Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles (17 page)

Cefwyn and Ninévrisë, however, and their guards, had first claim on the steps and the doorway, leaving the barons in the rain arguing about precedence. An argument broke out after Cefwyn had gone in, everyone at the steps disputing their rights, standing in a downpour to do it.

Tristen chose not to contest with the barons and their entourages, and stood there, his cloak wrapped about him, he and Uwen and Lusin and the rest, with the rain coming harder and harder, dripping off his hair and wetting the stone cobbles until dirty water flowed from the roof.

“Sins won’t burn in this,” Uwen said. It was a joke, Tristen was sure, but it rang with unusual force in the bitter wind, above the squabbling of the barons.

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles
CHAPTER 7

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It were a fine occasion, all the same,” Uwen said when they reached his apartments. Tassand met them to take their dripping cloaks, eager for news and hoping, perhaps, that their lord, rare in his outings, had had a success. “Not a trouble at all. M’lord did right well.”

Other servants brought towels warm from the fire. There was a fine, even an extravagant late breakfast set out for him and for Uwen, Tristen was delighted to discover, on a festive table decorated with oak leaves and apples. After that, comfortably fed, he gave the staff their pennies, so that they might at whatever drier and more convenient time go make their offerings themselves.

But then the holiday became like all other days, and Tristen took himself to his reading—curious, cautiously searching Efanor’s little book of devotions for hints of purposeful entrapment of the dead as an activity of the priests, or any persuasive reasons for the mismatch of lines in the Quinaltine, but he found nothing that led him to any hint of understanding.

Meanwhile Uwen had gone somewhere, perhaps down to the stables in spite of the rain, where he spent a great deal of his free time—

currying his horses, braiding and combing and talking to them when he thought no one was listening—courting Liss, and asking himself Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles for the dozenth time could he afford another horse?

Uwen talked to horses: his lord read. By afternoon the sun had come out, brightening the roof slates. A bar of light from the window glass crept across the little codex, making his study easier: the hand that had copied it had spared no ornament. It was fine, and beautiful, but difficult in dim light. He meditated the nature of gods and the servants came and went, keeping the fire in order, arranging things in his bedchamber all those myriad mysterious things they did that meant the household was far less dusty than Ynefel had been, and the candles miraculously renewed themselves when half-burned.

He wearied of the gods’ little book and sought the Quinalt in the
Red Chronicle
—a history Cefwyn had lent him, a tale of betrayals of the Sihhë, of murder and fire, and the raising of the Marhanen standard for the first time with royal honors.

Toward sundown the clouds came back and stole the bar of light from the far wall. Rain spattered the glass again. He chased memories that eluded him, and Tassand came in as thunder thumped and boomed above the town.

“M’lord. It is certain you will not attend in hall tonight.”

That was a question. “No, I shall not,” he agreed, and turned his thoughts for a moment to the staff, flexed shoulders weary of leaning forward. “Tassand, the staff should go down to the square, to dance or drink as they please, tonight. I should wish they did, except for the rain. How does the sky look?”

“Dark to the west, m’lord. The staff is thinking of the staff quarters Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles on account of the weather, to open a keg there, by Your Grace’s goodwill.”

“Please do.”

“M’lord.”

Tassand went off pleased—Tristen never refused his servants, and Tassand had had no doubts of being granted the indulgence, Tristen was certain. He went back again to his reading of Efanor’s little book, now by candlelight, having found nothing all day long of deliberate entrapments, except an exhortation to the gods to
preserve our souls from harm
.

Might the priests believe the souls of the Quinalt dead were safer in that jumble, that endless maze, offering doors and taking them away with the next mismatched line of Masons? They were mistaken.

The little codex talked of a hell of punishment, too, for the wicked.

Was that, instead, what the lines supplied?

Uwen came in at last, rain-damp, as a murky sunset stained the sky beyond the windows.

And from some small commotion in the servant’s quarters, flush-faced servants under Tassand’s command brought in an especially fine supper for him and for Uwen, food Tassand said was from the king’s feast downstairs, especially the ham, which Tassand highly recommended, showing him into the little hall with a flourish.

