Fortress in the Eye of Time (55 page)

“Cefwyn didn't send me.”

“Do not play the simpleton, sir. Whence the arms you wear? Is this Prince Cefwyn's joke? Does he think us fools? Or what does he wish?”

“Cefwyn said I should be lord of Ynefel, because it was in his grant to give.”

“Ynefel? In the prince of Ylesuin's grant?”

“The King of Ylesuin, lady, since his father died. But he was prince when he gave it.”

“Ináreddrin is dead?” The lady and her men alike seemed shaken.

“Near Emwy village.” These were not the men that had attacked Cefwyn's father, he was certain of it. The Regent certainly would not have done it; and he grew convinced they would not have done it without the old man knowing. “A day ago. I think it was a day. The time is so muddled…”

“How did he die?”

“Men killed him before any of us could reach him. Cefwyn believes that they were Elwynim. But he killed Lord Heryn for it. Heryn sent the message that brought the King there.”

He had not wanted to say the last: he thought that it might make trouble. But it seemed best to deal in the truth throughout, and not to have it come out later.

“Aséyneddin,” one man said.

“Or Caswyddian,” Tasien said, and Tristen, hearing that name, felt a coldness that might have been a breath of wind from the open vent. Ninévrisë seemed to feel it, too. She folded her arms and frowned.

“You may tell King Cefwyn, from me,” Ninévrisë said, “granted we send you to him at all, that we had no knowledge of Caswyddian's act. The Earl of Lower Saissonnd has
dealt with Lord Heryn in the past. Heryn conspired with him and with Aséyneddin alike—and they drove my father out of Elwynor.”

That was not entirely so. The old man had said it otherwise; but he ignored that.

“I think you should go to Cefwyn,” he said. “I think he would wish to speak with you at length.”

“To speak with us? He killed our messengers!”

“No.” He knew he had no perfect knowledge of doings in Henas'amef, but he did not believe that. “No. He did no such thing.” He was not entirely clear on his reasons for believing so. And not everything fit in words, where it regarded the gray place, but something he did know, one certainty that the lady needed to know in regard to Cefwyn and the Regent: “Your father came here hoping to talk to him. But your father could not leave this place.”

That also disturbed them.

“My father is
dead
of this place,” Ninévrisë said. “He was in ill health. This ill-omened place—the running and the hiding…he was not able. I grant, it took no wizardry to kill him. I know that. But your being here—brought it sooner. And I have held dear every hour of his life. I will have you to know that. Do not try my patience.”

“But it
was
wizardry that killed him, lady. He knew it would. Hasufin has Ynefel. He has this place. He tried to harm your father. He was Mauryl's enemy, he is mine and he is Cefwyn's, and he was your father's enemy all his life. That's why your father came here, to
be
here, to remain and hold Hasufin, not to escape any of your lords.”

Ninévrisë was silent a moment. Her face had grown suddenly frightened and still. Then: “Tasien, leave me with him.”

“No, my lady,” Tasien said. “Not for any asking.”

Ninévrisë bit her lip, defied by her own men. Her face showed as pale as that ivory portrait.

“Then, sir, what do you know of my father's dealings?” she asked. “Go on. Tell me more wonders my father told you.”

“That he dealt with Hasufin—for which he was very sorry.—That he visited Mauryl in a dream.”

“Leave me, I say!” Ninévrisë's fist struck the chair arm, and she cast a baleful look about her.

“My lady,—”

“I say go
out!
Go stand by the door. I have private questions to ask him.”

“Such as we could hear, we have already heard,” Tasien said. “Do we credit it, my lady, as the truth? Do you know anything of your lord father's dealings with Mauryl?”

“It is true,” Ninévrisë said, and her voice trembled. “My father told his dream to me, but to none other, that I know, except my mother. And this Hasufin—where did you learn that name?”

“From before your father told me. Perhaps from Mauryl.”

“And where and when did my father bestow such confidences on you?”

“In that gray place.”

“My father's dreaming. My father's fond wishes. My father knew no magic!”

