Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03 (53 page)

In some measure I trusted your urgings then and wished to go on
across the river, and yet I see around me the disaffections and
distrust that would have rendered all we might do ineffectual to
assure a just and true peace. Talk to Emuin. I would that I could.

Consult with Cevulirn. I recommend him as a friend and a wise
man.

Then the handwriting changed, and grew more careful.

I add one other thing: some see in you the fulfillment of Elwynim
prophecy. I have been aware of this from the start. If you are the
one I think you are, no matter how dark, you have no less of my
love and regard, which I hope you have in kind for me. This
Emuin advised me to win for myself, and it was the wisest advice
and best he ever gave me.

Cefwyn knew it all, and trusted him, and was not angry.

It was a precious letter, and Tristen sat with his hands on it as if that in itself could bridge the distance and place his hands in Cefwyn’s hands. His heart beat hard, a knot stopped his throat, and he heard again the bells that had rung the hour they had Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

parted, the wild pealing, so joyous, when there was nothing of joy for either of them in the hour, but only for their enemies.

His pigeons had sprung aloft, the banners had flown bravely on the wind, but in that hollow pealing of bronze, the warmest thing in the world had been Cefwyn’s embrace, and the look Cefwyn had flung him eye-to-eye before the Quinaltine steps.

You have no less of my love
, Cefwyn wrote now.

And the world became warm and safe for a heartbeat.

Win
Cefwyn’s
friendship, Emuin said, but he did not take Cefwyn’s reassurance to fulfill that, not entirely, not truly, in the magical sense. Emuin had given his advice, and like Mauryl’s advice, it struck at the root of intentions, not at the flower.

And both root and the flower were important to him, one having to do with what one meant to do… and the other, most fearsome, with the outcome of it.

With all his heart he wished to write back to Cefwyn… but considering the message within Idrys’ message, the way he had protected Gedd, and the danger Gedd had run to reach him, the exchange they had already had exposed not only the messenger but Cefwyn and Ninévrisë to danger. If their enemies did not know the content of the message, at least they knew a message had come and gone, and at such a time.

He had no news worth the risk of the bearer’s life. The business with the bridge was done: in spite of Idrys’ urgent message to send him no more gifts… he had to fear he had: all the discontent Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

carters who had labored in one service after another, who might even as he sat here be telling theit tale of Elwynim and walls and settlements at Althalen in every tavern in Guelemara.

There was nothing he could do but wish Cefwyn’s people to see the truth, and to know their welfare lay more with their king who wished an honest, lasting peace, than with Ryssand, whose wishes were tangled and dark with hatred, some for Cefwyn, but far, far more of it for the Bryaltines and the Teranthines and everything southern… himself not least or last in that reckoning.

There
was fertile ground for hostile wizardry, or ambitious, or greedy, or any that did not scruple to use a hateful, hating man.

Ryssand’s son was dead. He had a daughter for his heir… which the Quinaltines, ironically, would not allow, and he the greatest supporter of the strict Quinaltines. What was he to do?

Something to save himself, that would somehow twist and turn until it came out profitable to himself, that was more than likely.

And meanwhile he could get no message to Idrys to tell him there was a traitor within his ranks, no message to Cefwyn to assure him of better news from the south—not without risking a life and possibly putting a dangerous letter in the hands of Lord Ryssand.

He had now only boats to look for… Sovrag lord of Olmern’s boats, and the grain they carried. The storm surge had gone down the Lenúalim, the river ran calmly now at its ordinary level, by the reports he had from Anwyll, and there was no reason for delay, unless Sovrag’s boats had suffered—

Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

Or unless Sovrag had doubts or fears of aiding him, considering the storm brewing in the heart of Ylesuin. Any of the lords who had awareness of the situation Gedd had reported might well think twice about joining their Midwinter feast… and Sovrag’s grain had to be here to avoid famine.

He gave it another day and then he must send a messenger south to Olmern, a far safer direction to ask reasons; and he had to send another rider to Cevulirn to inform him of the delay in supply for the horses.