“Have we leave to take these things?” he wondered. His staff was zealous for his sake. But he well knew how his servants were concerned, indignant, even, for his sake, that
their
lord was not welcome in the king’s hall, and Tristen had at least a niggling Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles suspicion that Tassand might have done something desperate and daring and treading on the edge of the king’s good grace—certainly that of the king’s kitchen.

Somehow Tassand failed to answer his question, and several of the servants were a little the worse for ale, but they all seemed very happy. They spread the little table at twice its ordinary length, set more oak leaves about the dishes (perhaps some captured from the window ledges or searched out of the yard: no oaks grew on the height of the Guelesfort), and brought in a fair supply of festive braided bread thickly topped with poppy seed, intricate constructions which he found almost too delightful to eat.

Uwen, however, showed him how when he was a boy (strange to think!) they had used to unbraid the bread as they ate it, and how one braiding meant prosperity and how another meant long life, and how one was for a good harvest and why they baked a whole apple into one kind of bread.

“So’s there’s plenty all year long,” Uwen said.

“And does it make it sure?” was his question. It seemed to him it was a good start, at least. And Uwen unbraided a bit of poppy bread and wrapped it about a bit of ham as a new muttering of thunder foretold rain on the celebration outside.

“Sure’s anything in this world,” Uwen said, as from the servants’

quarters there was an occasional burst of undecorous merriment and a hissing of hush, hush, hush, as Tassand and the staff brought out the next course.

It was not the dancing he regretted, which might not now take place Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles in the square, if the rain that spattered the glass fell much harder. It was not the feast in the great hall he regretted, where Cefwyn and Ninévrisë would be; thanks to his servants their food was as fine.

But he could easily grow melancholy this evening, remembering with fondness his days in Amefel. He knew he had no business feeling sorry for himself. He had a fine supper, the regard of his staff, the favor of the king… but on thinking of the ladies, the bright-gowned ladies, who glittered and flashed so beautifully in the candlelight as they danced, he began thinking of the festivities downstairs and imagining the music he could not hear—

remembering how on such a remarkable evening in Amefel a lady had come to him, the darkly reputed duchess of Amefel herself.

He knew now how very foolish he had been, and how dangerously foolish Lady Orien had been, for that matter; and he could sigh now (with some understanding of the company of women, about which the guards had a great deal to say), for the chance he had had to court a lady.

And though Ninévrisë was his model of all true ladies, he recalled the music of that night, Lady Orien’s beautiful face and white shoulders… her beautiful hair. Red, it was, a most remarkable red that accorded well with the dark green of the Aswydd colors. Her skin was pale, and the gown had shown him very much of the wonders of the lady’s form.

And that night, if he had walked into Orien Aswydd’s snare and only just gotten out unscathed in his innocence… as it had been in those days… why, there were just as certainly traps set for him downstairs in the gathering this evening, traps that he would Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles disappoint by his absence. So he might be satisfied—indeed,
should
be satisfied with his own table. He was sure he did not regret Lord Prichwarrin of Murandys, for example, who was testy and difficult, nor Lord Corswyndam of Ryssand, who greatly disapproved of him and made no secret of it.

Ninévrisë would be there, among the ladies, a sight he wished he could see . . but he could not be seen near her; he could not be near Cefwyn, either, of course. And in the way his servants, having had too much ale, laughed and became cheerfully foolish… Cefwyn’s guests might imbibe enough of the ale to become far too blunt, and that, among Men, would require he defend himself, which meant he would have to kill the offender.

And that would certainly put a sad cap on the festive evening. So it was folly even to regret the feast downstairs.

He looked toward windows now dark with night. Fire glow shone on the stonework. “It does seem they managed to light the fire after all,” he remarked to Uwen.

“Right about sundown they did,” Uwen reported. “So Tassand was sayin’. They put canvas on’t all the day, and now she’ll burn even through the rain, if she gets a good blaze up and if they’re lucky.”

