Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles (19 page)

“Damn Cefwyn?” He was appalled.

“Some did wish Efanor to be king. —Is it only your men outside, men you know? Are you sure of them?”

“Yes,” Tristen said, wondering what Emuin might intend to say on this chancy night. Harm seemed to tremble in the air. He found Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles himself afraid for no reason, or perhaps for every reason. “Uwen is there. And Lusin and his men.”

“Good. Good. What are they about out there?” This as a voice outside became a little louder and fell off sharply.

“Ale,” Tristen said, and reminded him: “They have the keg.”

“I’d not have strangers’ ears to the door while I ask you: how did the business this morning go? Are you still damned, or perhaps sanctified and blessed now, perchance? I see that Quinalt trinket of yours. I
burn
with curiosity. ”

Would Emuin now say nothing more of the Quinalt damning Cefwyn? Cefwyn had threatened the Quinalt. Were they equally matched? Was there potency to a Quinalt curse? But he had quite forgotten the relic Efanor had given him. He put a hand on his chest, where it rested. It was chill, but very little more chill than his hands, in the gusts from the open window. He hoped it meant no harm, and that it brought none with it.

“Things went well this morning, sir, at least that there was no trouble. Efanor had given me this, if you will.”

“No manifestations.
Good
”—lightning lit the window and thunder cracked—“
gods
!” master Emuin finished, holding his own hand to his heart. “‘
That
was a crack, was it not?”

“It sounded as if it hit the roof.” It had shaken the thoughts loose from his head. The rain was blowing, spattering drops clear to the table, and onto parchments where much of the ink was poor and ran.

Tristen got up quickly and shut the window the old man insisted on keeping open and dropped the window latch—chilled, when he Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles came back, his clothes wet, the autumn wind having blasted them to his body. “I wonder you keep the window open, sir.”

“I prefer it.”

“If you wish—” He offered with his hand toward the window.

“No, no, one soaking’s enough.”

“Mauryl feared an open window, very much so. He warded every window. I shut mine tight. I open them to nothing after dark. In all respect, sir—”

“At Ynefel I should ward everything in sight. But we have the Quinalt to protect us.”

“You jest, sir.”

“Extremely.”

“Why do you?”

“What?”

“Keep the window open?”

“I invite evil.
If
it should be abroad, I wish to know about it. I’ll not have it slipping about, prying here and there. Let it come here. Let it try me. I’m old, and ill-tempered.”

It was a reckless idea. But the great shadow, the darkest one, Hasufin, was gone. And it made a sort of sense, that if there was any other weaker shadow prying about, or sending out inquiries into Guelemara, then it might be drawn here, to wizardry and an open window, rather than below, to ordinary folk, where it might work far more mischief in an unwary populace before anyone noticed.

Wizardry working ill likely would come in small ways, at first, at Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles the most unguarded hearts. At least Hasufin’s malice had started that way… the prompting of ill thoughts, ill deeds, fear, suspicion.

It had grown stronger. Ultimately it had killed a king.

And if some threat came full-fledged, stronger, noisier, larger, rolling in like sunset, it would come from far away, so that Emuin might well have clear sight of it in a tower lifted up above the clatter and smoke of the town. The disturbance he had seen in the Quinalt this morning had no immediacy here, aloft. All he could touch of the Quinalt’s troubles from here was an agglomeration of souls, not an orderly disturbance, and it mustered no threat: it could not get out of its confinement… that was precisely the problem.

Even the lightning, a hammerblow from the heavens, had not released them, striking nearby, as it had. Release the Masons’ wards entirely and the souls would scatter like mice when the door was opened.

Came a timid knock. A crack of the door, that made the storm howl through the seams of the shutter. Uwen looked in, ever so carefully.

“Was you all right, m’lord? We got to thinkin’… we should ask, beggin’ your pardon…”

“Yes, quite safe here, Uwen. We’ve shut the window.”

“M’lord,” Uwen said, and gently closed the door.

“So how
was
the Quinalt?” Emuin asked in the settling of a disturbed parchment to the floor. “And did you remark anything odd about the place?”

“You’ve seen the Lines.”

