Fortress of Eagles

“I knew you would. I know you have a good heart.” Cefwyn after all seemed to have something more on his mind, and Tristen waited, silent, until Cefwyn plunged ahead. “Never let them seeyou work magic. Not with the pigeons. Not with anything. Ever.”

“It’s not a thing one could see, sir, will I or will I not. I will try.”

“If you could only observe the formsof orthodoxy, Tristen.” It was not at all about the pigeons, now, but all in a rush, the desire of Cefwyn’s heart, he thought. “If you could banish the pigeons, and come under the Quinalt roof, and make that offering, thus acknowledging the authority of the Quinalt…”

“Like Her Grace, do you mean? To tell a lie?”

Cefwyn looked confounded. And finally said, “Yes. A small, an accommodating lie. For appearances. To let an important old man feel that his dignityhas been respected and will be respected in future before witnesses he wishes to impress. Do I offend you?“

“No, sir. You can never offend me.”

“I have given you the pe

“I don’t think so, sir. About the mice and bats, at least. And the candles. I can go in.”

“Can you give the pe

“Witnesses.”

“In case they lie. The court goes in the morning, in a great ceremony, singing and trumpets, all of that…”

“As it did when the barons swore.”

“You were there.”

“I was there, sir. I watched from the door. I could attend with the court, if ’t would serve.”

“ Couldyou do that?”

“I will.” He had attended in the shrine but he had not lingered. At summer’s end, Cefwyn had crowned himself, on the field, and that meant Cefwyn had not taken the Crown of Ylesuin from the hands of His Holiness. The Quinaltine Patriarch had wanted Cefwyn to come into the Quinaltine shrine and have the Patriarch set the crown on him all over again. But Cefwyn had not been willing to be crowned twice; so he had only taken the northern barons’ oaths of fealty in a Quinaltine ceremony, those who had not sworn already in the south. “Will it make the Patriarch happier?”

“If you could do that, if you could simply stand with the court, if we could quiet the general fears that the king and his house as well as his bride will go off to be Bryaltines or worse, that all the south will break out in magic like a pox, why, then, gods, yes, it would make him happier. If we win the Holy Father, then Murandys and Nelefreíssan, and finally even Ryssand must fall in line. The lords break every law of the Quinalt themselves almost every day and twice on holidays, but they fear heresy. They do honestly fear it… as if the gods being waked up by another man’s sins should then notice all that theydo amiss. The Holy Father has his own methods, the Quinalt being the holder of all treaties, and if he approves, then he will bring the rest of them into order.” Cefwyn drew a great breath and gave him a long, solemn stare. “You are the most unskilled liar ever I knew. But if you could take only a little instruction, learn what will be done, stand quietly, donothing wizardous…”

“I am no wizard, my lord. I am not.”

“No wizard as Emuin is no cleric. If someone were to show you what to do, and when to stand and when to appear to pray… make the gesture… make the people sure you are notof wizardous substance, that you will not burst into flame or break out in warts. You don’t have to convince the Holy Father. The Holy Father well understands political religiosity. He respects it—he frankly prefers it to devout faith in those he supports. What will win him is your making the offering, showing respect for his authority—publicly bowing to him.”

“Ought I?”

“For me. For Her Grace.”

“Then easily. I might go to the Quinaltine and meet the Patriarch and swear to him if you wished.”

“No. No. No. Know this. His Holiness is Sulriggan’s cousin. He will never be your friend. Never expect that. Say nothingbut good day to His Holiness or any priest, on any occasion.”

Sulriggan again. He was a very troublesome man, the lord of Llymaryn, not attending court this winter, in Cefwyn’s extreme displeasure, after he had left the court of Amefel in disfavor. He was never guilty of treason. When Cefwyn had had great need of every man he could muster, Sulriggan had not been there, had suffered no wounds at Lewenbrook, where the southern barons had proven their courage; and in shame, Sulriggan had sat all autumn in Llymaryn, with even Efanor angry at him. That much was no inconvenience to anyone.

But that His Holiness the Patriarch of the Quinalt was Sulriggan’s cousin, and the king must court him, that was terrible news. No one had told him that. It made matters very much more difficult.

“I would become Bryalt like Her Grace. I could do that. I could say I was Quinalt. If I am to lie, had I not as well swear to the Quinalt?”

Cefwyn looked as if he had swallowed something startling and uncomfortable. Idrys had lingered at the doors, throughout, and looked askance when he said that.

“As well slip a raven in amongst the doves,” Idrys said. “ Thatwould be a sight.”

“That, from master crow,” Cefwyn said, in the way he and Idrys were accustomed to trade barbs. “I slip yourblack presence in amongst the pious priests and they bear it.“

“I am no wizard,” Idrys said, “nor reputed to be dead.”

“Mind your tongue!” Cefwyn’s order was not humorous, now.

“Reputed, I say, my lord king. Reputedis the simple truth, which the lord of Althalen would by no means deny.”

“Dead, sir, I am not sure of.”

“Gods.” Cefwyn’s hand rested on Tristan’s back. “My good friend. My friend most i

“My lord king,” Idrys objected.

“No, now, a gloss, is all. Efanor will always discuss religion… would deliver him sermons for hours if Tristen were willing, at least to make him aware of the forms and the rites. If ’t would raise no apparitions, no blackening of the offerings, no souring of the wine…”

“No, my lord king,” Idrys said firmly. “No, no, and no.”

“The Patriarch is a practical man, a shrewd man. He knows what there is to gain and lose. A little gesture, no deception at all… simply a due respect…”

“Much to lose,” Idrys said. “Do not trust His Holiness.”

“Oh, never. Never. He never deludes me. But he quite confessedly finds my brother’s honest devotion far more dangerous to him than a host of Emuins and the entire Teranthine brotherhood. Or the Bryaltine. Did you know my father tried to have me declared a bastard? And His Holiness would not. His Holiness does not want a truly religious man. He does not want my brother, and if he would understand that Tristen is doing this only to please the Quinalt, gods, flatterthe old fox…”

“Yet he must have appearances. By every tenet of the Quinaltine, he ca

“Appearances indeed. His Holiness dares not disillusion Efanor, but no more dares he see Efanor on the throne; and he knows now he ca