Midwinter was coming on apace, and the needs of the province were absolute. If Sovrag for some reason failed them, then they still must obtain the grain, all the same… if not from Sovrag, then they might appeal next to his constant enemy among the allies of Lewen field, the lord of Imor Lenúalim, dour, Quinalt Umanon.

Umanon might or might not favor their enterprise, might or might not be keenly aware of the sentiment against him, and might or might not answer Cevulirn’s invitation—and if he came, might or might not tell everything he learned to friends to the north. The plain fact was that Umanon was a Guelen, different from all the other southern lords, associated with Lewenbrook only because Cefwyn as a Guelen prince had brought him in to have the heavy cavalry Cefwyn relied on.

Now a southern call had gone out, furtive and hoping for secrecy… and yet they had not omitted Umanon, who had been Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

one of them, whatever else he was.

And would he answer the call, or betray them?

A gathering of all the south was a difficult secret to keep… and the more difficult as the time drew closer and all the staff down to Cook and her crew assembled the makings of a great holiday.

The best news in recent days was the assembling of young men of Amefel, earnest young men… feckless boys, Uwen called most of them, but well-meaning, with some experienced veterans in the number. It was a good lot. But they were far from the Amefin guard that was yet to be… that must exist by the time the buds broke on the trees.

The Guelen Guard, at Uwen’s order, had undertaken to show the men the use of the long Guelen lance and the small sword, and that the training and short tempers and stung pride failed to provoke Amefin and Guelenmen to open warfare, it was itself a wonder… but that was the regiment they had at hand, and that was what had to be.

The southern longbow many already knew; and perhaps half had horsemanship enough, but those were green youths on the edge of nobility, accustomed to ride to the hunt, vying with one another to be first to the quarry—not to make an iron front against an enemy. The lads, as Uwen called them, were in great earnest for their lords’ pride and their own, but there were two sent home with broken bones, and one all but died of Maudbrook’s icy water on a windy day— his horse had sent him there.

Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

But in recent days the recruits had gone out about the land, faring out toward the remote villages to parade their weapons and make known the authority that sent them.

More, even given the chance there were enemies in the land, they practiced ambushes on one another in the bitter cold and the winter-barren land, merry as otters, Uwen called them. They were noisy, determined, and since the Guelenmen teaching them had not killed them, they had necessarily improved in the lance and the sword.

Tomorrow, orders which also lay on Tristen’s desk, under his hand as he read, they were to ride east to Assurnbrook, as far west as the limits of Marna Wood; they had already ridden down to Modeyneth and to Anwyll’s camp, to Trys Ceyl in the south and Sagany and Emwysbrook, to Dor Elen, Anas Mallorn, and Levey, displaying the banners, answering questions, bearing news.

That was one thing he wished he could tell Cefwyn. And, aside from the want of grain, stores had turned up, out of cellars in town, out of caves and cists in the hills: reserves of grain, preserved meat, gold and silver which the lords had held secret, and, mysteriously, too, but from different sources, a number of weapons which had not been in the armory since Lewenbrook had shown up in the hands of these young men.

“As they ain’t fools,” Uwen had said wryly, “an’ now they know they have a lord who ain’t Guelen, why, back the gear comes Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

from under their beds.”

Over all, while the news from Guelemara chilled Tristen’s heart, there was reason to think the south was safer than it had been. If Tasmôrden intruded into his lands at this very hour he would meet both an armed and organized band of Elwynim veterans…

and the otters, those small, scattered squads of an Amefin cavalry he would not expect, on horses that were increasingly fit.

And that Amefin cavalry was armed with both bow and lance, for harrying an enemy and making his foraging impossible: such were their orders—no all-out engagement, but a deliberate harrying, keeping contact with an enemy band while they sent a series of messengers with word to Henas’amef, to bring in the heavier-armed Guelens.

There was that force out and about.

Modeyneth and Anas Mallorn, which lay near the sites of likely crossings, had built stout shutters and towers for archers.

