrades.
Midwinter Eve for a wedding night and Midwinter Day for a first
morning, the night of changes and the morning of a new year&
omens of ending one thing and beginning another made it not an
unpopular day for weddings, and sure, there were two more to
follow today in the Quinaltine, notable sons and daughters within
the town and the outlying villages, which the Holy Father would
also perform.
Cefwyn kept Ninévrisë_s hand in his as they descended into the
gathering wedding party at the foot of the stairs_he smiled on
the well-wishers, on Lord Maudyn, the father of the groom, and
even on Prichwarrin Lord Murandys, who was trying to seem
both cheerful and calm: the smile seemed entirely to unnerve
him, and that was pleasant.
There was an exchange, stiffly formal, of courtesies and well-
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wishes, a small cup of fine wine all around, drunk standing, the
cups a gift and a tradition of the midlands, Panys_ lands.
Then the entire party went down the outside steps and gathered
up Efanor and his guards. The Lord Commander joined them,
wearing his ordinary black, even for weddings.
Outside, where the processional formed, all the lords in the
Guelesfort had turned out in their winter finery, ladies in wide
skirts and no few of the simpler variety, in Ninévrisë_s fashion.
Maidens bore juniper boughs and gave playful lashes to young
gentlemen in their path, where amorous young gentlemen
deliberately contrived to be: there was marriage-luck in the
exchange.
Trumpets sounded thinly and a little sharp in the cold air, but the
pearl and pink of the sky had given way to a bright, fair, glorious
blue, and outside the iron gates of the Guelesfort and all along
the way, puddles reflected that sky on scrubbed limestone pavings
_at least in the aisle the guards kept safe, for the whole town
had come for the festivities, the food, and the sights. Tradesmen
and sweeps alike rubbed elbows_maids crowded close, to have
a glimpse of the passing show. Custom had it that seeing a bride
and groom was lucky& and this one, so far-famed a scandal of
royalty and nobility, brought onlookers to a frenzy of excitement,
waving kerchiefs through the grillwork and shouting out wishes
of a sort to make a bride blush.
Those cheers rang off the high walls of the Quinaltine across the
way, more fervent wishes than when their king had married a
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foreign bride: Cefwyn prayed Ninévrisë failed to make that
comparison.
The quantity of ale flowing by now had something to do with it,
surely_not an extravagance, yet, for they wanted no drunken
truth affronting the peace. The penny largesse had found wild
favor, so Annas had said, and the crowd now was in a giving
mood. Cups spilling ale froth lifted high among the crowd as the
royal banners swept by_the king and his consort must by law
walk before all others. Then Efanor must follow; and only after
the royal family came the bride and groom, who were honored
for their day above all the lords of Ylesuin.
So they walked amid cheers and the press of the crowd, on the
short precessional course that wound along the wall of the
Quinaltine and around to the right, to the center of its now
pigeonless steps.
Hands reached continually past the guards. Cefwyn reached out
his own right hand, and Ninévrisë her left, brushing unwashed
fingertips, and this brought a great surge forward, of sick folk
seeking cures, of common folk seeking luck for their ventures.
So they would wish to be touched by the bride and groom, as
well, for good fortune and a cure for childlessness on this
auspicious day.
The Quinalt doors, too, were decked out with evergreen and
berries, and as they walked up into the great shrine the place was
alight with hundreds of white candles and echoing with high,
pure voices. The panoply of Murandys and that of Panys were
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both in evidence all about, the colors of both noble houses
draping the altar and the rails, and wound about the columns to
which the banner-bearers customarily retreated.
Cefwyn reached his place in the first row of seats with Ninévrisë
and Efanor. The trumpets continued to peal as lord after lord
behind them found their way into the shrine, each one with a
flourish of trumpets.
Idrys joined them, privilege of the Lord Commander to slip into
the first row from the side, and without ceremony: he was within
the royal party. Then came the groom_s relatives, with Lord
Maudyn of Panys, and the sole representatives from Murandys,
Lord Prichwarrin, with young Lady Odrinian.
Above all the pageantry was the patched hole where rain no
longer found an entry& not an elegant patch, but sufficient to
winter weather: after the workers had risked life and limb, the
Quinalt was dry and free of drafts, and the weather fair, even
warmish for the season, making the air close, candle-scented,
perfumed with warring perfumes, and the smell of incense which
never quite left the place.
Cefwyn braced his knees back against the seat and stood, and
stood, through all the filing-in. It was the tiresome protocol
which dictated that, contrary to the custom of the court, in the
Quinalt the king, who could not kneel, stood or sat, and since the
nobles were still filing in and the king_s back was to the
company, it was therefore the duty of royalty and the high nobles
to stand& and stand, under the heavy royal regalia. Cefwyn_s
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eyes wandered, while he kept his face straight ahead. As the
benches filled, the air grew warmer and the echoes changed from
the hollow quaver of an empty vault to the soft muted stir of
many bodies. One learned to judge, even counting the flourishes
or watching the signal of the preceptor, that the benches were
approaching full.
It was enough waiting. Cefwyn made his decision, and sat, and
Ninévrisë sat, and Idrys and Efanor sat, and then the court, with a
general rustling and sighing.
Cefwyn looked beside him, found that wonderful small smile and
that dimple at the edge of Ninévrisë_s mouth that told him she
was in exceedingly fine humor even yet, anxious to be through
this. Beyond her, Efanor was resolute and brooding in profile,
beyond Idrys_ dark-mustached visage& Efanor was thinking,
perhaps, on Ryssand_s daughter and his own prospective
marriage: that was reason enough for a grim, worried
countenance.
He had not told Efanor yet about Cuthan, but he had moved to
make a breach with Ryssand devastating, and his displeasure
clear. Once Luriel was a happy bride, with a firm footing in the
friendly house of Panys, let master crow fly, not of passion, but
of clearheaded policy: the infamous Marhanen temper would do
very foolish things in that regard; but because there was , he
thought twice about everything.
Because there was Ninévrisë he did so many things more wisely
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this year than last& and he was not fearful of Ryssand_s
doctrinist priests: he had walked the processional with his hands
touching the people_s hands, unshielded, and unwilling to give up
any of the tradition that brought him out among his own.
There was one less priest haranguing at tavern corners this
morning. Likely no one even noticed the lack. The absence of a
thing was harder to notice than its presence, and Idrys had
created no stir at all. Well-done, he thought, deft and silent, and
no deaths, no accusatory bodies.
Now trumpets hailed the processional of the groom. Young
Rusyn marched up the aisle. Junior priests lit candles and swung
censers, sending up blue-gray clouds of incense around the
golden glow of the lamps. Rusyn arrived in the tail of Cefwyn_s
eye, resplendent in Panys_ colors, and Lord Maudyn, back from
the riverside where he had done faithful duty, was clearly aglow
with pride.
The gathering applauded the groom as he took his place at the
altar. A second sounding of trumpets, and now highborn young
maidens came with lamps, so Cefwyn imagined without turning
his head. The choir sang at their utmost range as Luriel of
Murandys walked down the aisle.
But within the crowd a stunned silence fell, and almost Cefwyn
did turn his head, asking himself what distressful thing might be
going on.
Luriel arrived in the edge of his sight, and then he saw what
everyone had seen, the ironic and unintended similarity in the
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two notable brides of the season. The heraldry of Ninévrisë_s
house and that of Murandys were alike blue and white, and that
was the inevitable similarity: no, it was the slim gown, the lack
of the cursed petticoats_so that, for a moment Cefwyn saw two
Ninévrisë_s.
He held a firm, angry grip on the rail in front, and thanked the
gods when Luriel and Rusyn joined hands, with no ill omens, no
hindrance. The trumpets sounded, the priests swung censers. The
rising white smoke all but obscured the altar, which was the
magical moment the Holy Father would appear through the
smoke, a moment of high mystery and candlelit miracle.
But the Holy Father did not come through the smoke. The
moment_s expectant silence began to fade in a crepitation of
small movements, shifting of feet, then small laughter and
whispers.
The trumpets sounded again. The censers swung furiously,
maintaining the smoke.
There was still no Holy Father, and now the pause after the
fanfare filled immediately with a murmur of consternation, and
the bride and groom faltered, likewise uncertain.
Some laughed, but Cefwyn looked at Idrys, in the center of the
row, and necessarily at Lord Panys and Lord Murandys and
Efanor, all of whom had worried frowns. Idrys quickly signed to
someone off among the columns, then turned to Cefwyn and
excused his armored way past Ninévrisë in the narrow space
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between the benches and the rail, to reach him.
On the dais a figure hurried through the smoke, and Cefwyn
turned his head as all the congregation gave a relieved laugh,
thinking the Holy Father was late. But it was only a hurrying
priest, who spied authority past the railing and came desperately
off the platform toward the royal bench.
_The Holy Father,_ the priest gasped out, _the Holy Father&_
A tumult had begun, sbme talking aloud, some trying to hush the
hindmost. The bride and groom stood staring as, from confidence
and security, now bodyguards began to move quickly to their
lords, crowding in from the sides.
_& dead,_ the priest said. _With evil things, evil things around
him! And the blood& oh, the blood__
_Stand in your places!_ Lord Maudyn shouted out, that voice
accustomed to ordering soldiers in battle. _Everyone stand in his
place! Let no one move! The choir may sing! Sing!_
Even a king might find himself jumping at that voice; and a
heartbeat more Cefwyn hesitated as the priest took off into the
smoke, and priests and lay brothers ran after him. Ninévrisë was
by him, in whatever danger existed in the place, and where
assassination had at the highest of all priests it would surely not
scruple to strike down a foreign consort at the center of the storm.
Cefwyn had no true weapon but his dagger, the ceremonial sword
more show than blade. Efanor was at Ninévrisë_s other side,
armed with somewhat better, at least; and Idrys shouted out
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orders to the Dragons, who had been halfway to their king when
Maudyn_s order had halted them in confusion.
_Guardsmen! Here! Now!_
_This way!_ Cefwyn shouted, seeing the rush of priests and
acolytes around them, men he did not trust rushing this way and
that and row after row of guests behind the nobles, and the doors
open to the outside.
Immediately the Dragons came around them, curtaining them
from the crowd and whatever danger might come from the
outside. Cefwyn drew Ninévrisë by the hand, leaving the
benches, passing the rail beyond the altar with Ninévrisë close
before a second, desperate thought informed him no women went
past that holy boundary.
But neither should murder pass it, and behind that rail, Cefwyn
well knew, was no mystery of the faith, rather a maze of robing
rooms and closets and storages, apt concealment for one assassin,
but not for what he more feared, a movement of the crowd itself
_passions were dry tinder in the town, and in narrow halls he
had the advantage, places one could hold, places Dragon Guard
shields could make a wall, and did, as Idrys shouted the order,
_Stand fast! Let no one through!_
That sealed off the tumult from the great shrine, and left them
that of priests within, wailing and crying, themselves smeared
with blood. They were near that small room, Cefwyn knew from
his own investiture, where the Holy Father robed.