“Oh, aye. A mare’s nest, a thorough mare’s nest. But one cannot say Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles that to the Quinalt. No such things exist.”

“They don’t see them at all?”

“Blind as bats.”

“Shadows are trapped there. Many of them.” But he was sure now that was no news at all to Emuin. “What do you know about the shadows there?” he asked, while he had the old man’s attention and while Emuin was inclined to talk. “Do you
know
what used to stand there?”

“King Selwyn feared Sihhë ghosts extremely in life. Ironic, his resting place.”

“There are Sihhë there?”

“At least there some that are not wholly—or holy—Men.”

The water boiled, for a second infusion. Emuin got up, measured tea into the cups and poured the hot water. Tristen took his and stared at the floating bits of leaf. He took the spoon in his turn, sank the flotsam in the cup before he sipped the hot liquid. The steam flew away in banners on the persistent drafts. Rain spatted against the shutters.

Here in the Guelesfort itself were shadows, a few in this tower, which crept in the crevices of set stone and along the joins of wooden floor and stone walls. They ran beneath the table and among the shelves of pots and herb bundles and scrolls and codices which somehow the two brothers had never dusted.

“Not Men,” Tristen echoed master Emuin. Often when Emuin had left a subject he would not then go back to it, not for a very long time, and sometimes never. But this was too intriguing a thread to Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles let go. “Was Hasufin—was Mauryl—were they Men?” He had asked that in a hundred ways and never been satisfied. “Am I? Or what
is
the difference? Guelen and Galasieni, you say. But what is the difference?”

“Oh, many.”

His shoulders fell. Master Emuin was going to evade the question again.

But then master Emuin said, pensively, “The earth is old. And regarding the shadow at Ynefel, the older a shadow, perhaps, the stranger it grows. There were folk the Galasieni ruled, and there was a shrine of sorts where the Quinalt stands today, so I suspect. One feels it especially in storms. One hesitates—” Emuin looked to the window, as the sounds of thunder rolled above the roof and ale-driven merriment thumped from behind the door. “One hesitates to prod such things, especially when one had really as lief not have the answer, or have to deal with it at the moment. Some things are easier to call than to settle back again, mark me. I do not think these in the Quinaltine are apt to break forth. I have rarely seen them and they are few.”

“They were thick, sir. There were hundreds… behind the Patriarch… every time he walked the line.”

“Are you quite sure?” Emuin was paying full attention now, and the easy feeling had left the room. “I felt nothing of the sort this morning. And I was attentive.”

“I felt you in your tower,” Tristen said. He had assured himself there was no threat. Now he was not so sure. “But you say you saw Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles nothing this morning.”

“No, not I. But I’m not—” Emuin hesitated. “I am not precisely of your heritage. Perhaps some answered you who would not seek me.”

A small chill had come into the tower, perhaps a breeze; and there was quiet for a moment between them.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone there,” Tristen said. “I
asked
, sir. I did ask…”

“I will not prevent you from the things you do,” Emuin said. “Only
your
will can do that.”

“Advice, sir. Advice, if I ask it—”

“Only
one
will should guide what you do…
Mauryl’s
will, in all that he laid down, is sufficient. I have known it longer than you, young sir, who still deny it, but perhaps not.”

“I have done all Mauryl’s will.”

“Nothing that regards living men is ever finished— Living
men
, in whatever sense. And gods know, nothing that regards wizards is ever settled, and Mauryl Gestaurien, twice so. No, I cannot advise you,
especially
if you will take instruction from Efanor.”

“But you knew I was meaning to speak to Efanor, sir. If you even in the least feared I shouldn’t go this morning, could you not at least have advised me of those fears? Could you not have advised me at least of your will? Can you not say… as Mauryl would say, young fool, here is a thing you should not do?”

“Did harm come today, all the same?”

“None that I
saw
, sir.”

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles

“And did anything break forth?”

“Nothing. Nothing did that I
saw
, sir.” He had never yet admitted his glance into the west and his misgivings.

“Would you have permitted harm to break forth in the sanctuary?”

“No, sir. Not if I saw it.”