He felt a slippage of a sudden, toward that Place, but did not go. He did not know who or what might have called him, but something certainly had. The Place was troubled, rife with struggle.

“My father dreamed of Hasufin and Mauryl. He dreamed, I say! He never met them in his life! How can you know the things you claim? You've been here. My father never left his bed.”

“Lady, your father wanted to be here. He fought Hasufin. He wishes—” In the unsettling of that Place, it became overwhelmingly important to say, “He wishes very much to be buried here. He said to me that Hasufin's grave was here, and his must be.”

“I shall not bury him in this wretched place!” Ninévrisë cried. “I shall not!”

“I think—I think he means to oppose Hasufin, in this place. I think he is not done with fighting.”

“He says what serves his master,” one lord said harshly. “And the gods know who or what his master is.”

“My master,” Tristen said, “was Mauryl. He sent me to Cefwyn. And I think Mauryl also sent me here.—Your father is not gone, lady. I can't reach him where he is, but the Shadows did not defeat him. Only if you take him away—then he would have lost all he struggled for.”

It was enough, only thinking about the old man. The gray place opened wide, and the light came around him. He could see faint stars, which hung in front of his face where the men stood—he could see the gray shape of Ninévrisë herself, growing brighter, and a cluster of stars around about, which he suddenly thought were men outside and near the tent. The darkness to dread was a vast, abrupt edge in one direction
.

The walls, he thought then, made that abrupt edge, and he saw the lines on the earth glowing very dimly, one running right past the tent, which was the wall to which the ropes ran. Shadows leapt at that wall. Shadows prowled desperately, just the other side of that line, trying to gain entry
.

—
Gods!

It was Ninévrisë's voice, fearful and shaking
.

—
Lady
. He reached out an offering of safety, amazed that Ninévrisë alone of all of them had followed him. She was overcome with fright as he caught her hand, a warm and solid touch, not the gossamer of her father's hand. Around them, just across the wall, was threat gathering: Shadows leapt at that barrier, seeking to get in. But the lady looked at him
.

—
This
, she said, wide-eyed,
this is what he saw!

He could not answer her: he did not know what she saw, but he knew she was afraid and he knew how to guide her back to safety. It was only a thought. It was that quick.

He found himself on his feet holding her hand, as startled as she. She drew back her hand in consternation and the men around her seemed not to know whether to lay hands on him or draw weapons. But she signaled them otherwise, unable, it seemed, to utter a word. “No,” she said, belatedly, and caught a breath. “No. Oh, merciful gods.” She pressed a fist
against her lips and waved her other hand, as if seeking room to breathe. “Tasien, Father knew, Father knew! There
is
another place. I was just there, and he—
he
was there, too!”

“Wizardry,” Tasien said. “Would our King come bringing Marhanen promises? Or bid us go to the Marhanen? Let him prove he comes from Mauryl—and not from this wizardous enemy he claims your father came here to fight.”

It was, Tristen thought, a very wise question to ask, as Tasien seemed a wise man. He wished he knew how to prove himself.

“What
do
you say?” the lady challenged him.

“That you should do as your father asked.” That was the wisest answer he could think of, and it seemed to strike home with the lady in particular.

“To bury him where he wished?”

“I don't know that it
will
stop Hasufin. But your father thought it would prevent him taking this place.”

“So he says,” Tasien echoed scornfully, as if it was as much as he could bear. “And what care if some dead wizard takes this heap of stones?”

“It's a dangerous place.” Tasien's irreverence dismayed him. He saw things that had no Words, no breath, no outlet, and he couldn't warn them. “It's where Hasufin died.”

“And can stay dead,” Tasien said.

“But he hasn't, sir. He can reach here and perhaps not to other places, at least not so easily as this. The lord Regent knew that. He said that Hasufin could reach him wherever he was. He wished to
be
here.”

“My lady,” Tasien said, “I'd ask some better proof than this man's word.”

“What can we prove? And what choice have I, my lord? Go back to Elwynor? To Aséyneddin?”