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Idrys and Efanor stayed with them, Idrys with sword bared,
Efanor cautiously keeping his hand at his belt. Priests were
taking no account they jostled the royal party as they advanced or
retreated, one after another straining to see, then turning away in
horror at the first glance inside.
Cefwyn was driven, the same, and elbowed his way past
weeping, praying priests, still with Ninévrisë_s hand safely in his,
and armored men pushing others aside.
His Holiness lay sprawled in his vestments, and if any blood was
left in him, between the walls and his vestments, it was a wonder.
Feathered cords were bound about the chair, run to the candle-
sconce, back again to the chair as if some spider had done it, and
the Sihhë star was painted in blood on the far wall.
_This is sorcery!_ a priest,breathed.
_This is murder,_ Idrys said sharply. _Stay to your praying,
priest, and leave judgment of cowardly, murdering men to your
king and the rightful authorities! Do spirits wear boots?_
Indeed, and Cefwyn saw it: there were footprints in the blood,
leading out under their very feet.
_What are those cords?_ a monk asked in all innocence.
Cefwyn had no need to wonder. He had seen the like holding
charms in the market of Henas_amef, and dangling among the
skirts of an Amefin witch, ghost, Shadow, whatever she was.
The star was for the less informed, who would not take the
subtler clues the assassin had spread about like largesse.
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_Dismiss the wedding party,_ Cefwyn said, cudgeling his shaken
wits into order. _See where the tracks lead before they_re
trampled over! Efanor! Is Jormys here?_
_Yes,_ Efanor said. _He_s here!_
_I appoint him to the Quinaltine for the interim and give him the
Patriarch_s authority, temporal and spiritual, in the gods_ name!_
He ran out of breath in the utterance of what was, always before,
formula, and now was a weapon in his hands, the king_s power to
appoint and dispose. _Advise him so! Set the robes on him!
Meanwhile His Holiness is dead_show some reverence and
cover him!_
_Gods save us, gods save us,_ more than one priest kept saying,
and another wailed, _It_s the gods_ judgment!_
_Gods_ wrath on fools!_ Cefwyn became aware he had clenched
Ninévrisë_s hand far too hard. _This is an assassin_s doing! And
damned unlikely any of this gaudy display is real! There_s no
sorcery here, it_s a planned assassination, and who_d hate His
Holiness but those blackguard seditionists who prate their
righteousness in the street! That_s the source of this!_ With relief
he saw Efanor appear again with his priest, Father Jormys, and
seized on him, gentle, sensible Jormys signing himself in fear
and distress at the horror in the room.
_Father,_ Cefwyn said sharply, _take charge! I set you over the
Quinaltine, as of this moment._
_My lord king, I protest I am not worthy, or scholarly__
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_The king_s choice!_ he shouted, his voice what he used on the
field. _Our choice! Only the king is anointed to make that choice,
and we make it, we propose and dispose with the anointment of
the gods on our head, and I set my seal on you as His Holiness
held the office from my grandfather_s hand._ Damn you was not
auspicious, and he restrained the breath on which it rode. _Take
charge, I say!_
Outcries from the sanctuary drowned the murmur from the inner
halls. Wood splintered, light wood. Priceless carved screens
stood behind the rail and the altar, and it was an ominous sound.
_Get back!_ a soldierly voice shouted, and then Idrys:
_Push them out!_
The Guard moved, and shrieks attended, dim, in the distance of
the maze as the Guard pressed intruders back and back.
_ Out of here, Your Majesty!_ Idrys shouted. _Take the West
Door!_
_The East!_ Cefwyn contradicted his Lord Commander, fully
conscious Ninévrisë was in danger in any rising, and would not
leave him, not the woman who had defended her father against
rebels in the hills. He felt the firm grip of her hand and took his
dagger from its sheath, pressing it on her with no difficulty at all,
and not a word.
Idrys had taken the order, and cleared the halls before them, all
the way out into the sanctuary, where the groom_s father, Lord
Maudyn, had marshaled a defense that kept the guests to one side
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and the sanctuary, give or take a few men lying in the aisle,
secured.
_Maudyn!_ Cefwyn shouted out. _Dismiss the gathering out the
maindoors! Proceed in the ordinary order! Sound the trumpets!_
_Your Majesty will not go out there!_
_Sound the trumpets, I say!_ The populace was apt to wild
rumors enough. The trumpets would carry, gain attention, inform
them their lords were taking action and authority still stood. A
tide of the common and curious pressed at the doors, against the
house guards of half a dozen lords of the realm, wild with
speculation and fear, and no slinking of the king to his gates
could deal with it. _By precedences, behind me! Take your
places!_
But in that same moment the priests, at Jormys_ ill-timed
direction, bore the Patriarch_s bloody body out of the sanctum
and into the fore of the sanctuary, a sight that brought shrieks
from no few even of the nobles, and from wild-eyed lesser
priests, who shouted entreaties to the gods. Benches overturned
as a score of hands handled the bloody corpse over the rail to the
altar itself& where they disposed it atop the wedding colors on
the altar, staining them with blood.
_When shall I be married?_ Luriel cried, from the assembly of
nobles, as if it were some personal affront, and burst into tears.
Rusyn was with her, and she slapped away his comfort, even
struck at her uncle Lord Murandys when he attempted to quiet
her outburst.
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_Your Majesty, the procession,_ Idrys said in utter, low-voiced
calm. _Now. Your Highness, if you would be so good as to
combine your guard with His Majesty_s&_
_Go,_ Cefwyn said, and Idrys gave his orders, rapidly and by
name, telling off the lords in their order, dispersing other men to
archers stationed in secure places Idrys never yet revealed, but
his couriers knew.
_Clear the doors!_ Cefwyn shouted, and slowly, using pikes
gripped along the shafts by several hands, the Guard and
bodyguards of various lords opened a gap in the press, and
progressively formed a barrier of the sort the crowd was used to
at functions, pikes held crosswise, hand to hand.
Cefwyn came out into daylight, affording all the Quinaltine
square the sight of a crowned head and the woman beside him.
Down the steps he moved, with dispatch, as hundreds pressed
against the Guard_s efforts to open a corridor.
_Quickly now, Your Majesty._ It was Gwywyn, commander of
the Prince_s Guard, who reached him, a good man, and a brave
one, if obstinate, and having six strong men with shields.
Gwywyn_s sharp voice and the press of shields cleared a wider
path along their exposure to the open square.
Then the largest Quinalt bell began to toll: the whole tower rang
for weddings, feasts, and calamities, for fire, for proclamations,
and for deaths_but there was none of the peal of the lighter bells
that should have rung out the wedding party. The sound was only
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the deep-voiced Passage Bell, which tolled over all the voices,
death and doom, death and doom. It chilled the tumult to a
shocked stillness, and what might happen toward the steps was
no longer in Cefwyn_s command. He could make no more haste
than Gwywyn_s men, but the nobles behind him did not press,
lords and ladies whose only armor in this passage was their
unshakable dignity and the expectation that no hand would touch
them, no weapon withstand their rank and their rights.
In the same way Ninévrisë moved beside him, a foreigner in their
midst, her noble, unhurried bearing a bulwark to his demand for
room. No battlefield had ever seemed wider than that dreadful
processional ground, blindly around the corner of the Quinaltine,
toward the gates of the Guelesfort, shut and secure, and, he
prayed the gods, handled by some officer with more than
ordinary sense, for there they could be trapped outside and
crushed or those gates could open and stay open a moment too
long, provoking the crowd to press in. It was hallowed ground,
lordly ground: the commons ordinarily would not press them
hard; but there were so many, the strength bearing against the
guardsmen that of men being pushed and trampled themselves by
those behind. Panic surged along beside them, ran like hounds,
pushed with the force of a river in flood.
The gates opened. Cefwyn swept Ninévrisë and his brother to the
side where he had immediate access to the men managing the
gates, and when he recognized the very last of the procession
approaching the gates, with the mob surging behind, he gave the
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order to shut the doors.
The gates began to swing, admitted the very last with a right to
be there, and a scatter of dazed commons pushed in by the press,
whom the Guard swiftly swept aside and placed under arrest.
Distraught questions abounded, as noble restraint gave way&
Who had done it? Was it sorcery? Was it the Elwynim?
_A sword or a dagger,_ Cefwyn shouted over the din. _Sorcery at
Lewen field left no blood! I_ve seen the one, and this was no
sorcery, by the gods, it was not! Look inside the Quinaltine for
the assassin!_Boy!_ Cefwyn said, spying one of his pages near
him in the press. _Fetch down my armor, to this courtyard! Now!
Don_t gawk! Call any servant who crosses your path, no excuses!
_ Captain Gwywyn, good men to see Her Grace upstairs to my
chambers and stand watch outside!_
Ninévrisë was no fool, to cling to him when the whole of his
kingdom shuddered to the brink of riot; he wanted every
encumbrance gone and every weapon around him. But she seized
his hand for one urgent warning.
_They_ve killed a priest. What will they stick at now?_
He stopped for the moment, struck with chagrin and guilt at
once& for he had struck at a priest: no one knew but Idrys, and
Idrys_ men. But she accused him without knowing why the
priestly authority was in ruin, and in front of the frightened, pious
court, he could say nothing more than, _We_ll bring things to
order. Father Jormys is in the Quinalt, and whatever else, he_s no
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common priest, and no fool._ Please the gods, he thought, that
Jormys is not a fool. He seized on Efanor_s arm, fiercely. _Direct
matters at the gate. Your guard, there. See no one passes. I_m
going outside. The town needs to see its king._
_They need him alive,_ Efanor retorted fiercely, informing him
this was folly; but it was the only course, folly for him or not,
that might stem the riot before it swept into burning and looting
and then to guardsmen dead and commons hanging. They were
all safe behind an iron grill and an iron gate, but shouts and
screams echoing off the walls outside informed him Idrys was in
no such safety_and Cefwyn hurried, without running: a king
must not run, must never run, never more than stride, he told
himself all the way to the steps, where he thanked the gods a
handful of guardsmen was marshaling some sort of order,
sending the elderly and frail upstairs.
His pages had indeed run and, faster than he dared hope, were
coming down the stairs, four of them, utterly white-faced and out
of breath, with his field helmet, his sword, and the pieces of his
best body armor. _Good lads! Haste!_ He stripped off the
ceremonial plate and chain where he stood, heedless of hazard,
and by now Isin and other lords were likewise cursing confused
servants and calling for their own horses and weapons for a sally
out into the Quinaltine square in his support.
