Fortress in the Eye of Time (44 page)

“What happened inside Amefel and on the border,” Cefwyn was saying, “we must answer, early and strongly. Heryn claimed his frauds against the Crown frightened him to such a desperate treason. Heryn claimed that his only intention was to call the King here and to arrange an attack of a small Elwynim force—he swore that he meant to be there with his own forces, to come to my father's rescue. He had the effrontery to say—” Cefwyn drew an angry breath. “That had my father not moved early and had I not had him under arrest, the plan would have worked and my father would not have died.”

There was a muttering among the lords. Tristen thought it a foolish plan on Heryn's part, a dangerous and desperate plan. He saw the motions of troops in his mind, he saw the lay of the land.

And he thought that there had been far more enemies than seemed likely for a false threat against Cefwyn's father.

“This was Heryn's claim,” Cefwyn said, “and we could obtain no other word from him. From two prisoners, common men, we have a name, Lord Caswyddian of Lower Saissonnd. Style of shields and various leavings on the field do indicate the river provinces of Elwynor. The prisoners did not see him on the field, but avow a son of his led them in what was given to be a retaliation for the execution of five Saissondim under flag of truce—this never happened, but this was what they were told. Sovrag's men are not back with a report, but either by bridge or by barge, the Elwynim have at least light horse across the river in numbers. Which they may have withdrawn. Disregarding the question whether Heryn told the truth, whether this story of the prisoners reflects something Heryn did, which he denied, or whether the Elwynim betrayed Heryn and advantaged themselves of his folly to do far more than he wished—a possibility which I do not discount—I am not in either case convinced the Elwynim Regent was behind the attack. That—is behind my reasoning.”

“M'lord,” Efanor said, “this was not a rag-tag element. These were well armed. We have names.”

“Of a lord and men bearing no device, no banner. This is not the Regent. It
is
a sign of the Regent's lords with the bit in their teeth. It is a sign which way the wind is blowing should the Regent die.”

“Our father is dead!” Efanor said. “What matter
which
cursed Elwynim crossed the river? The Regent is ultimately responsible! You do not consider accepting any marriage offer from them! You would not
do
this!”

“Did I say so? Have I done so? I point out that we are not dealing with a well-organized enemy, brother, and that a message to the Elwynim Regent possibly—if it cannot produce us names—may still produce action, even strengthen the hand of the Regent against troublesome elements within his own realm and get us the justice we're due.”

“These are murderers! These are godless, heretic murderers!”

“Who, if certain Elwynim lords have acted without their Regent or in spite of him, have committed treason against him, brother. Before I commit men to the field, I'd know against whom we are sending troops, and why, and whether there is another choice that will not plunge the realm into a war along half its borders—with gods know what allies, at a very unstable time in our affairs and theirs!”

“You are temporizing with murderers. You are expecting truth from a man who does not worship the gods!”

“One can hardly be both godless and a heretic, brother. And this is Amefel.”

“You've been in this heretic land too long, brother.”

“Efanor. Efanor. You're mortally weary. So am I. And heart-sore. I know that. Go upstairs.”

“I'll not be dismissed!”

“I'll not be lessoned! For the love we bear each other, either offer counsel without reading me scriptures, Efanor, or offer me no counsel at all. If I want a priest I'll call for one!”

Efanor was pale. His hands shook. “This is not a joking matter, my lord brother.”

“Trust I know it is not. Trust that I make my prayers as they're due, good brother, and trust that I know Amefel as having more worthy lords than the Aswyddim, the Elwynim as having many worse lords than the Regent, and that if we allow any fledgling in that nest to raise himself by the death of our father, we not only sully our father's memory, we promote his murderer to fortune and to power. If we attack and kill the Regent, we may well put our father's murderer in power, because we have at one stroke given whatever villain bears the guilt both a war and a kingship to fill.”

“
Or
,” said Umanon, “we throw the Elwynim into confusion, and we attack across the river.”

“Look at the map, Your Grace. Having conquered all of Elwynor, shall we arm twelve-year-old maids and send them out to stand duty? Elwynor is a vast, vast land, as great as our own kingdom. We do not do well to pull the dragon's tail.”

