Fortress in the Eye of Time (70 page)

Pelumer drew a deep breath. “I have already come here on faith, my lord King. My house and the Marhanen were first to rise against the Sihhë kings. You became kings; we, your most loyal subjects on Marna's very border. I have a great respect for wizards. I've lived too near 'em, too long. I like less committing my men into any pitched battle. Lanfarnesse
will
support you with archers, the best of my men. But I much prefer the notion of fortifications.”

“No,” said Tristen. “They will not hold. There will no man be alive, sir. There will be substance and Shadows to fight. Enough men,
enough
men can deter even my enemy, because he has no substance without moving men to act for him, and if
his men
can be frightened, it may daunt
him
. At very least it would remove some of his strength. If the men can be stopped, it will stop him—at least in the world of substance. But you cannot replace numbers of men with walls.”

“I like this not at all,” Sulriggan said. “This is folly, Your Majesty. One cannot fight unholy magic with swords. Our war is against Aséyneddin. We should root out the influences—all godless influences—we should purify our land of taint and accept no advice from those who carry that vile taint into our land.”

“Tristen's is advice worth listening to,” Cefwyn said sharply, because, now it was launched, he had to keep his hand on its scruff and not have the Elwynim war and Tristen's war become the same thing in the lords' minds. “I suggest, sir, that we do so.”

“Wizardry and Elwynim,” Sulriggan muttered. “On our very souls, Your Majesty,—we—”

“A
warning
of wizardry; and these are allies opposed to intrusion into this border!”

“Heretics, Your Majesty! We cannot swear with heretics!”

“By the blessed gods whose anointing
I
bear, sir, hold allegiance to me, or count yourself forsworn. Bear faith to this kingdom's allies, or, if not, wait at your fireside for the issue, and deal with me later. And I warn you, if you fail my summons when attack does come on this province, if I go only with what Guelen and southern forces I can muster, then pray for our enemies across the river, because if I prevail, I shall be next at your gates, sir, with questions to which I shall want answers. I've
no
doubt of Lord Tristen's good will to us, and if his advice runs counter to my plans I shall still heed it and take precautions of both sorts. I will support the Elwynim who are fighting with us: it is unconscionable and
foolish
to turn away from them, and I will not! Olmern is already in a predicament: he cannot withdraw; and I think that Ivanor may stand with us. I think that Lord Cevulirn understands me.”

“Aye,” said Sovrag. “You do got us, m'lord King.”

“You will have cavalry, Your Majesty,” Cevulirn said, his thin lips taut.

“Cavalry and foot,” said Umanon, “as soon as we can muster, Your Majesty.”

“I shall be with you,” said Pelumer heavily. “If so many fall, we have no safety, else. But I greatly fear for us, Your Majesty.”

Cefwyn found himself almost trembling, angry at Pelumer, angry at Sulriggan, angry at Efanor, and tried to disguise it by leaning on the table. “Brother?”

“
Aye
, my lord King.”

Gods, that infuriating, punctilious manner.

“Will you hold Henas'amef for me? Will you be my right hand here, my viceroy, to serve here and gather forces, and advise yourself what action should be taken should anything go amiss? At any time you find it wise to withdraw to the capital, do so, but I would have you here, at my back, close enough to be of help.”

“As the northern lords come in, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. If needed.—My lords of Ylesuin, prepare to meet on Lewen plain in Arys-Emwy at the full moon. Sooner if we
must. Give me the tallies you anticipate before you depart. Establish signal fires along the way through Amefel—we shall do the same for outlying villages—and set those men by fives, under canvas, and well supplied. The weather may turn any day and it will be a difficult, long watch for them.”

Heads nodded, Pelumer's reluctantly, Sulriggan's last of all and but slightly.

The trembling did not leave his hands. Gods, gods, he thought, first thinking it was rage, and then knowing it for fear. Why am I in such haste, he asked himself, to start this menace from cover? It might bide longer and give us more time, time to bring in the northern lords. Efanor could be right…sometimes he is right.

Northern lords of Sulriggan's ilk, or at least men solidly Quinalt, and Sulriggan's natural allies. That arrant fool Sulriggan will politic with any situation. And dares front me, in this hall, and in peril of the realm?
He
has to fall—and soon.