_Bring Danvy!_ Cefwyn shouted at a page, sending him to the
stables, for a horse was a way to be seen above the heads of the
crowd, and Danvy had experience in crowds and battle alike. No
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one expected restraint from a warhorse_and no one pushed
Danvy twice.
_My lord king,_ his bodyguard protested his determination.
_Get your horses or walk!_ He headed back down the steps, still
buckling straps, surrendered his side to his pages to do the lesser
buckles as stableboys began to bring their charges through, to the
peril of everything in their path.
_That_s tight enough,_ he said to the trembling page, reassured
the boy with a clap on the shoulder, and gratefully took a plain
guardsman_s shield as the quickest available. Danvy arrived,
straining at a stable-hand_s lead, throwing his head, already hot-
blooded from the confusion around him. Cefwyn took the reins
himself, set foot in the stirrup, rose up into the saddle.
The Prince_s Guard, too, was getting to horse, and he moved
through the press of nobles and bodyguards with Isin and
Nelefreissan, of all unlikely others_ northerners, Ryssand_s men
with their household guard, all mounted and joining him. It was
not the company he would have chosen, but all but a handful of
his reliable men were outside holding the square. He trusted his
back to them out of necessity and ascribed their offer to honor or
fear: they were in as great a danger from the drunken crowd they
faced. No one was safe out there.
_Open the gates and close them hard after us!_ he ordered, and
guardsmen afoot used main force and the threat of pikes to press
the gates outward against the stubborn few drunk enough to
assail the Guelesfort gates themselves.
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Free and foremost, Cefwyn rode Danvy straight at the laggard
townsmen in his path, his guard a hard-riding mass at his heels as
townsmen scattered from the path of the horses. Around the
corner of the Quinaltine wall, into the Quinaltine square, he met
little to check him; but the Quinaltine steps were beset with a
crowd in the wild flux of rumor and grief, clots of confused and
frightened citizens. A man ran past waving scraps of cloth soaked
in red, screaming, _The Holy Father_s blood! The Holy Father_s
blood!_
Cefwyn swore and maneuvered through the gap, laying about
him with the flat of his sword, sent three men sprawling and one
reeling aside who thought he could pass Danvy_s guard and get at
the bridle. Danvy stumbled over him, came up with an effort,
steel-shod feet racketing on pavings as he drove to the foot of the
Quinaltine steps.
There the Dragons and the portion of the Prince_s Guard and the
Guelens that had stayed to hold their pike-line were sorely
pressed at the Quinalt steps. The mob wanted into the shrine: the
Guard forces would not have it, and blood slicked no few faces.
_Back!_ Cefwyn shouted at the crowd, striking still with the flat
of his blade where it was a man_s back, the edge if a man showed
a weapon& he had no idea how many such, where the Guard
was all but overwhelmed. _I am your king, damn you! Back
away!_
_Silence there! Silence for His Majesty!_ the cry went up from
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some few, amongst his personal guard, and with a screen of
horses and their own bodies his bodyguard in their distinctive
livery made the crowd give back. _
_Silence that racket,_ Cefwyn said peevishly. His eyes stung.
Smoke wafted at him, from across the square. _Quiet that bell!
No one can have his wits with that din!_
_My lord king._ Idrys had come up beside him, afoot, by
Danvy_s shifting hooves. _This is too great a risk._
_There_s fire somewhere. What_s burning?_
_The Bryalt shrine,_ Idrys said.
_Damn!_
There fell a sudden hush then, a sudden numbness of the air
underlying the shouts, for the bell had, on a few false strokes,
ceased tolling. It was as if the riot had lost its breath, and then
fallen apart into individual, frightened men.
_The Holy Father was murdered,_ Cefwyn cried, lifting his
sword high in the brief chance that silence gave him, and using
the words that would catch the attention even of the drunken and
the mad. _Within the Quinalt itself, a murder! A new Patriarch
sits the gods_ throne, His Highness Efanor_s priest, Jormys, a
good and saintly man, who prays you all stand aside from this
lunacy! The gods do not sleep, and will avenge this blasphemy,
and the blasphemy of drunken men who profane this holy
precinct! Stand back, I say! Stand back and be silent!_
A handful raised their voices against him, but the majority
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hushed them in fearful haste; and he caught the breath of a
further silence.
_Jormys, I say, is the new Patriarch, whom the council of priests
will confirm. And he will ferret out the murderer, among whom I
expect to find traces leading to enemies of the Crown, of the
peace, and of this land!_
_Death to the Elwynim!_ a drunken voice shouted, as generations
of Guelenmen had shouted.
_Elwynim are across the river!_ Cefwyn shouted at the limit of
his breath. _It_s Guelen traitors among you!_ It was blood he
called for and knew he did it. _Down with traitors! Gods save
Ylesuin!_
_Gods save Ylesuin!_ Everyone could shout that, and did, in the
wildness of their fear, and kept shouting, filling up the silence so
there was no more anyone could say. A priest, up on the steps,
raised his arms and tried to quiet them, with some success, a
situation still full of hazard.
_Gods save Ylesuin indeed,_ Idrys said, at Danvy_s shoulder. The
Lord Commander was blood-spattered, a fine dew on his armor
and his grim face. _Go to safety. Let your guard deal with it.
They_ve seen you_re not afraid, my lord king. It_s enough._
_They_ll continue to see it,_ Cefwyn said harshly, for now that
terror had given way, anger rushed up hand in hand with it. They
had threatened his kingdom. They had threatened, and men in the
crowd had cried against the Crown and all it stood for. He would
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not go back and cower in the Guelesfort, waiting for the Guard to
make the streets of his capital safe for him to show his face.
Idrys could not prevent him, and the persistent sting of smoke
provided a goal in the confusion: it was no small fire, and if there
was a siege and a burning at the other side of the square, he
meant to stop it.
But when he drew near the farside he saw it was the Bryaltine
shrine afire, a black-robed corpse dangling from a rope cast to the
rooftree of the Bryalt shrine. Beneath the body a pile of books
smoldered, all of a library in that blackened heap.
The mob, seeking foreigners in their midst, had hanged poor
Father Benwyn.
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Chapter 5
«
^
»
The lords had eaten and drunk their fill on the evening of their
arrival, fallen asleep and rested late, even down in the tents, and
out into the town. Tristen, too, took his time rising, advised that
all his guests were asleep. For days they had struggled to reach
here, and now all the lords who had been at the welcoming feast
in the Lesser Hall either slept late or nursed last night_s folly
behind drawn drapes.
Tristen himself fed his pigeons, and sat by the fire, and did the
little directing he had to do. He could not persuade himself to
sleep so late. He was jealous for every hour his guests were
sleeping, unavailable to him, unprecedented anticipation, and his
thoughts flitted and buzzed like bees.
The time felt auspicious, if any time had. His dream of the
southern lords had come to life around him, and Emuin had not
disapproved last night, rather had grown merry and cheerful. The
lords had laughed together: Crissand got along famously with
Cevulirn, and Pelumer and Umanon had sat talking with Sovrag
despite old grudges.
Had ever he dreamed so much could go so well, when the stars
were so chancy?
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And even before the sun was a glimmering in the east the
kitchens had gone into their ultimate frenzy before the feast,
ovens hot, the smells of baking and roasting meat wafting
everywhere about the yard& not a lord stirred forth except
Cevulirn, down the hill to see to his horses before the sun was
well up.
By noon the last stragglers had come out of their quarters, and by
midafternoon, now, the smells of food were all but irresistible:
Cook had prepared small loaves to fend off hunger, and that was
the fare they had.
But there was good converse all the afternoon, and a small
venture out to see the pastures and the campgrounds, of which all
the lords more than approved.
There was a moment, standing facing those pastures, and unheard
by any but the foxes and the passing hawk, when Tristen
explained the situation at Modeyneth and Althalen. It was a
curious place for a conference, with the horses cropping the
brown winter grass and the wind blowing a brisk, dry chill.
_It_s only a village,_ Tristen said. _And some make a great deal
of it, and some think I_ve fulfilled some prophecy, but that_s not
so, not to my thinking._ He added, honestly, _But Emuin bids me
be careful._
_Yet Your Grace is loyal to the king,_ Umanon said.
_He_s my dear friend,_ Tristen said. _And always will be._
_So His Grace has us all to swear,_ said Crissand. _And has us to
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believe His Majesty has our good at heart._
_So he does,_ said Cevulirn, _and to that I swear, too. King
Cefwyn_s never been false to us, never forgotten Lewenbrook_
he trusts us too much and doesn_t say so: all his attention is for
the ones he can_t trust. But a true king, that he is._
_That_s so,_ Tristen said. _That_s very much so. He hasn_t time
for everyone. He has to tend the things that aren_t going well._
_Ryssand,_ Crissand interjected.
_At the head of the list,_ Cevulirn said. _Gods save the king._
So they said, and so they finished their ride with the sun strongly
westering, having ridden up an appetite.
Meanwhile Cook had outdone herself, and as the sky dimmed in
the west, the kitchen poured forth platters of food, even enough
to fill Sovrag_s belly, at least in prospect.
Then the lords made themselves scarce, and buckets of water and
servants were in short supply as all the guests wanted baths and
attention to their dressing. There was shouting, there were harried
servants pelting this way and that and out, in one instance, to a
tailor shop_but no one was late downstairs, to the processional
Tassand had arranged, with trumpets and banners.
They filed into the great hall in all ceremony, and all who could
possibly find an invitation and a place at table were in that
processional, the benches fiercely crowded at their lower stations.
Emuin came_was simply there, when before that he had missed
Emuin in the line.
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The piper and the drummer lost no time after the fanfares, and
swung into cheerful tunes, one after the other& for there would
be dancing. Tristen loved to watch it, and was especially glad to
see so many ladies at the tables, all in fine cloth and wearing
jewels. He knew Crissand_s mother and Durell_s pretty daughter
both by sight; and he recalled the two very young girls from
Merishadd who put their heads together and giggled at every
turn. They seemed to want his attention, but they were only
children.
_Your Grace should welcome them,_ Tassand said close to his
ear, helping him as Tassand had agreed to do. _Then ask the
priests to pray._
Tristen stood up somewhat abashed and looked around him; he
had to wait for silence.
_I wanted you to come,_ he said when there was sufficient
silence. _I need all your good advice. And I_ve missed you very
much. I_m glad to see you. Be welcome._
There was applause to that. _Here_s to the Sihhë-lord!_ Sovrag
roared out, that word that he hoped never to hear, but there was
no restraining Sovrag at all. _Gods bless _im, say I!_
He was supposed to invite the priests. Emuin stood up, to the
rescue, splendid in his new robe. Teranthine gray he wore, and he
wore the Teranthine sigil, standing forth as a cleric, tonight.