“Empty land. Pasturage. It is not that populous.”

“But it is not now hostile and
we
are not in it. How far apart must our patrols ride through these pastures to prevent seditions? And if we found one nest of sedition, would they not move into the unpatrolled land? We cannot occupy Elwynor, sir. You dream.”

Cefwyn was right, Tristen thought. But there was more. He burned to say so, but the argument was already bitter.

“Fear,” said Umanon, “makes fewer patrols necessary.”

“I cannot agree,” Cefwyn said. “And I will not be disputed in this. To take Elwynor would be a disaster to us.”

“Not if they fear us.”

“Sirs.” Tristen could bear it no longer. “Sirs, there's more than Elwynor. There's Ynefel.”

“Who is this stranger,” asked Umanon, “that we should trust him? He's Sihhë, you say, and does he not most properly stand with the Amefin—at best?”

“We trust him,” Cefwyn said, “because he saved our life. Because he drove the attackers off the field and saved the lives of all of us near my lord father.”

“He did that,” a captain said.

“But,” said a finely-dressed lord Tristen did not know, one who had come with Cefwyn's father, “does he stand as a member of this council, my lord King? He has no real holdings. Althalen and Ynefel are a domain of mice and owls.”

“Lord of Murandys,” Cefwyn said softly, leaning forward, “his titles are by my grant, and by inheritance—titles by
blood
, m'lord.”

There was chill silence.

“Or something like unto it,” Efanor muttered.

“Brother,” Cefwyn said.

Efanor ducked his head and folded his arms, the image of Idrys.

“My lords,” Cefwyn said, “I have not slept tonight, nor have you. I have sent messengers informing the northern lords of my father's death, and of my resolution to hold this town and settle matters on the borders before returning to the capital.
The press of events here affords me no respite for an official mourning nor for the receiving of their formal oaths, which I hope they will tender in intent, at least, by messenger. The danger to the realm is here, whether in Amefel, whether on the river. Our decision is made. My father—” Cefwyn's voice faltered. “My father will be interred here—”

“M'lord!” Efanor's head lifted.

“Here, I say, in a Quinalt shrine earliest of all Quinalt shrines in Amefel, a place of great import, great and historic sanctity, and presided over by the southern Patriarch, who will conduct the services as soon as we have built an appropriate vault, brother, in which our father may lie until I have dealt with his murderers! The King of Ylesuin will
not
be carried home, sirs, murdered, and with no penalty dealt his killers. The Kings of Ylesuin living
and
dead will not quit this province until they have justice, sirs, and on that I take holy oath! You will not dissuade me.”

Heads bowed, even Efanor's, in the face of Cefwyn's anger. Tristen ducked his head, too, but he had caught Cefwyn's eye, and Cefwyn seemed not angry at him, nor as passionate as his voice had sounded. “The rest, the rest, sirs, I shall inform you after I've taken more sleep than I have yet. Good night to you. Gods give you peaceful rest.”

The lords bowed, murmuring polite formalities. Tristen wondered if Cefwyn had changed his mind and wished him to leave, too, but when he had caught Cefwyn's eye, Cefwyn shook his head and caught his arm. Efanor also remained, exempt from the order, it seemed; and Idrys—constantly Idrys stayed at Cefwyn's shoulder.

The door shut. They were alone, save the Guelen guard.

“Efanor,” Cefwyn appealed to his brother.

“Have we secrets to share at last?” Efanor asked. “Now am I in your counsel, brother? Am I at least privy to the secrets you bestow on the Sihhë?”

Cefwyn made a curt motion of his hand: the guard withdrew and closed the door.

Then Cefwyn leaned on the table, head bowed above the
map in an attitude of profound weariness. “Efanor, trust me. After the funeral, I shall send you to the capital, while I pursue matters here. Is that not trust? I shall give you highest honor. I forget our quarrels. Only do not
ever
oppose me in council on matters we two have already discussed,—and bear me some small patience now, as I bear it with you.”

“What moves this sudden liberality?”