“Brother,” said Efanor, “by your leave I'll dispatch a messenger of our own, summoning half the Guelen levies. They can be in reserve in Henas'amef against Your Majesty's need.”

He looked at Efanor's frowning face, suspecting his motives, suspecting that Efanor, with the help of such as Sulriggan, wished to protect himself and keep himself isolated from the Amefin as much as he meant to have those men in reserve for his rescue. Did he send for them in some hour of need, there even was a chance Efanor would not send them: in his worst fears, Efanor, realizing Henas'amef's defensive deficiencies and besieged by his priest, would feel constrained to secure a peace with Aséyneddin, abandon Ninévrisë, and cede heretic Amefel to the Elwynim for peace in
his
reign over provinces solidly orthodox.

But that was only supposition. And it gave too little credit to the clever little brother he had once—loved—when the enemy was their grandfather.

Efanor gave him nothing—
nothing
—of what he thought,
or agreed to, or purposed. Efanor had not ventured an opinion—except to bring in the Guelen regulars in force, which, with their officers, gave the new heir of Ylesuin a Quinalt force under his hand.

“Call them,” he said to Efanor. “And call Lord Maudyn with them.” That was, next Idrys, the most experienced of Ylesuin's commanders. “We dare not risk both of us. I know you would rush in if I needed you. But I forbid it. I
forbid
it, do you hear me? Send Maudyn.”

Something like guilt, or was it bitter shame? touched Efanor's face and Efanor ducked his head. He clapped Efanor on the shoulder in walking down from the dais, closed his hand on Efanor's arm and pressed it. Emuin had always counseled him that if he would have the best from a man it was needful to expect that best. And (his own sullen thought) to do so as publicly as possible.

Then he walked on down the steps, taking a chance, desperately willing the leg to work—to convince the lords it would. It didn't hurt so much. He could ride in two days, he thought, with sufficient bandaging—it would heal by the next full moon.

Meanwhile Efanor's precious Quinaltines were not doing outstandingly well at praying calamity away from their borders. Call it fate, call it the actions of wizards more than one in number—he had his heart in his throat when he thought about entering battle with a very demonstrable wizardry as one of the weapons, far more demonstrable than the gods' presence on the field; and when Tristen admitted that
he
was afraid—he began to worry indeed.

Change the plans? Rely on Tristen's untutored skill? Tristen's guesses which were no guesses?

Somehow, in the push and pull of wizardry that seemed to be a condition outside plain Guelen sensibilities, Tristen might prove their worst ally or the best defense they had. The wound that kept him sleepless with pain had only happened when he sent Tristen away. His father had not died until he sent Tristen away. In constant pain, he was exhausted of
mind and body and becoming outright childishly superstitious about Tristen's presence, as superstitious, he feared, as Efanor had become about his gods: he wanted to know where Tristen was. He began to feel safe only when Tristen was in his vicinity. Tristen had brought the Elwynim to him, which was more than good fortune; Tristen had brought him Ninévrisë when malign force had meant otherwise. He had never ignored Tristen's warnings except to his peril and now he took the most emphatic one entirely to heart.

He knew what Idrys must think, and he sensed Idrys' worry, when he had begun improvising on their already deliberated plans that suddenly, on as little sleep as he had had—Idrys would warn him. Idrys would have very strong things to say to him for this morning's work, though Idrys had renewed his oath without demur or question.

Meanwhile the lords must be scratching their heads, trying to figure had they witnessed a real change of plans or a maneuver cleverly devised to sweep their objections sidelong into an agreement with the Elwynim and wizardry that they would not have otherwise taken.

But he took Ninévrisë's hand, and left the hall the private way, by which they could reach the stairs, Ninévrisë to her guarded apartment, himself to his own, in search of privacy and rest. The leg, although it would stay under him, hurt so much, walking and standing on it this morning, that the pain had begun to cloud his thoughts. He was scarcely past the door when a page came running to bring him the stick, all concerned—was his misery that evident? he asked himself, and in relative private, he followed Ninévrisë and her guards up the stairs, seeking his own floor and his own apartment where he could limp and hurt and worry about whether he
could
in fact sit a horse in the requisite time. He could not send a leaderless army into a battle on the scale this required. The King had to be on a horse and on that field.