_Father,_ Emuin said with a wave of his hand toward the other
end of the high table, where the Teranthine father and the
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Bryaltine abbot sat in close company. _If you_ll do the honors._
_Delighted,_ said the Teranthine, shook back his voluminous
sleeves from his forearms like a workman preparing to work, and
gave a prayer so rapid and so authoritative the soldiers present all
but came to attention. _Gods bless this gathering,_ the Teranthine
concluded, passing the matter to the Bryaltine, who rose with his
cup and tipped out a few drops onto the stone floor.
_Honor to the earth,_ the abbot said, _honor to the dead in the
passing of the year; honor to the living, in the coming of the new.
A Great Year passes tonight. A new one begins. Let the good that
is old continue and let the rest perish. Gods save the lord of
Amefel._
It pleased some: Tristen thought it should please him, but he was
less certain about the matter of perishing& and if ever there
should be a moment the gray space should come alive, on this
night, with these two honest priests and Emuin, now it should&
but it failed without the flicker of a presence, not even Emuin_s
closely held one.
And what should he do now? Tristen asked himself, for there was
a ritual aspect to this feast, this gathering of close friends_as if
Men wished to be sure where all they loved was when the world
changed. And was that enough, and had they raised enough
godliness in this gathering?
But just then the servants paraded out with another course, the
fabled pies, so there was an end to the speeches and the gods-
blessing and all speculation on the new year. There was laughter,
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and Midwinter Eve, that had loomed so ominous through
Emuin_s year, turned to high good spirits and the praise of
Cook_s pastries.
Midwinter Eve had been imagining, and planning, all these
things& and now the very night assumed a solidity and a scent
and a sound all around him: it progressed, and the famous pies
which, baked over the last sevenday, came out steaming, in great
abundance. There was course after course besides, and music and
laughter. There was nothing terrible, nothing to dread. Friends
were like armor about the heart, and nothing could daunt him.
Then Sovrag called out that a good Midwinter Eve wanted tale-
telling, and he had heard of the business with Ryssand_s son, but
he wanted a full recitation for the wider hall.
A small silence fell_Sovrag was several cups past sober and
meant no harm at all, but it was no good story, and Cevulirn,
with that still, dignified calm that hushed all around him, refused.
_It_s too recent, and I_d rather Lord Pelumer. He has a winter
story._
_Which?_ asked Pelumer.
_Why, when you were young, Lanfarnesse. The deer in the
treetops._
That caught interest even from the drunken, and Pelumer needed
no pleading. He told of the year the Lenúalim froze so deep carts
could cross it, and how the ice had lasted into spring. He told
how the snow had drifted so high up the trees the deer browsed
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the high branches.
Then it was so cold a man carrying wood had his fingers break
off, and it was so cold an ox team turned up frozen in their yoke,
still standing.
Tristen thought that part very sad.
_A man could walk to Elwynor from here,_ Pelumer went on,
_since the river was a highroad, white and smooth as glass. I saw
it. I was a boy of seven years, and I walked from Lanfarnesse
into Marna and back, chasing the deer and seeing what I could
see. Marna was all asparkle with ice. The High King sat in
Althalen, and the High King_s rangers kept the woods. But no
one dared kill the deer in Marna Wood. And no one went to
Mauryl_s tower, either.
_Yet I saw it through the trees, and knew then how far I_d come.
I turned back, walking the river home, not wishing even in those
days to have the sun set before I_d cleared that part of those
woods. Down and down went the sun, and the ice went from
bright to gray. Then I walked as fast as I could, and began to run,
with the clearest notion there was something right at my
shoulders. I ran and I ran and I ran, until a shadow rose up right
in front of me.
_It was a King_s Ranger,_ Pelumer concluded, to the relief of the
young girls from Merishadd, who had leaned closer and closer
together, and all but jumped. _And he said it was very well I
never looked back, for those who did never came out again._
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There were delicious shivers. But Tristen knew better, and so did
Sovrag, surely, who leaned back in his chair, and began his own
tale of river-faring, less eloquent than Pelumer, involving his
own first trip up to Marna, with his father_s crew, even then
trading with Mauryl.
_We went to the old tower, right up where the water meets the
stones, and the old man_d come and never bargain, but say what
he_d pay. That was his habit. And me da was careful about the
hour, that_s so. By sundown we cleared that wood_and was
raidin_ the shore by Lanfarnesse after that&_ This with a wink at
Pelumer. _But we_re honest men, now, an_ sittin_ in a warm hall,
with clear water an_ the wind turned out of the north this evenin_.
That_s the breath of the hoary old north wind, as blows the boats
home. Mother South Wind, she_s blowed us here, and old man
North Wind, he_s chasin_ us home_can_t ask for better. Wizard-
luck, that is for us, _specially if it blows us back with the next
load._
_Wizard-luck, indeed,_ Emuin said somberly, from Tristen_s
right, next Crissand at the table. _Luck and wizardry._
_Was it you?_ Sovrag asked_respecting the cloth and the
wizard, as it seemed, for there was a caution in Sovrag whenever
he spoke to Emuin. _Uncommon lack o_ snow, there is._
_It is, isn_t it?_ Emuin said, not the admission Sovrag courted,
and it left Sovrag with not a thing to say on that subject. Tristen
took quick note of the tactic, seeing it turned on someone other
than him.
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But Sovrag was rarely without something to say. _An_ no ice in
the river, master wizard, not this year. Boats, boats can run free
an_ bad luck to Tasmôrden, say I! Here_s to wizard-luck an_
Ilefínian_an_ to hell with that blackguard Tasmôrden!_
_So_t is!_ Uwen said, from Tristen_s left. _But there_s tomorrow
for that._ It was a valiant effort for a shy man to speak out and
stem the flood of war talk_ but his effort failed, for Lord Durell
was drunk enough to propose they should make a foray against
the enemy immediately.
_Deck the bridge at the Guelen camp and have the blackguard_s
head within the week!_ Durell cried, lifting his cup. _To hell with
_im!_
_I doubt it will be so easy,_ Cevulirn said.
And Crissand, who was no more drunk than Cevulirn, which was
to say, not at all, said, _On any cold, clear morning, with a will,
we_re ready._
_Damn Tasmôrden,_ said Lord Azant, and Drumman: _Long live
Lord Tristen!_
Then Emuin, who had had more than one cup himself, and who
had blunted Sovrag_s first foray, lifted a hand. _Inappropriate for
me to curse,_ Emuin said. _And His Majesty has demanded
patience of us. And no talk of war tonight._
There was a muttering at that.
_Which,_ Emuin said above the protest, _the stars declare is
wise! There would be no good outcome of a venture planned this
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side of midnight. Say no more of it!_
_And after?_ Sovrag asked,
_Tonight is not for war,_ Tristen said, for Emuin_s warning had
struck a certain chill into him, and he foresaw that very soon they
would be saying things he had as lief not have laid before every
visitor to the hall tonight& the Teranthirie father was there, and
the Bryalt abbot, with the two nuns, the thanes and squires of
villages, and the ealdormen, not mentioning their wives, and the
guards and servants besides. Any one of them might spread news
that might not serve them& whether it reached Ilefínian_or
Guelessar and the north.
But he looked at all his guests, his friends_ Crissand, Cevulirn,
Sovrag and Pelumer and Umanon, Merishadd and Azant and the
earls, and he saw around him, willing and earnest, all the power
of the south, all on the verge of motion.
He saw the ladies, all in their finery, and the meal ended. But not
the evening.
It was Midwinter Eve, the night the heavens shifted& and he felt
an equal disturbance in the gray place, between one deep breath
and the next, as all the hall hung momentarily silent, awaiting the
next move.
_Play,_ he said to the piper, ending all discussion. _Move the
tables back._
Servants hurried to obey, and in high good cheer. For a moment
thereafter everyone was disarranged and the squeal of wood on
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stone and the laughter of well-sated guests alike underlay the
music.
The shriek seemed to go on, shooting through stone, into the
earth, wounding the ear.
Hinge of the year, Emuin had said, hinge of the Great Year and
the Year of Years. Shriek by shriek, tables and benches moved,
the arrangement of things undone, set aside, drawn back to clear
the floor. It was so common a sound. But the gray space roiled of
a sudden, and the very air turned to liquid silver.
Lewenbrook itself was a heartbeat away. So was Ynefel. There
was suddenly so much chance and harm flying in the wind that
Tristen found no quick counter to its malice.
And when the moving of tables was done, and before the couples
took the floor:
_I wish our happiness and the king_s,_ he said, standing, lifting
high the cup he held. And wish he did, with all his might. _I wish
happiness for all of us, when the world is turning round and
the new year is coming!_
_And happiness to you, sir,_ said Pelumer, lifting his cup, and so
did they all. _To all our lands, happiness and good outcome._
_And happiness to the king in Guelessar,_ Crissand cried in that
moment of warm extravagance, not base flattery, but the
outpouring of a generous heart. _Happiness to him for sending us
our lord! Gods bless His Guelen Majesty!_
_The Guelen king_s health!_ said Merishadd, and Azant lifted his
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cup, and all the rest in a body as Azant added, _And our lord_s!_
_Hear him,_ said Pelumer. _Health to our host, Lord Tristen!
Long may he prosper in Amefel._
_Long may we all prosper!_ said Umanon.
Tristen drew a breath, feeling steadier, as if in such a great
number of good wishes from those he counted friends the dark of
midnight had passed and the currents of the new year had begun
to find a direction.
How could one do better for a beginning, he thought, than in
wishing one another well?
How could he have any more profound a shift in the currents than
for Amefin lords and southerners to drink the health of the
Guelen king? He could wish_ and so could Crissand, who had
set wizardry behind that generosity.
The piper played, and a handful of the younger folk moved to the
floor, eager to dance.
But one lady in attendance came from the shadows by a column,
all in gray and gold, a wisp of a woman gray of hair and hung
about with cords and stones and charms.
The incipient dance paused. Guards moved, and hesitated in
doubt. Emuin stood forward, but not far, and the priests rallied
uncertainly to Emuin as the woman came. ,
But only Uwen set himself directly in her path, as the music died.
The woman_s gown seemed old fabric and strange, like cobwebs
over lace, like gold cloth dimmed by dust. The ornaments, that
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she wore were perhaps costly, perhaps not. She was neither old
nor young, and she made a low and graceful bow, sinking into
her gold-touched skirts and rising from them like gray smoke
from embers. It seemed a music played, but none that the pipers
made, a gentle, eldritch air like the stirring of broken glass.
With a nod and a quizzical look, the woman held out her hand,
invitation to the dance. And still Uwen barred the way.
But on a breath and accepting a challenge, Tristen moved past
him, reached out, took dry, cool fingers, moved in stately paces,
turned as the woman turned, all to that strange, distant music.