“So the sins will burn after all.” When he went to the window, fine clear glass with not many bubbles at all, he found that the bubbles acquired the glow from the square. He could just make out the fire itself, and a bobbing mass of dancers. “They have indeed. The light touches all the walls.”

“It do that,” Uwen said, coming up beside him.

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles He thought if he opened the small side pane, he might hear the music, but the rain would come in and Tassand and the staff would have to clean it. “Go down to the square if you like.”

“I, m’lord? Not I.”

“Do. Tell me how it was. Take Lusin and the men and go down.”

He thought of the other element of his life, the old man whose days were topsy-turvy and who waked generally by night, to look at stars which would hardly shine on this thunderous evening. “I can go up to Emuin and bring him his breakfast. I swear I’ll not go elsewhere.”

Uwen’s eyes danced, though his face was solemn. “Not I, for my oath, m’lord; and not Lusin, for his. There’ll be ale here, by your leave. ’At’s enough for holiday, an’ we’ll all visit the old master.”

Uwen meant that, being
his
sworn man, he would not let him go unguarded tonight, and that Cefwyn, who had Lusin’s oath, would be sorely displeased if Lusin left his post. So the guards had to stay and go with him as they were accustomed to do… more so, he supposed, since sometimes he did go alone to Emuin’s tower. He was not at all surprised at Uwen’s insistence, however, with so many people coming and going in the Guelesfort tonight; and if he dismissed Lusin and the men on his authority, he supposed they would stand outside defying him on Cefwyn’s.

But meanwhile the heavens truly would not oblige master Emuin’s observations tonight. So perhaps Emuin would have time to spend.

“Tassand,” he said, “the basket for master Emuin. Has it gone up yet?”

“No, m’lord,” Tassand said. “Against the likelihood, m’lord.”

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles They knew his decisions before he made them. He was pleased, annoyed and, over all, amused. He had grown fond of Tassand in the months they had served him, Tassand and all the staff that bore with his oddities and his lapses, and perhaps, yes, they took unseemly liberties (there was, even as he thought it, a peal of merriment from the hall beyond) but, yes, indeed he encouraged them.

And perhaps master Emuin would turn him away; last night Emuin had not even opened his door to take the evening offering.

But this night he would get Emuin’s attention, or he would stand there till it opened. If Tassand had made a special feast, then Emuin would enjoy it.

“Bring it,” he said, and when the basket came, along with it came an entire small keg of ale. So it was clearly conspiracy among all his guards and servants and now himself to bring the holiday feast to master Emuin. He said not a word about the keg, only tucked in the little treasures, too, which he had set by for master Emuin. In high spirits and great resolution he carried the basket himself as he and Uwen left the apartment, gathering up Lusin and the men on the way.

So they marched down the hall, him with the basket, Uwen carrying the keg, and Lusin and the three others clumping heavily behind, clattering with weapons, bearing a second basket of the poppy-seed cakes, which had somehow ended up part of Emuin’s breakfast arrangements. He saw that several cups had also come in the substantial basket of cakes; he suspected sweets in the bottom of the basket, and his guards were extraordinarily cheerful as they opened Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles the door that led to the drafty stairs.

Emuin maintained no guard himself, at least no visible one, only that loud bell that rang below when someone opened this door leading up to the tower where he was now solitary. It was a deafeningly loud bell, when one was standing by it, enough to wake the old man when he was sleeping. Wind swept through, damp with rain. The drafts that swept through Emuin’s chambers above were constant. The servants before they had left had complained that powders Emuin was mixing ended up drifting over all his books and onto the floor. Likewise smokes of his frequent combustions had sooted the rafters far beyond reason. Books turned their own pages in the tower, and the servants had claimed haunts. But there was no magery about it, only ill-fitting shutters and a tower that drew like a chimney. One could feel the waft of cold air up there at every opening of the downstairs door that led to the tower stairs, and Tristen hoped that their opening of the door had not disturbed any of master Emuin’s charts or blown rain in to soak his books: he had wished his guards to shut the door as quickly as possible and to hurry up the steps.