The old wall beyond Modeyneth was now, by work proceeding by day and night, man-high across the road, with a stout gate, braces, and an archer’s tower. The men who built there, both of Modeyneth and other villages of Bryn, built in weather which never mired the roads, and built with the advantage of stones already cut.

Not least, Anwyll and the Dragon Guard at the river maintained close, fierce guard over sections of decking which could again be laid rapidly over the bridge frameworks, and which were stout Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

enough to support even wheeled traffic—once his Midwinter gathering determined to secure the other bridgehead as theirs, and set up a camp inside Elwynor.

They were as near ready as he could hope… save only the grain to feed all these men. And the fear, now made clear in Gedd’s report, that he might have taken far too much for granted, regarding the Guelen and Ryssandish fear of him and the south.

Talk to Emuin
, Cefwyn had written him.

Paisi, hair disheveled, roused from the diurnal night of the shuttered tower, made tea. Emuin read Cefwyn’s letter atop the clutter of charts, then nodded soberly as Tristen meanwhile relayed Gedd’s report in all its alarming substance.

“Well, well,” Emuin said, and bit his lip then, shaking his head.

“What Cefwyn wishes me to explain when he says consult me, is the Quinalt, and its distaste for things Amefin. I think you know that.”

“I know the guardsmen I sent and the patriarch all went to Cefwyn’s enemies. And the drivers of the carts I sent back will talk.”

“The carters you sent back will talk, and the soldiers that went without leave have talked, and the Amefin patriarch has certainly had words to say within those walls, all manner of words about the grandmothers in the market, and about me, and any other sign of wizardry. That’s nothing we can prevent now.”

Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

“As for the other, sir… the prophecy…” He disliked even to think about it, but it was there, part of the letter, with Cefwyn’s assurances.

“It’s all one.”

“It is
not
one, sir. I fear it’s not. The carters will talk about the same things the patriarch complained of, charms in the market, and about the Elwynim at Althalen—”

“No small matter.”

“But the greater is, Ninévrisë’s father called me
young king
.

Auld Syes did much the same. The Elwynim wait for a King To Come, and Tasmôrden flies the banner of the King of Althalen above Ilefínian.”

“Does he?”

“Yes!”

“What will you do about it?”

I won’t allow it
, he almost said. But he thought then of the disparate elements he had just set forth to Emuin, and found in them subtle connections to events around him that frightened him to silence.

“Tea, sir, m’lord.” Taking advantage of the silence, Paisi desperately set the tray down and poured. It was bitter cold in the tower, and Paisi’s hands trembled, hands as grimy as ever they had been in the street.

“Wash,” Emuin said. “Treat my potions as you treat common Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

mud, boy, and you’ll poison both of us.”

“It’s only pitch, sir.”

“Dirt,” said Emuin. “Scrub. You shouldn’t sleep dirty, boy.

Gods!”

“Sir,” Paisi whispered, and effaced himself.

Emuin took up a teacup. “What will you do about it?” Emuin asked again.

“I don’t know, sir,” Tristen said, turning his own in his fingers. “I think the first is coming here and asking you what I ought to do.

And I earnestly pray you answer me. This is beyond lessons. I can’t take lessons any longer. What I do may harm Cefwyn.”

There was long silence, long, long silence, and Emuin took a studied sip of the tea, but Tristen never looked away or touched his cup.

“So you will not let me escape this time,” Emuin said.

“I
ask
, sir. I don’t demand. I ask for Cefwyn’s sake.”

“And with all your heart.”

“And with all my heart, sir.”

“Do you think you
are
the King To Come? Does that Unfold to you, as some things do?”

He asked Emuin to give up his secrets—and his question to Emuin turned back at him like a sword point, direct and sharp and simple.

“No,” he said from the heart. “I’ve no desire to be a king or the Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

High King or any king. If I could have Cefwyn back as Prince Cefwyn and his father alive so he didn’t have to work so, and all of us here at Amefel, that’s what I would most wish, for everything to be what it was this summer… but I can’t have that, and I could only do him harm if I wished it, so I don’t. I won’t.