Within the murmur of consternation the piper took up a wavering
tune, the same that filled the air, and the drummer found the hum
and thump of a rhythm different than the tune they had played,
haunting, majestic measures.
It was Auld Syes, whose eyes sparkled and whose whole bearing
held the dignity of a queen.
_Lady,_ Tristen said, when the measures brought them close, eye-
to-eye, and her gaze was dark and deep. _Welcome._
But while the musicians played on Auld Syes stopped the dance
and stood, breathless and aglow.
_Lord,_ she said then, and made another deep bow, rising again
to face him. _Lord of Althalen, of Meliseriedd, of Ynefel! High
King and lord of all the middle lands! Beware your enemy!_
_I am no king!_ he said doggedly. But Auld Syes backed away
from him bowing yet a third time. The candles blew sideways,
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threatening darkness, and a small shadow skipped around Auld
Syes and him alike, then nipped after a tray of honeycakes at the
side of the room. A sudden whirlwind ran the circuit of the room,
blowing up skirts. The guests cried out in alarm, but the
whirlwind ran toward the doors with a laughter like harp strings,
a wind spinning and turning and dancing with a mad, fey
lightness.
For a moment in the gray space, pipes sounded, and a woman ran
lightly over a ghostly meadow of gray almost green, a child
chasing in her footsteps.
Auld Syes had left the hall, and as she did the massive doors of
the hall burst open, and the doors of the inner hall all at once
banged wide with echoes down the corridor outside, one after
another.
Winds swept through, riffling all the candles, then snuffing them,
every one, leaving all there in utter dark.
A smell of evergreen attended.
_Light!_ Emuin cried furiously, over the cries from the guests.
_Gods bless! Give us light!_
Men were blind in the darkness, blind and afraid, and still the
wind blew. Yet it needed nothing but the wish to see, to draw the
gray, bright light out of that place and touch the candles with it,
and Tristen did that, obedient to Emuin_s wish to lend light. His
wish lit the hall not with the warm golden glow those candles
should bear, but the icy silver of the gray place, every candle
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aglow, but casting little light abroad. The candle-sconces all
became islands of scant luminance, and the hall outside the open
doors appeared as a place of darkness similarly lit, every candle
in the hall aglow but doing little good.
The guests were cast into strange, small groups in that pale gray
light,
Lord Umanon and Lord Cevulirn both had found their swords.
Of Auld Syes there was no sight nor sound.
Beware your enemy, Auld Syes had said, but if there was an
enemy he had to fear, it was not the darkness.
But suddenly something reached through his source of light,
through the gray space itself, and threat streamed like poison
through the light he had gathered and set atop the candles.
That was not the enemy, either. It remained out of his reach. He
sent challenge back through the gray: he was in a Place, had his
feet set, and would fight for these lives if it came.
_Lord!_ a man cried from the open doors, and in starkest
urgency: _Lord! The hall! The light, in the hall!_
The way Auld Syes had trod here had not sealed itself. When the
man cried that, all the gray space bid fair to spill in upon them_
not baneful in itself, but a cascade too much, too swift, too
terrible a knowledge, from every candle in the hall. He steadied it
back.
And neither was that the source of the danger, for danger had
followed Auld Syes like a hound on a scent. It sought a Place in
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the fortress; and now he felt the widening of a rift_a breach in
the wards at that place he had never trusted.
It was from that place the poison came, from that place the lights
were threatened; and from out of that gulf the wind buffeted
them. It was that spot in the hall, that one most haunted place.
_Uwen!_ Tristen cried as he began to run toward the doors of the
great hall, for no other man would he have as a shieldman, and
no man else in the world would he trust to beware the Edge.
In the next instant a hand caught his sleeve, and stayed him long
enough for a sword hilt to find his hand. A buffet on his shoulder
sent him on.
_Go, lad!_ he heard Uwen say, so run he did. He was the defense
Uwen had, the defense any Man of his guests had, and he
plunged into the corridor where conditions were the same: the
candles there streamed the same silvery gray toward him, spots
of light in a dark where Shadows ran, dark small streamers along
all the mortar.
He flung up his hand, called the wards all to life, threatening all
that broke the Pattern of the stones, the ancient masonwork.
At his summoning, a blue glow intruded into the gray sheen of
the candles, and a glow ran along the base of the walls, up over
doorways& every Line of the old fortress glowed, walls and
doorways made firm and real. Shadows that flowed moved along
those Lines, obedient, until they began to race toward that Place,
that foreignness in the hall.
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Beyond a doubt he knew Auld Syes herself was in danger, as if a
thread of her being had come through this doorway, and now,
retreating, stretched thinner and thinner within.
He was aware of the great mass of the ancient stone around him,
and of the presence of friends at his back: he reached the old
mews, that most haunted place, the place where the wards were
least firm_and in and out of which the winds rushed.
He settled a tighter grip oh the borrowed sword, felt with a sweep
of his left arm for Uwen_s presence where Uwen would always
stand. He was there. He felt Cevulirn and Crissand likewise near
him, wizardous and detectable in the gray space, more than the
others. Emuin, too, was there, reaching toward him a strong and
determined power, in an attempt to hold the wards&
But the blue light grew, source of the winds that battered and
buffeted them.
There, there within the old structure, the Lines were almost
overwhelmed, and there if dark could glow, this did. Shortly
before the struggle at Lewenbrook, he had stared into a vacancy
and faced the rousing of countless ghostly wings.
So the rift began to grow, and grow, and he knew what he would
face. _There it is,_ he said. _Where it always was. It_s open. _
Emuin? Do you see?_
_I see it,_ Emuin said, and others crowded near.
_Stay here,_ he said. _Uwen. Stay here. Keep the others safe._
_No, my lord,_ Uwen_s voice said flatly, at his very shoulder,
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_Lord Crissand_s close behind ye; but he ain_t your shieldman
an_ I am, beggin_ his pardon, an_ lord Cevulirn_s. I_m wi_ ye, so
go on._
_Bear a light!_ Crissand called out, and the answer came back,
_There is none!_
_Then find one!_ Umanon cried angrily. So yet another of the
lords had followed him. _Gods bless, man, find one!_
No light would serve, not here, and he needed all his strength.
The light he had lent the candles everywhere in the hall he gave
up, so that the dark came down in the mortal world and
overwhelmed the corridor in which they stood. Men cried out in
alarm. But the blue of the Lines and the blue of that Place shone
the brighter in the darkness, guiding him forward.
He could not say he walked. He held the sword half-forgotten in
his hand, and it seemed now instead of the solid stone of the wall,
a slatted, airy structure through which blue light streamed. That
was the old mews as they had been. He advanced, knowing
Uwen_s presence at his side one moment and then gone abruptly
as he walked beyond the solid stone of the existing wall and the
Place within the walls opened wide.
Blue light softened to something near moonlight, just enough to
see by, sifting through rafters and broken beams of a ruined gable
end.
Perches stretched along either wall of this place, and above him
wings stirred and whispered. To his first impression it was the
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sound of his pigeons, and safe, but in the next blink of an eye the
wings that spread and bated about him were nothing so innocent.
Cries came to his ears, birds of prey, hawks in great numbers,
and the scream of wood on stone and the shriek of the birds and
the shriek of the wind were one and the same.
The hawks pent here, scores of them, were ghosts out of a Place
and a Time all but forgotten, and if they were tame at all, were
tame to hands long dead.
Yet had Auld Syes gone this way?
Was it after all a doorway, that broken gable, a breach in the
Lines that Were, admitting him to Lines that Had Been?
He saw before him a Place within a Place, and a Door that had
never quite closed, perhaps on purpose.
There was the entry, there, in the heart of the moving wings and
the haze of the streaming light that cast a glow on pale, black-
barred feathers, on mad, wild eyes and open beaks that seemed to
shriek forth the sound of winter storm.
The semblance of snow flew then, a battering storm half-
obscuring the light, and when it ceased&
When it ceased it was not the old mews about him now, but the
loft, his loft this spring in Ynefel, and the fluttering wings were
only his feckless, faithful pigeons on their rafters.
He had come home. Mauryl would be below, at work at his table,
elbow-deep in his charts of stars and movements of the planets,
all of which pointed to this night.
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He was in his loft again, and the blue glow of moonlight
brightened to sky, and latest dusk, and his birds were coming
home, arriving by ones and twos, stirring up dust and old feathers.
He had no names for them, had never thought they needed
names, no more than the aged mice who dwelt in the wall of the
downstairs hall, near Mauryl_s table. But oh! he knew them, and
welcomed them, and for a moment the place opened wide to him,
in utter innocence and happiness. He flung wide his arms and
turned to see the familiar pattern of sky and broken boards& no
need to ward such places, Mauryl said, for they were only holes.
The Lines of Ynefel had stood firm despite those gaps, and
Mauryl had remade the wards every evening_
_warding his window for him, too, at the foot of the first bed he
remembered: his little horn-paned window, beneath which the
first sinister crack had come into the wall. The rain had written
patterns on it. He had, never knowing what he did or undid.
He stopped turning and stood still, heart skipping a beat as he
recalled that widening, dreadful seam. He was sure now beyond
all question that the ruin that had brought Mauryl down had
begun there, proceeded there, worked there until there was no
way for the wards to hold. Hasufin in his assault on Mauryl_s
tower had come to that window and pried and pried at the stones,
trying his young dreams, stirring up the shadows that were all too
frequent there.
He had been the weakness in Mauryl_s defense: he, his dreams,
his curiosity, his tracing random, foolish patterns on the window,
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amid Mauryl_s wards.
His room was below him. His bed. The stairs that led down, led
there, to that room with the window.
And he knew at the same time he was in the old mews at
Henas_amef, in the Zeide, near the new great hall.
He still remembered how he had come here. It was so easy here
to forget his very life, to lose the thread that bound him to Uwen,
and Emuin, and all the rest. He kept firm hold of that memory,
clenched it like a guiding thread_he knew the way& no, not
back, back was too little a word. He knew the way home, and his
home was no longer here, was not this loft, this hour, this dim
evening last spring.
He knew at any moment a youth might come up the stairs. That
youth would bring a candle and a book, the Book, which at that
time had been a mystery to him, but was not so now.
Nor were the secrets in that book secrets any longer. He knew
why he had felt vague fears of presence when he lived at Ynefel,
so now he knew what at least one ghostly presence was.
And if he knew when he had been afraid, he might predict,
perhaps, the sites and times of his visitations to Ynefel; and by
that, he might come here again.
He stood very still. The boy hid in nameless terror of Mauryl_s
steps on the stairs, and feared the voices, oh, the voices, as all the
imprisoned faces in the stone walls cried together.
Any moment Mauryl would come through that door, and
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confront him, the dearest sight and the most dreadful in all the
world.