“The lords in Elwynor would many of them rally to the Regent's banner, my lady,—as they would have rallied to your lord father if he had stood fast and declared a rallying-point and not—not this war against ghosts, in hostile territory, without tents—without—hope. Lady, your lord father, whom
I bore in all reverence, for whom I would have laid down my life, would not hear me. All of us that left our lands came here to die with him, or at least to prevent him from falling into hostile hands, but if you'll only hear me, we can do more than that, by your will, and I
beg
you listen. Aséyneddin and his rebels do not have the other lords' trust or their acceptance. Caswyddian has already raised another rebellion, against him. Elwynor will tear itself in pieces and Ylesuin will pick the bones if you do not go back, now. You
are
his invested heir. You have a duty, m'lady.”

“Two lords in rebellion. And what can we bring to counter it? Thirty-three men? Thirty-three men who followed my father however strange his folly? An investiture only you and these men witnessed? Answer me
this
, Tasien! How many of the lords will follow me without demanding marriage to themselves or their sons? And how will
that
sit with their brother lords? I divide the realm only by existing.”

There was brief silence.

Then one said, “How many will follow you if you ally yourself with the Marhanen?”

“Will
you
desert me? Will you, Haurydd? Or you, Ysdan?”

“No,” one and the other said.

“But,” the lady said, “can you make me lord Regent, and raise the standard in Elwynor, and make men rally to me without each seeking to be my husband? Here are three of you, all driven from your lands, all with wives and children at great risk. Where is my choice, m'lords? Tasien, you carried me on your back when I was little. Where can you carry me now?”

“My gracious lady,” Tasien said, and gave a shake of his head. “Wherever you wish. You are the Regent. I would take you to a safe place, in Elwynor. I would send to reliable men. I would not see you risk the Marhanen's land another day—let alone ask him for refuge. Choose a consort from among like-minded men, and we will go back into Elwynor and fight any rebels that come against you, to the last of us. Aséyneddin cannot hold his alliances together if we return.”

“And if Aséyneddin found us? And if anyone betrayed our whereabouts? Men die, who supported my father. Houses burn. Sheep are poisoned. You may be too high-placed for that, so far, but act against him and he will move against you. That is what he can do. But—more than that. There is this man—this visitor of ours, my lords,—”

“You cannot believe him.”

“No. No, Tasien,—I cannot deny my father's witness. I cannot deny what I've seen. I cannot deny that there is magic in this place. I cannot say now that I
should
be Regent…or that there should
be
a Regency any longer at all. If my regency denies the King we've waited for, then—”

“My lady, you cannot accept his claim. A man cannot ride up to us, rain-bedraggled, and
claim
to be the King.”

“How else must he come, then?” Ninévrisë asked. “Ride out of Marna, with armies and trumpets? Rise out of the ground of Althalen? I don't know, I don't know! My father never told me how to know him. My father only told us in plain words that this is the King and he recognized him. I have just
been
to that magic place Father claimed. I have just seen this man look as he looked to me. What other sign am I supposed to expect? How am I supposed to decide? I need time—I need to know the truth! And if there is a chance in the Marhanen, I will try that chance before I leave this land.”

“Are you,” lord Tasien asked him bluntly, “the King we look for?”

“Sir, I never heard so from Mauryl,” he said truthfully, and did not add to their confusion the fact that he did not want to be a king, nor that Cefwyn, who had given him title to Ynefel, knew a great deal more of kings and claims to kingship. But he did not think that Cefwyn's belief in him would allay their suspicions, rescue him, or move them all to a point of safety. An unbearable feeling of danger had begun to press on him, in their dispute, a smothering fear more acute than he had felt since Marna Wood, and he wanted their argument over, with whatever issue, and the old man settled safe under
stone—under stone!—where he wished to be. He wanted them away, as soon as they might.

“We shall bury my father,” Ninévrisë said, “as he wished. Then we shall go to the Marhanen and ask for a treaty—by marriage if need be. By oath, if we can secure it.”