Cefwyn's face had been weary. Now it went hard and angry and he straightened his shoulders. “The gods' grace, Efanor! I cannot fight outside enemies and you at once. Grant me this. Our father's death will be repaid. I do not say it will be repaid tomorrow, but that it will be repaid—give me this much trust. Give me your affection, if you have it to give. But I shall take your duty, if you offer at least that.”

Efanor's eyes wandered to Tristen and back again. “Whatever influences work here have mellowed you—or your experience in this land has vastly increased your subtlety.”

“I am tired.” Cefwyn eased a chair behind him, extended his wounded leg, and sat down, holding it. “Gods.”

“Better you had followed your physicians' advice, Majesty,” said Idrys. “The guards should bear you up to bed.”

“No.” Cefwyn reached to the crown about his brow, rubbed it, where it left a mark and bloodied a cut. He settled it on again. For a moment he rested his eyes against his hand, wiped at them, looked up again. “I have no subtlety left at all, Efanor. This province has undone it. I pray you be my loyal brother, nothing less.”

“I am astonished,” Efanor said dryly. “I am truly astonished. But bear you good faith, I shall, if you bear it to me. I had not expected your trust, Cefwyn.”

“I need all such allies as I can trust. We are under attack. Mauryl—was a grievous loss.—Tristen.”

“Sir.”

“You were out there. Tonight.”

“I saw, sir.”

“It was justice,” Cefwyn said.

“I believe you,” Tristen said, knowing nothing else to say.

“You had news of Emuin. A messenger? To you and not to me? Or what?”

It was not Cefwyn and himself, it was not Cefwyn who could be his friend and bear with his imprecisions and his foolishness.

Nor was he the same as he had been, even days ago. He said, with cold at heart, “No, sir. Emuin does speak to me. He tries to help me. But he can't, always. I think that's why he went away.”

“Wizardry,” Efanor said.

“No, sir,” Tristen said, “I don't think so. I don't feel so. Just—he hears me.”

“How can you dispute such things?” Efanor demanded, not of him, but of Cefwyn. “How can you countenance such arguments—wizardry and not wizardry? Do natural men hear wizards?”

“We had no natural man at issue in Mauryl,” Cefwyn said in a hard voice, “and damned well we should consult, brother, both Tristen and Emuin, where they have something of significance to say.”

“Consult as you like, then.
I'll
none of it!”

“I'll warrant you'll hear nothing to imperil your delicate holiness. Stay. As a wizard, Tristen is gentler than Emuin is.”

“I saw his gentility on the field.”

“And he ours, and
yours
tonight, brother! Forbear. Father gave me a province next a wizard and Emuin for a counselor to help hold it. Now Mauryl's fallen, and left me Tristen for a ward—whom Emuin approved. Tristen swore to be my defender, and kept his oath like a good and godly man, or this realm would have no king, not you, nor me, nor Marhanen at all—and Heryn would lord it over a realm of his own tonight, snugged right close to Elwynor. Wherewith the Regent would go down, some pretender would rise up with the marriageable daughter, and Heryn would become bulwark of an Elwynor no longer held at bay by a river that Mauryl, I have long suspected, defined as their border until his overdue but
unwelcome departure from these mortal bounds.
That
is my fear—that whatever stricture the old man laid on the Elwynim no longer holds. But it is not a fear I wish to rehearse before the Amefin lords—”

“Whom I would not have admitted to counsel, let me tell you.”

“Brother, I know these men, that some are in dire fear of being tied to Heryn's sins, and others hated Heryn bitterly for reasons of their own and thought until today that he had had unquestioned Marhanen support. As perhaps Father did find him useful, Father not well knowing the inner workings of Amefel—but, to be quite pragmatic about Heryn Aswydd, I have been in this province long enough to have known too much about his excesses in office and to have received at least tentative approaches from the lords most desperate of those excesses, so that
I
no longer needed him. Therefore his head will adorn the gate.”

“And in your manipulations you drew Father into this—”

“Do not you
dare
say that to me!” Cefwyn brought his hand down on the maps, hard. “Father chose to believe Heryn instead of me. Ask Father's councillors if they could dissuade him, or whether they fed the fires. Ask them! I do not ask where you stood.”