And dared they meet? Dared they, he and Mauryl, cross life and
death and stand face-to-face, time present, time never to come?
Dared he? Dared they? Was it folly, or would Mauryl even see
him if he tried?
His very breath seemed to stick between the bellows strokes of
his chest, the hammerblows of his heart.
But he was not done with the loft. To go back undefeated, still
master of this place, he must not run from it in fear: he must find
what it wanted tonight, in Henas_amef.
There was a terror here besides Mauryl. And to find it he must
face the blank wall at the end of his loft& which was not the end
at all.
That wall secluded the true Shadow which ruled the heights of
Ynefel, a perch surrounded by detritus of his depredation.
Owl lived there.
And one day a boy in Ynefel had found the way to Owl& and
now the man came back, seeking what he had feared in that hour.
He looked through the broken boards, saw Owl on his perch, and
Owl turned on him a furious glance.
Then wind rushed through the loft, a dreadful wind, and the place
changed. Light streamed and spun through the broken beams and
ruined wall, and ghostly wings stirred about him, hunters seeking
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prey, seeking him, so it seemed, and denying him any gain here.
The old mews reshaped themselves around him, drawing him
back and back, but Ynefel was still just beyond, still with danger
in it.
_M_lord!_ Uwen shouted.
And in the pale heart of the light, at the very end of the old
mews, he saw a great blunt-winged shape flying, flying, striving
to reach him in the world of Men. Owl was coming, desperately
beating through that storm of light and wind.
He lifted his hand the rest of the way, offering a place for Owl_s
feet, and called out to him, _Owl!_ which was all the name Owl
had. The blued light caught the great orbs of Owl_s eyes, whose
centers drank in all light, whose intent seemed some prey beyond
him.
Perverse bird. Owl was never biddable. He would miss him, fly
astray, Tristen thought.
But at the very last Owl reached him and checked his speed,
blunt wings rowing in the wind& lowered with a buffet of air,
and feather-skirted feet clamped hard on his hand.
Owl sat safely then, no great weight, despite his size, but a
weight, all the same. Abruptly Owl_s head swiveled completely
around, golden eyes regarding him sharply, in what seemed
profound amazement at one instant, and secret knowledge in
another.
_Owl,_ Tristen said, resettling his grip on the borrowed sword to
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nudge Owl_s feathers with a finger. Owl struck with his beak_
closing on nothing, for Tristen was quicker.
_Where now?_ he asked Owl, unoffended. _Where must I go?_
But Owl gave him no answer, only hunched down, no glowing
apparition of an owl, now, but a lump of untidy feathers and a
turned shoulder, as obstinate in presence as he had been in
illusion.
_M_lord,_ Uwen said, right beside him.
The wind had fallen away. The perches all around him were
vacant. The light quieted to a soft and dimming glow.
Of a sudden he was aware of the Place diminishing around him,
and of his way back diminishing as well. He swung around, saw
Emuin and Uwen too close to him for safety.
Then he was in a hallway under a few faint candles. Crissand and
Cevulirn were waiting. Umanon and Sovrag and Pelumer all had
weapons drawn. Even the waif Paisi was there, his eyes wide as
saucers.
_M_lord,_ Uwen said then, as if to call him back to himself, to
life, and his friends.
_I was at Ynefel,_ he said. He had never intended other than
honesty with the lords, and knew he would trouble them with that
advisement, but honesty he would hew to. _Owl came to me. I
don_t know why._
_What meaning to it?_ Sovrag asked. _D_ ye know?_
_No. I don_t._ He was cold from his sojourn in the gray space,
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and now very weary. He saw they were troubled. Emuin
watched, with what feeling, whether approval or disapproval,
Emuin did not impart to him, not even in the gray space.
Crissand gazed at him as if he had found a strange creature in
their midst, a strange creature, fearsome, and dreadful. Cevulirn
regarded him with doubt. Only Uwen was still by him
unchanged, undaunted, faithful as the stone underfoot, standing
here before an ordinary wall, before candles which had turned
out to be lighted after all.
What might he do, but what he had done? The wards had stood
fast. Nothing had gotten in.
He turned, he walked, still holding Owl, toward the only refuge
of comfortable light that beckoned him, and that was the great
hall.
He was aware of his allies following him. He met the shocked
whispers and stares of frightened guests as he walked back into
his hall. The young girls who had been so full of chatter were
silent, now, holding close to their mother. Men stood in stark,
stiff groups, watching, asking themselves, surely, to what they
were sworn.
Owl launched himself suddenly and flew ahead of him on silent
wings, rising to alight high up on a cornice, above the oak-leaf
frieze.
Tristen wished the comfort of a table, a cup of ale_ most of all a
laugh to dispel fear. But even Sovrag failed him in that, and the
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tables were drawn back for the dancing, so there was no place to
dispose his trembling limbs but the dais and the chair of state. So
he climbed up and sat, necessarily facing the solemn gathering of
lords, whose looks toward him were unanswered questions.
Where did he find an answer for them?
To his dismay Owl chose that time to swoop down and settle on
the finial near his hand, regarding first him with that mad,
impassioned stare, then swiveling his head to cast his mad stare
at all the hall, daunting those who had waited.
Some backed away. But Uwen, Emuin, and the lords of the south
stood fast, and Crissand_Crissand of all of them_came closer,
pale of face, but daring the moment and the silent question.
_He_s only an owl,_ Tristen said, desperately. He teased Owl_s
breast feathers as he would those of his tame pigeons, to make
light of him, and Owl gave him a look of furious indignation:
never at ease, never at peace, was Owl. _He was at Ynefel, and
guided me through Marna Wood, and generally he minds his own
business._ A further assay of the soft feathers won a nip at his
fingers, a sharp strike that failed to draw blood.
Dared he forget that Auld Syes had been here, and that now there
was Owl? So many things seemed ordinary to him, that did not
seem so to Men. The lords had seen Owl before, on Lewen
field& but that was hardly reassurance.
_Uwen,_ he said. And Uwen stepped up to the low dais at once
and without question, while he continued, helplessly, to look out
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at the assembly.
_Is there any threat, any harm to the halls or the town?_
_None as I see, m_lord,_ Uwen said, in that reasonable, plain
voice that brought quiet to horses and men alike. _Gi_ or take the
old lady an_ the owl._
There was laughter, then, an anxious, brief and loud laughter.
Tristen laughed softly, too, and afforded Owl the side of his hand
to sit on. Owl_s talons this time drew blood, but that was
negligible. He was rescued by the laughter, grateful to tears for
the presence of friends who he now believed would not turn their
shoulders to him and whisper behind their hands.
_Owl_s not altogether an ordinary bird,_ he said in the difficult
silence that followed, and drew another, uncertain laugh. _He
goes and comes where he likes, and I suppose at the moment he
likes to be here, but he may just as well decide to live in the
woods. I think it bodes well, his coming._
As if Owl heard, he took off toward the cornice again, and sat up
there, staring balefully at all below him.
_There,_ Tristen said. He wondered, distracted thought_if Owl
was a Shadow, did Owl need to eat? The loft had shown he did.
The servants should leave at least one door open& to a fierce
winter draft and the hazard of his pigeons, he was sure. He
dreaded that prospect, and saw the lords_ lingering disquiet.
_He_s only an owl,_ he said, _no matter how he comes and goes._
_Lord Tristen is no different than he was,_ Emuin said then,
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speaking up. _And be assured, he wishes well to all of you._
It was in some part strange to be talked about in his hearing,
much as Cefwyn and Idrys and Emuin had used to discuss him as
if he were a chair or a table, when he had first arrived in
Cefwyn_s hands.
Now he heard Emuin assuring his friends he would do no harm
to them_and was it so? Whatever Owl was or meant, he was no
natural bird, and did an ordinary lord keep a Shadow for a guest?
He had his few, his faithful; but he saw all the faith, all the trust
he had built with other Men near to falling in shards and pieces.
_Dance,_ he said, _and drink._
__At_s right,_ Uwen said loudly. _Fill the cups, there, and bring
the sweets, and you harpers set to, somethin_ quick, wi_ the
drummers!_
The drums rattled into a light cadence, Owl glared from the
cornice, and the piper found his wind.
Then as Uwen came close, so Sovrag joined them, and Umanon,
Azant, and others of the earls& not shunning him, but seeking
his presence.
_What_s the meanin_ on_t?_ Sovrag asked. _Lights goin_ out and
strange old women comin_ into hall& were she a ghost?_
_Change,_ said Emuin. _Change is in the stars, change is in the
wind, and safer to ride it than to be ridden down._
And meanwhile the gray space roiled and swirled, alive not only
to the two of them, but to other presences, however faint and far.
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Close at hand he felt the preternatural awareness of lords such as
Crissand, in whom the wizard-gift burned, in Cevulirn, in whom
it shone like a candle-flame, and in more than one of the others in
the general company.
_Do you know? Tristen asked Emuin. Were you aware there
were so many with the gift?
_This is the south, Emuin said, as if that answered all. And you
are lord of it. Be wise. Bare no more secrets to these men, for
your own sake. And Cefwyn_s.
Owl, on his perch, turned his back to the sounds. Men and
women uncertainly took hands and danced.
Emuin, in his gray court robes, stood silent and composed
himself until he made not even a ripple in the gray place.
Are you angry? Tristen wondered. He found he was, and he did
not know at what, except the fear he had just passed.
And that fear perched, a little ball of feathers, up on a cornice in
the hall.
Come here, he wished the bird peevishly, expecting no
obedience. But to his surprise Owl flew down and, instead of
perching, flew out the doors of the hall, out into the corridors.
Half the matter was solved, at least. The guards opened doors to
let various folk come and go, and Owl would take care of himself.
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Chapter 6
«
^
»
The smell of burning might be only the fire in the fireplace, but
Cefwyn_s memory could not purge itself of the unholy reek that
had hung over the square.
Fire had not spread from the shrine to the wooden porches
nearby, which some cited as a miracle; but it was no miracle that
the rioters, driven from the square, had slipped out into the town
to make mischief.
All through the night the several Guard companies had
alternately stood guard and chased drunken looters, until
exhausted men, a tavern owner, and short tempers had clashed
bloodily at Market and Hobnail Alley just before the hallowed
dawn.
It was Midwinter Day.
A new year began, and the streets stood at last in numb, universal
quiet, the convulsion spent& so Idrys had reported, blood-
spattered and smeared with soot when last they had spoken to
each other.
Toward midnight they had admitted an orderly line of mourners
through the shrine, the Holy Father decently robed and the shrine
aglow with hundreds of candles and echoing with choral music.
