Fortress in the Eye of Time

There was silence. Even Sovrag, who had his nephews off with Haurydd, and who had no water-route home but through Marna, had not been advised in advance of the full scope of what that night mission meant; and for the first time in recent memory it seemed not even the whisper had gotten out to the staff of exactly what he would ask. The barons were surprised, they were taking it with sober faces and likely a clear realization that they were, indeed, counting the inclusion of the Elwynim Regent against Aséyneddin, facing all-out war—costly, dangerous, and without a conquest of Elwynim towns and fields at the end of it.

“No,” said Tristen suddenly. “Please. I have to speak, my lord King.”

“Lord Tristen,” Cefwyn said, feeling the whole matter lurch perilously sideways. He sought to catch Tristen’s eye, and failed. “We have another matter before us. Wait. I will hear you later.”  “My lord King, I know I—”

“Wait, I say.” His voice came out harshly. He took a step and the leg shot fire. “Privately, Tristen.”

“I ca

“And he will come,” Tristen said. “He will not wait until spring-because you are threatening him, and he will not let you grow stronger.”

He, Tristen said. And they must all think he spoke of Aséyneddin—all who did not know better. But he did know, and felt everything, all the affairs of his kingdom and his reign, slipping into ruin on a wizard’s purpose.

“The plan is made,” Efanor said, “and you should leave this to military men, lord of Ynefel.”

Tristen’s gray eyes went vague for a moment, and he turned his head and stared at the other lords, one by one as if acquainting himself with them deeply. Lastly his gaze fell on Efanor, Cefwyn could see it, with that naked quality that made it hard to endure.

“How can I tell you?” The voice was scarcely louder than a breath. “I see it. Here, here by Marna Wood is a narrow place. Spread this Shadow wide over the land and there are no more places where you may hold it.”

His hand moved over the wide frontiers of Amefel. “You must make this fortification so he will go past and straight onto the plain here. There will be no more chances to stop it. If he turns you back, you will fall as Ynefel fell. Everyone will die.”

“He is Sihhé,” Pelumer said at last. “I no longer doubt it. But let me ask, aside from the oaths we have all sworn, how he is disposed to us.”

Tristen looked about at all of them. “! know all your lands but Olmern,” he said in that hushed, strange voice. And indeed, Cefwyn realized with a chill, Olmern alone of all districts of Ylesuin was younger than a hundred years. Most had been independent kingdoms. “Yet I don’t know how I am disposed toward any of you,” Tristen said. “I have knowledge of the devices you wear. I know names, but—they are not your names. I only know that you must stop him here, by Emwy.”

“One asks,” said Lord Sulriggan’s cutting voice, “where your loyalties are disposed, sir. With these Elwynim? Or with Ylesuin?”

“At Emwy it will not matter how I am disposed to you. Cefwyn says that I am Sihhé, but Mauryl is all my memory. Cefwyn says that the Marhanen murdered me, but I know nothing of that, since I am clearly alive. I am Cefwyn’s friend. If you are his friends, you are mine. If you wish otherwise, still I wish that you were my friends. And that is not important, either. Your going to the river, here, is. There is an enemy all your plans are forgetting. And he is my enemy, and Aséyneddin listens to him. The lord Regent knew. I think the Elwynim know. I am certain that Aséyneddin knows.”

Efanor said not a thing, only made a sign against evil. As did his priest.

But Tasien: “It is at Althalen. It killed, there. It killed our lord.”

“Halfwit he may be,” muttered Cevulirn, “or mad, —or u

A wide battle is worse than a narrow one, if our task is to hold anything of that sort.”

“We may move the army to that quarter,” said Umanon, “and find no enemy; and then we shall have twice the difficulty. There is a certain danger in moving too soon—or committing force to one area. I agree with His Majesty. If we commit up there, Aséyneddin will immediately strike where we have no presence.”

“More danger in acting too late, where they do have one,” said Sovrag. “I’ve got cousins on boats, holding the river near them bridges, with Marna twixt them and home, and I don’t see no Imormen in danger.

I don’t trust may be and might wi’ my men, m’lord King, they’re damn poor whores, might and maybe. I’m for putting an army up there, damn fast. Hell with the harvest.”

“You may wish to hell with the harvest,” Umanon said. “Those of us who obtain our honest revenues from the land think otherwise, sir. As happens, I should be concerned, did the general council defer action; but we all have concern for that border—as well as for what flows out of Marna. But if units from Ivanor come in with that dust and to-do, and the Amefin on the riverside are roused, what enemy there is may melt away and strike gods know where and when. There are clearly Elwynim on this side, of ill intent.”

“Caswyddian of Saissond,” said Lord Tasien, “is no longer to fear. He is dead.”

“There are Elwynim rangers,” said Ninévrisé, “who doubtless are on this side of the river. But most do not serve him and none of them fight in the field. They know where your forces are, I am sure, Your Majesty. But if Ynefel says the attack will come to the north, I do indeed believe him.”

There were frowns. The lords were uneasy and thinking each of their own interests. Cefwyn cast a surreptitious glance at Emuin, who, damn him, had not said a thing, not to Tristen’s ill-timed declaration, not to this supposition of disaster.

“Particularly difficult,” said Umanon, “if we drag this out. Each man returning to his village will bear tales and discontent. A smaller, more flexible force might do more.”

It was possibly good advice; and still Cefwyn had that fear, that Tristen knew what he was saying, and that Tristen—and Emuin, standing there silent as a stone—had sources beyond any of them.

“Your own counsel, lord of Ynefel,” Efanor asked sharply, “or a wizard’s sorcery? Where is Emuin’s advice?”

Cefwyn glared at him, wordless for the instant under the witness of the others.

“Your Majesty’s pardon,” Efanor said, “but you are my brother, and I ask you again before these lords—abjure sorcery altogether. I have serious doubt whether it be friendly to you or to us. Stay by the plan. Do not listen to this.”

“No,” Ninévrisé said in that perilous silence. “I would believe Tristen.

I saw this thing, lords of Ylesuin. I saw it. Every man with me saw it. Ask Lord Cevulirn what his captain saw. We were all witnesses. There were Shadows behind the walls, and trees broke with no one touching them, and men died.”

“Your Majesty,” Idrys said from behind Cefwyn’s shoulder, and Cefwyn found his heart pounding. For a moment he could not answer, and then caught his breath and made his voice level and calm.

“Your concern is appreciated, brother. But Tristen’s urging is not to use sorcery; his warning is that unholy sorcery may be aimed at us.”