“And are not your eyes and ears sharper than mine?” Emuin did not wait for his answer. “Then
I
should by no means have stood in your path, should I? Oh, aye, to the contrary, you would have done whatever Cefwyn asked, come fire, come pestilence, you would do all
he
asked.”

“Did I not swear to do all Cefwyn asked? He is the king. I swore to him.”

“A folly, but one that had to be. One that will have your fate bend you
or
him until it has what it wills, will I, nill I. I advise you, but you will not hear me.”

“Then what is this fate? What is my fate? A word, a word. You say it, sir, and I hear it, but it will not Unfold to me, it never will Unfold. Tell me! If I
can
do as you say I can do, then
this
I will, and, will I, nill I, my wishing does no good at all. You never answer me.”

“Fate? A chance word, a folly, an empty word like Efanor’s gods. I shall never advise you beyond what I do. Abandon hope of that.

Inform you, perhaps I may, if’t will serve Mauryl’s will, as may be, or may not. Shall I listen to you, when you become willing to inform me of your will? —or his? Aye, that will I, also. But I would be a fool to say to you, desist. To the wind out there, perhaps, but Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles not to Mauryl’s Working. You must govern
yourself
, young lord.

Do you understand what I am saying? That no wizard made
can
govern your lightest whim. And did I tell you the
wrong
thing, and divert you from Mauryl’s Working, gods know where we should be.

Swear no more oaths to anyone, if you are wise. If you wish my advice, I give it you in this one thing. Do not bind yourself. Fealty you had to swear. Every man must have a master and every
Man
must have a lord. But as you love Cefwyn, be careful of your oaths and, as you are not a
Man
, beware of making promises. Mauryl’s will is a burning fire. And it lives, young lord, oh, it lives.”

“Mauryl is dead! I have done all that Mauryl willed me to do. Have I
not
, sir? Answer me! If I have power over anything,
answer mel”

That silence resumed. There was only the crackling of the fire, Emuin meeting him stare for stare.

“And I still can defy you, young lord, and do, by whatever effort.”

“Why? Why do you not go down that stairs and stand in the hall tonight and advise Cefwyn, if not me?

What do you hear up here in the wind and the weather that you will not tell anyone?“

“It is not cowardice that keeps me at this post,” Emuin said, and gestured toward the window. “What might come by that route, I will face. Not your thwarted will, sir, that I will not. And yet I
will
say no to you when you harry me for answers.”

I would not touch what Mauryl wrought, Emuin had said to him once and again tonight. And that was in its way a damning stroke of terrible, lasting loneliness. If not Emuin… if not Emuin, to touch Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles him and comfort him and advise him… then who? Who would there ever be?

There was Cefwyn, that friendship, that faith. But even that grew thin.

“Do you fear me, sir?”

“Not you,” Emuin said somberly. “Not your heart. Not your intentions toward Cefwyn or Uwen or myself. And what
did
you see in the Quinaltine? And what was your sense of the place, you of the far sharper sight?”

“Nothing I felt I should fear, sir, in so many words. I had thought I would fear it. I looked for gods.”

“For gods.” It was almost a laugh. Or a sob for breath. “And did you find them?”

“No, sir. —Not Efanor’s gods. I saw no sign of them. But you say there are wizards’ gods. There are the Nineteen. —Are there not?

Do you
not
speak to them?”

Emuin shrugged and evaded his eyes.

“
Are
there, sir?”

“You are a most uncomfortable young man.”

“And everywhere I go I am uncomfortable and uncomforting.

Everyone says so. So do you.”

“You have your lessons in discourse from Idrys, none other, gods save us.”

“You say,
gods
, sir. Do you say it for no reason?”

“Oh, always for reason. In my frequent amazements.
If I
were not a Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles Man, I would be amazed less often, perhaps, and perhaps I would know your answers as surely and smugly as the Patriarch. But I am a Man, and therefore say I,
gods
! this and
gods
! that and
good
merciful gods
! at least several times daily. The sad truth is that I
don’t
know your answer, young sir. If I were all a Man, I would have faith in the gods. But a wizard’s soul is outside the pale. That is the price one pays.” Emuin drew a heavy breath. “I have hope. I still have hope of the gods, that is the true answer.”