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Passions sank, in that solemn, dignified sight, and Efanor_s
suggestion of a second penny to every man, woman, and child
who passed the altar had brought whole streets out, with wives
and children, outnumbering the ruffians and bringing a more
sober, decent crowd to the heart of the town. The line had gone
on till dawn& was still going, at the last he heard, and some
likely in line three times, but the royal coffers would disburse it,
as cheaper than burned buildings.
But at the dawn he had heeded his guard_s strong requests to take
himself out of the dangerous outer streets, and go back to the safe
center and up to his apartment, to lie on his bed if not to sleep.
_The kingdom needs a live king with his wits about him,_ Idrys
had said, when they had dealt with a roving, armed band of
thieves. _Go. Hunting brigands is my work._
So he had come back, under escort, and found Ninévrisë had
never gone to her own apartments. She had taken charge of his
pages, taken his desk, sat all night directing the servant staff_s
oversight of the threatened Guelesfort and the care of the town_s
wounded_rendering judgment, too, where Annas found her
advice useful, with her primary aid a handful of exhausted,
frightened pages. The Tower of Elwynor, Annas had called her
gratefully, referring to the arms of her house; and that was the
way she had stood through the storm, the center to which all
messages could come and where all news could be found.
She slept, exhausted, once she had him by her, resting against his
side.
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_Where is Luriel?_ he finally thought to ask her, at one waking.
_Is she still in her apartments?_
_She came back,_ Ninévrisë said. _Her gown is the worse for
wear, so Fiselle says._
_Panys_ son was with the Guard, the last I saw him. A good
man._ His fingers strayed across Ninévrisë_s shoulder, finding
her arm as prone to tremors as his own, utter weariness, no more.
Then the enormity of it all, and memory of the Holy Father_s last
visit, when he had been so afraid, came back to him. _I never
expected it, Nevris. The old man warned me. He tried to warn
me. I didn_t think they_d dare anything like this._
_Poor Benwyn._ Her voice was hoarse, unlike herself. _He had
nothing to do with sorcery, or magic& he never threatened the
Holy Father. He had nothing to do with it._
Benwyn had nothing to do with it, but someone had taken pains
to paint the murder with an Amefin look.
And who would know so well what Amefin charms looked like,
but one who had been there?
And was that not the Amefin patriarch& but suspect the man of
murder, and him shut in his quarters, a sick man?
He doubted it. He much doubted it.
And yet they urgently needed a suspect, a place to point the
blame, something, anything to distract the commons from
Benwyn& Benwyn_s connection with Ninévrisë. The mob that
had risen had gone for Benwyn because he was Amefin& one of
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their own, but not Guelen. And because he was the foreign
consort_s priest.
_The soldiers that came back with the Amefin father,_ he said.
_They_re familiar enough with Amefin charms, and the Bryalt._
He held her close, his thoughts scurrying through the underbrush
of lordly ambitions and guilty secrets like so many frightened
hares. _But would they dare, on their own? And why? Emuin
would say& Emuin would say if a thing is common, you don_t
see it. And what_s common under the Quinaltine roof?_
_Another priest?_ Ninévrisë asked. _That zealot priest?_
_Udryn. Udryn, the name is. Idrys removed him somewhere_at
least_he_s been removed somewhere, dropped in the country
somewhere remote. Scare him, the notion was. But a priest could
reach the robing room without notice. A priest could gain entry.
We thought this Udryn was the primary danger. But who would
dare attack the Holy Father?_
_Ryssand?_
_Not directly. Not directly. But a zealot could do this, he well
could. Jormys himself is in danger. He_s in a mail shirt at the
moment& Efanor gave it to him and told him wear it constantly.
But Father Jormys will eat and sleep in the Quinaltine, where our
guards can_t go. And meanwhile we can_t point the finger at the
zealots or Ryssand without better proof than one of them being in
the Quinaltine where they have every right to be. We can put one
of them out. We can drop Udryn and whoever else we catch
down a well. But how many are there? Who are they? We know
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the ones that have argued in public, but how do we find what a
man thinks?_
_The priests might know._
_We have no authority except to appoint. We can_t arrest, we
can_t charge, we can_t investigate. The priests have to do it._
_They aren_t all murderers, and they know each other. Make the
murderer ashamed to face them. Make him guilty._
He had taken it as his part, man and king, to console her fears,
even to lie to her, to see her have rest. He drew back a little,
remembering that the warm, sweet presence was the Regent of
Elwynor, Uleman_s daughter, priestly and canny as ever her
father was& and it was clear good sense she was offering him.
_They_ve passed out cloths with the Holy Father_s blood_
anything that touched him. The people stand for hours to see him.
He_s half a damn saint_forgive me._ He had been with soldiers
all night, and under attack.
_The people need one. Don_t they?_
_But who killed him, but another priest, Ryssand_s priest, and if I
had Ryssand_s signed confession with his seal on it I couldn_t use
it. I need Ryssand, until I can marry Efanor to his daughter, gods
save me. There_s still a murderer in the Quinaltine, and
Benwyn_s still dead, and there_s still the Amefin charms, real or
not. For your sake and for Tristen_s we can_t have that._
_What can we do?_
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_Accuse a murderer& accuse Tasmôrden, who_s the likeliest the
people know._
_An Elwynim. And will that make me safe?_
_It_s a better direction than any other. It_s all we can do. Say it
was sorcery and Tasmôrden suborned it. If you can_t damn a man
for what you know he_s done, damn him anyway. It was a spy.
An assassin slipping in from outside, concealed by sorcery,
moved by sorcery._
_And my people, innocent people, are taking refuge in Amefel,
inside Ylesuin, where they have such charms. Where will that
go?_
_We can_t let it turn to Amefel. We can_t let people ever take the
notion. It was sorcery, and it was Tasmôrden, from straight
across the river. Gods know we_ve bodies to spare: sixteen dead
and one burned beyond recognition. We_ll say first we caught the
assassin. We have him in chains. We dole out the news day by
day and keep the people in expectation. Then we display the
remains. Sorcery killed him in his cell._ He felt no pride in what
he was saying, or planning. He liked far less making her party to
it& but it was her advice that had prompted him. _Where will the
people_s anger light then, but where we need it to nest?_
_The murderer will know,_ Ninévrisë whispered. _And what will
he think?_
_He_ll tell Ryssand and Ryssand will know. And Ryssand will
share our secret, only Ryssand and the murderer& and one day
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Idrys will see justice is done. It may not be tomorrow. But it will
happen. Efanor_s Jormys is in office now_the Quinalt council
has to confirm, but the Holy Father had enough votes to rule
there, and they hate the zealots. We_ll banish sorcery. We_ll
make saints of Benwyn and the Holy Father._
_Sorcery isn_t remote from us,_ Ninévrisë said faintly, leaning
her head against him. _And it might, after all, be true, this lie.
Send to Emuin. He should know this._
_We can_t send a letter like that. No. There_s far too much risk.
Our couriers have had narrow escapes._ He forgot, at times, that
Ninévrisë had wizardry of her own. And now it worried him.
_Was Benwyn a wizard?_
She shook her head, a motion against his heart. _Not a shred of
one._
_Are there wizards?_
_There_s Emuin. There_s Tristen, if one counts him._
_I_d count him._
_He_s__
_Not a wizard._ He understood the exception. _But there are
others._
_One hears them. One feels them._
_Do you think what we plan might not be a lie?_
_I don_t know,_ she said faintly. _At first I thought so, but now I
don_t know._
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Ryssand would expect blame for the Holy Father_s death. He had
immediately to send a message to reassure Ryssand of that
notion, dangle favor before him to keep him from the desperation
that would drive the scoundrel to protect himself. Desperate,
Ryssand could bring the kingdom down.
It was a dangerous course they steered, but it was one that would
keep the north united. In the Holy Father he had lost a valuable
ally. In Jormys, loyal to Efanor, he had another.
Yet he must send condolences to Sulriggan, the late Patriarch_s
cousin, and keep that lord tied to him, assured of his continued
favor even with the Patriarch dead. That man could be useful.
Luriel_s marriage had to go forward, early. Young Rusyn might
become a hero of the defense of the Quinaltine. He had deserved
it. His father certainly had. A reward of lands would shore up
Panys_ wounded dignity: he cared not a jot about Murandys,
though he supposed he must.
Something rattled like claws against the window.
Rain, he thought it first, but saw no drops on the glass.
It kept up, and kept up.
It was sleet coming down.
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Chapter 7
«
^
To Tristen_s distress the weather turned& natural weather for
winter, so everyone said as the sleet came, and then the snow.
Owl must have found some nook out of the wind, or was hunting
mice: the pigeons came fearlessly to the window for bread, and
the servants mopped and swept continually in the halls against
the traffic that came and went.
But it was not Tristen_s wish that the weather turn, and he found
something ominous in the worsening storm. Wagons with tents
and other gear were on the road in the storm that first froze the
roads_that was a help_and then began to ice them, and that
was no help at all.
Umanon_s few wagons arrived out of a blinding white, to set up
camp in ground beginning to freeze.
_One can_t hold off nature forever,_ Emuin said with a shake of
his head, when Tristen went to his tower to consult. _I_ve not
seen such a spell, and I suppose it_s simply given us all the snow
at once._
_I_m havin_ men pound in pegs now,_ Uwen informed him when,
wrapped in his heaviest cloak, he visited the camps outside the
walls, _there bein_ little difference in the tents, an_ if there is,
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they_ll rig some-thin_ clever. If this goes on, they_ll just be
damned thankful the pegs is drove in before the ground freezes.
Granted they can find _em. We_re settin_ markers, and hope the
rest on _em_s quick arrivin_. I figure they_ll press on into the
night to get here._
_I wish,_ Tristen said, _but my wishes aren_t all that_s had effect,
or the snow wouldn_t fall yet._
The lords prowled the hall and the stables and hoped for their
tents and supplies, concerned, clearly, while Emuin sat in his
tower hoping in vain for a sight of the sky and the stars at night.
And just at sundown, the storm gave up to a general, an eerie
quiet.
More riders came in, Ivanim, cold men and cold horses, glad of a
great bonfire Uwen had ordered set up for a beacon in the night,
to guide men to the town. Cevulirn went down to meet the
newcomers, who were his, but the heavy horsemen of Imor with
all their gear and remounts were still out in the storm. Sovrag
went down to help. Umanon and Pelumer simply fretted, near the
town lords gathered in the great hall. It was their men still to
come, still out in the storm.
The fact was that contrary to all Pelumer_s intentions the handful
of Lanfarnessemen who should have come after their lord were
late: Lanfarnesse was late again, and now it was their lord who
worried and paced beside Umanon, until, past midnight, the two
lords decided to go down to the bonfire, and called for heavy
cloaks.
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_I_ll go with you, sir,_ Tristen said, having no more easy rest than
Umanon, thinking that if he were outside the walls and away
from the clamor of a living town, he might hear less noisy things,
out across the land.