“My lord,” Ninévrisë said, delaying on the steps, in her ascent to the floor above. “My lord?”

The air was cold on his face. Ninévrisë was concerned, as if
he should not be trusted to carry himself down the hall. Ninévrisë—whose plans—whose life and welfare—relied on him, as everyone's did.

“Climbing steps,” he said, out of breath. “Not the easiest.”

“You changed what you said you would do,” Ninévrisë said. It might accuse him. It might be a question. It was uncertain. He took it in the most charitable light.

“I believe Tristen,” he said, leaning on the stick. “I have not entirely changed what I plan. We will still deal with the whole riverside. But if Tristen is certain enough to insist—I believe him. He knows things.” It sounded foolish. He did not know how to explain.

“I think he does know,” Ninévrisë said, and added, in a quiet, diffident voice: “And he
is
truly your friend. I see that. I have no doubt of you, now.”

Upon which saying, she was up the stairs in a quick patter of steps, with her guards hurrying to catch up.

He was staring. He knew that his own guards were waiting, Idrys among them witnessing his drift of thought, and he bit his lip and limped off the stairs and on toward his own door.

And toward his ill-assorted guard, the disposition of whom had entered his mind this morning, but he had not wanted to give warning of his intentions.

Now he stopped and looked at the two in question, the Ivanim Erion Netha and the Olmern lad, Denyn Kei's-son. “You were given to my service,” he said in a low voice. “You've paid for your trespass. I've given your lords orders to prepare for war. Ivanor is bound for a brief sojourn at home and Olmern has its boats to see to. If you will rejoin your lords, go and do so. Or remain in my service and take the field with the Dragon Guard or the Prince's Guard, at your will. I give pardon. It is without condition. Commission I also grant.”

And he passed into his apartment, walked to his own fireside…not alone, never quite alone; he heard Idrys behind him.

I have loosed everything, he thought. I have let go all the power I gathered. Gods hope they think of no excuses and I get them back, or I am no King, and this kingdom will fall.

He looked around into Idrys' disapproving frown.

“What, Idrys? Speechless? Have I finally amazed you?”

“Leaving yourself only a few Guelen, the Olmernmen and the Amefin to guard you? I find nothing left against which to warn my lord King. You have done it all.”

That angered him, so that for a moment he did not speak. Then reason came back to him and he nodded. “As you say. But occasionally I do as pleases me, Idrys.”

“I am well aware.”

“It is good, is it not—for a king to be generous…while he has a good man to watch the recipients of his generosity?”

“You have given me many causes to watch, my lord King, and in too many places for your safety or the realm's.”

“I shall mend my ways hereafter. Will you leave me? You may, without prejudice. I could well use your talents in the capital.”

“My lord.” Idrys shook his head, with contrition in his dark eyes. “Leave you in this—I will not. Did I not swear?”

“I need you. Gods help me, you are my other nature, Idrys. What would you advise me, granted I am committed to war and have done what I have done—for very good reasons?”

“That you be very thorough in your dealing with your enemies, lord, domestic and foreign. That if you pursue this war, you leave
no
half-measures to haunt you, however prettily your bride asks. That you beware of your brother's priest and beware most of Orien Aswydd and her sister.”

“And Sovrag?”

“Cannot safely negotiate Marna now. He will take orders.”

“Pelumer?”

“Has never committed himself to a quarrel; smiles on all; fights for none; in the wars against the Sihhë his father sat snug in Lanfarnesse and fought by withholding forces from a Sihhë ally. Pelumer has a poor memory, m'lord.”

“I did mark that.”

“Otherwise, take it that Lanfarnesse is loyal as a rock is solid,—and, like a rock, will prefer to sit. Lanfarnesse rangers are another matter. They are not for battle in the field: Pelumer objects very wisely there, and did you ask him to lend you
those
men even to venture Marna, you might obtain a fair number of them. But Pelumer says this time he will commit archers in a pitched battle. I have found no reason to doubt his given word, m'lord King, and they will be well drilled.”