Crissand, too, who kept them company among the local nobles,
said he would go, or even send out his household men searching
for the missing.
_My men know the road,_ Pelumer said_temerity to suggest that
the rangers of Lanfarnesse could not find Henas_amef. _They_re
delayed, is all. My folk don_t press the weather if they see a
hazard in it.
_They may well have stopped for the night,_ Pelumer added as
they rode down through the town, cloaked and gloved and
wrapped up snugly. The wind was gathering force again after
sunset. Any surface exposed quickly turned white on the side
facing the gale, and all of them were half-white by the time they
passed the gate.
_Bridges won_t support the heavy wagons,_ Umanon said, _and
my men will have to ford at several places. That means a camp to
dry out, with the wind like this. But if they_re close, they_ll press
on, no matter the hour._
The place outside the walls had blossomed with tents over recent
days, and most of the horses were moved out to shelter in the
places provided for them, with warm, dry straw, so they were
comfortable.
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And there, just as they came down, came a last weary number of
carts, in from the road.
_They_re here!_ Umanon said, knowing his own, and vastly
relieved: indeed, the men were riding not the light horses they
used for travel, but the heavy horses, whose great strength had
brought them in.
So they were safe, and the men from the garrison and the Amefin
guard fell on the wagons to get the frozen canvas spread in
proper places, and to get wood for warmth.
More, the tavern near the gate had prepared a hot meal on a
standing order, and men went through the gates and out again, all
on the town_s hospitality, fed and fed well, with no need to rely
on their own resources on this bitter cold night.
Everything was taking shape despite the snow, and men called to
winter camp were surprised and relieved at the comfort they did
have.
_We have everything in order,_ Cevulirn came to Tristen to say.
_I_ll spend the night with my men, and in good comfort, too.
We_ve things to talk about, my lieutenant and I._
It was not all that easy. Men struggled with stiff canvas, stiffened
ropes to unpack the wagons. Umanon_s men elected to move the
teams and to leave the wagons standing where they were until
morning, and that proved a wise expedient, for the wind was
increasing, carrying snow so thick it was difficult to keep the
torches lit.
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The bonfire alone shone through the veiling snow, a light grown
wan and strange in the opening of the heavens.
Nature let loose, Tristen said to himself, hugging his cloak to him
and wondering if indeed they would have all the snow they had
been due. Gusts buffeted him, carried away a tent from cursing
men, who simply let it go and caught it when it fetched up
against another tent.
Things went well, but not without struggle. He rode Petelly
disconsolately along the aisle, hooded against the fall, and told
himself he should give up worrying and take Petelly up to his
warm stable, having done all he could do, and the Imorim having
come in.
He could do most by wishing for the weather to improve. He
might prevail. He had done it once.
Yet he had not heard the Imorim until the last. He had failed with
the weather.
Was that the way the new year and the Year of Years was setting
the pattern, and had things gone as well as he had hoped on
Midwinter Eve?
When he thought that, the gray space worried him with a sense of
something amiss, nothing he could catch, only a trace, like a
scent the wind might bring one moment and carry away the next.
It was none of the men here, nothing like Cevulirn.
He was in the last aisle of Pelumer_s camp, and about to enter
Cevulirn_s, when the notion came to him that someone was in the
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storm, strayed men, perhaps& perhaps some of Pelumer_s men,
or stragglers after the Imorim.
Then something brushed his shoulder and made him start, until it
happened a second time and he knew it had been Owl.
_What do you want?_ he asked the uncooperative bird. He
suddenly realized that he was alone: his guards had helped at the
wagons, and somehow now they and he had separated in the
driving snow.
Now of a sudden Owl brushed past him and wheeled away, off
toward a troubling sense of presence in the storm. Follow.
Follow me.
In the world of Men that track led simply down the road, as it
bore toward Levey. It was a road he knew, in the heart of his
province, and it was the road down which Umanon_s men would
come. There might be stragglers.
But stragglers that Owl cared for?
He turned Petelly_s head and followed.
No one knew he had gone. Uwen was at work in the farthest
camp, and Crissand had gone to assist Cevulirn, and by now the
snow came down so thick the surviving torches were faint,
blurred stars, the bonfire a hazy sun.
Owl brushed-his arm on another pass and raked right past
Petelly_s mane, startling the horse to a heart-stopping skip under
him, a skid on a snowy ditchside, right off the road.
Yet here, remote from all the lives that occupied his attention in
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the camps, remote from the town and wrapped in snow-laden
gusts and storm, he discovered a clear wisp of a presence, not one
life, but two, or maybe three.
What was more, now at least one or two sought him, aware of
him, and desperate, trying to come toward him. If they were
Umanon_s men, at least one had wizard-gift.
He rode Petelly up onto the road again and in that direction, still
bearing toward Levey. Owl flew generally ahead of him,
appearing at times out of a veil of snow, and gone as quickly,
always in that direction. Follow. Follow. Don_t delay.
By now, he thought, there might be a general search for him, and
Uwen would be upset with Lusin and his guards, who would
blame themselves for his straying.
But Owl was persuasive, and miraculous things had happened on
this road, on which the old oak lay overthrown, and Auld Syes
had met him.
It could not be Auld Syes using the gray space. It was a fearsome
thought, for something about her and her daughter he had always
been reluctant to challenge there.
Yet he went on. If danger was here, it was not the sort Uwen or
Lusin could face, nor Crissand with a dozen men-at-arms behind
him, and the presence he felt was faint and weary and fading, as
if at any moment it would go out and leave him no guide at all in
this snow-choked night.
_Hallo!_ he called out, and searched the gray space, as well,
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trying to learn its nature.
But fainter and fainter the presence grew, no longer moving
toward him. Whether the travelers had a horse, or whether they
went afoot he had not been sure, but he often could tell whether
creatures lived and moved in a place, a fox, a hare, a horse, or a
man: he had no such sense tonight, only of himself and Petelly_
not even of Owl. Such as a wish would help, he wished them to
stay alive and not to sink down and become lost in the snow, for
things were chancier and chancier, and he no longer trusted the
gray space to tell him& only Owl, only Owl, moving against the
obstinacy of the storm that did not want him to reach these lives.
The weather fought him_had broken free of his will, poured
snow and sleet and bitter ice, and now he fought it, and Owl
fought it, and brave Petelly lowered his head and plodded as best
he could, shaken by the gusts, wishing continually to turn back.
Came the third and the fourth hill, and a cold so great Petelly
stumbled to his knees and he had to get off before Petelly could
rise again. He stood with his arms about Petelly_s ice-coated
neck, wishing him health, wishing not to have harmed him by
this mad venture, and Petelly all at once gave a great sigh and
brought his head up, as if he had taken a second wind.
Mount he did not, however, for Petelly_s sake. He led him, the
reins wrapped securely in gloved fingers too stiff with ice to feel
what they held, and he walked, and walked, until he saw a
something like a rock in the middle of the road, a lump that
should not be there.
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He reached it, and prodded it, and it Unfolded into a cloaked,
exhausted woman, and another, in her arms.
_Lord!_ she breathed., and clung to him as he helped her up. _My
sister& my sister. Help us._
Even in the dark and the driving snow he knew that voice and
that shadowed face, knew it from his earliest meetings in the
world of Men. Lady Orien clasped his arms in entreaty, the thick
snow gathering apace to the side of her hooded cloak and her
face, and he bent to help her fallen sister, who lay huddled in the
snow, limp and difficult to rouse. _Come now,_ he said, and laid
his hands on Lady Tarien, and wished her to wake.
But he did not wish alone. Orien lent her efforts, laid her hands
on his, and the gray space shivered around them. Then the
limpness became shivering, and Tarien half waked.
_They burned the nunnery,_ Orien said between chattering teeth,
the snow battering their faces. _They would have killed us. We
had no choice but flee. And my sister, my sister& we couldn_t
walk any farther._
_We_ll put her on my horse,_ he said, and gathered Tarien up to
her feet, feeling the thickness of her body as he held her. It was
not at all the lithe, lissome Tarien he knew.
_She_s with child,_ Orien said as he half carried her. _Be careful
of her._
He stopped, looked at her, dismayed at what he heard, dismayed
that Owl had betrayed him, and led him here, to this unwelcome
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presence. Yet what could he do but leave them to die here, and
nowhere had he learned to be that heartless.
Half-fainting, Tarien tried to grasp the saddle leather herself. He
lifted her as high as he could, and willed Petelly to stand still
while with some difficulty and Orien_s help with Tarien_s skirts
and cloak he managed to settle Tarien upright on Petelly_s back.
_He_ll warm you,_ he said, and settled the cloak over her and
Petelly together, about her legs. He reached up, caught its edges,
and closed her half-senseless fingers on it. _Keep hold of it. It_s
not far to Henas_amef, and the wind will be at our backs, now.
It_s not that far to shelter._
_We were nearly there,_ Orien said.
And Owl had led him.
Orien faltered in the high snow, her boots snow-caked and
inadequate, but Petelly had enough to do with one. They walked,
and Tarien rode. Orien leaned against him at times, seeking to
shore up her strength through wizardry as she must have done for
more than one night on this road_not a good heart, but brave,
and now failing. With trepidation he lent her what she must have
to walk, not at all pleased with the rescue, and strengthened that
much, she began to speak in broken phrases of fire and sword, of
their walking day and night.
_Where was this?_ he asked, and learned from Orien_s labored
speech of an attack on Teranthine nuns, of the two of them
hunted through the night as the nunnery burned.
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_We had a horse,_ Orien said. _But he ran last night. The snow
came, and the weather grew worse and worse_we slept in a
farmer_s haystack, and never found the house. We walked, and
walked& and then we heard you, where we had all but given up._
Winter had raged from the time they must have left their exile. It
had chased them with a vengeance.
But the storm wind had seemed to lessen from the very moment
he had found them in the snow, as if wizardry or outraged nature
had spent its strength and now gave up the battle. The clouds
broke and scudded past until, under a heaven as black and calm
as the land was white, they topped that last hill before the town.
There the night showed them stars on the earth, the watch fires of
camps around the snow-besieged walls of Henas_amef.
_An army?_ Orien asked in dismay. _An army, about my town?_
_My army,_ Tristen said in that moment_s pause, and added: _My
town. My province._
He began to walk again, leading Petelly, with Orien at his side.
Owl flew ahead of them, on broad, silent wings.
_«»_«»_«»_
C. J. Cherryh, a three-time Hugo winner, is the author of Cyteen,
Downbelow Station, and other science fiction bestsellers. This
high fantasy series, twenty years in the making, draws on decades
of research into myth and legend, as well as much clambering in
and out of archeological sites. The author makes her home in
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Oklahoma.
Visit C. J. Cherryh_s web site at www.cherryh.com
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