Fortress of Eagles

“One ca

But Cefwyn showed none at all. “A Sihhë convert, a donation, a royal abbey… that would salve the wound of the coronation I wouldn’t let the old fox do over. Gods, more than justify the Sihhë in the Quinaltine. If they make a way in for Tristen, the heresy of the whole of Elwynor becomes a trifle. We could see Ylesuin and Elwynor together accommodated in a doctrine that could admit you, my friend. A month or two, a few donations, is all you would have to endure, attending ceremonies with the court, being punctilious in your observances—”

“Hazardous,” Idrys said.

“But filing in with the court, out with the court, bowing when the court bows, attached to my brother’s well-known, prickly piety… Efanor’sconvert. And my brother is Marhanen. Efanor will know exactly the stakes. Religious that he is, I shall have him simply to understand this is political—he will still try to secure Tristen’s soul, none could daunt him, but Efanor will see this act as exactly what it is, will know why it is, will defend Tristen as a point of honor. In my brother’s keeping, close by his elbow, there’s no way for Murandys to come at him, not a bit! And in the spring, once we launch our forces into Elwynor, then Tristen will ride with me far from the Quinaltine, for the summer long. By next fall, good gods, he’ll simply do what most converts do, attend only on holy days and at funerals. Blessed once is blessed, so far as the commons know and so far as serves His Holiness’s purposes. It’s the door by which we admit the whole oxcart. It’s the gestureHis Holiness wants. And to get it, we make his Holiness accommodate the halfling Sihhë… neversuggest that Tristen is more than that. Halflingis ambiguous enough for any negotiation; and after they admit the halfling Sihhë then they take the whole damned court of Elwynor.”

Next fall. Next summerhad daunted him and he had seen noprospect yet that far ahead of him. Tangled and dubious as it all might be, it did serve Cefwyn, and protected Ninévrisë, and brought him to the spring and through the unimagined summer, even to the fall to come with a use, a purpose, a duty to do. Gray space gave way to imagining a time yet to come, days and months ahead.

“Your Majesty,” Idrys said. “We should consider this at some length.”

“Do youhave objections?” Cefwyn asked, looking at Tristen. It was clearly a request not to hear any. But Idrys’ doubts were not to disregard.

“There are shadows in that place,” Tristen said. “So you should know, sir.”

“I don’t doubt there are,” Cefwyn said, and gave a short laugh. “Gods know my grandfather’s crypt is likely the bait for them—he feared the dark excessively. Chandlers have never been so prosperous as in his reign, good faith.” He patted Tristen on the arm. “But do you understand what we are about? My brave friend, my very brave friend, if you can do this—if you can do this… and not affright this priest… gods forbid the Patriarch should ever meet the like we met on Lewen field… then we can accommodate Her Grace and her whole realm in the exception we craft for you, who arethe Warden of Ynefel, which isand has always been the legitimate title of a lord of Ylesuin. They have to regard the current Lord Warden, and to treat youas lawful and entitled, and exempt from requirements that bind other lords: we have a precedent, good gods, we have a precedent in Mauryl Gestaurien, what wasdone can bedone, and our pe

“Consult Emuin,” Idrys said. “My lord king, I beg you ask him before you undertake anything with His Holiness.”

“Ask Emuin to your satisfaction, but if he finds no urgent reason against it, and if Tristen can endure my grandfather’s ghost, —dear blessed gods, I would find it convenient if you could walk in with the royal procession.”

“I will, sir,” Tristen said, and Cefwyn proposed they go aside for a last cup of wine, a seal on their agreement. “Sit with me a moment,” Cefwyn said, and, Idrys being absent about business with his lieutenant, and still less than pleased, the two of them sat beneath the tall windows in the hall, in this set of rooms so very vast the servants always arrived out of breath. Night had long since filled the high window above the little table, and candlelight danced on the imperfections of the glass as on the embossings of gold cups that were the ordinary of Cefwyn’s household in these days.

“You have been very patient in my neglect of you,” Cefwyn said, “and I know how difficult it has been for you in Guelessar—difficult for Her Grace, too, with no assured rank or title, gods know what her people believe is her condition among us. Yet I have had to leave my friends to fend for themselves for a while. It is so important, what we do, simply to assure I have the power to launch this war, this one chance to catch the moment. We have the rebels across the river, building forces by the day. If Tasmôrden moves to take either the bridges or the capital before the winter closes in, he will have all winter to consolidate his hold. He will gain followers and Her Grace will lose them, murdered the day Tasmôrden sets foot in Ilefínian. But I have never needed explain war to you.”

Uwen and the guards had told him Ylesuin would not wage war in winter. But Tristen himself wished the contrary… nor at all the hesitant, difficult sort of warfare he kept hearing proposed as winter raids. He knew who and where Tasmôrden was: the strongest of the rebel claimants to the Regency of Elwynor camped on the road that led equally to Guelessar or to the Elwynim capital of Ilefínian. Tasmôrden was thus able to go either direction, and to go quickly. Cefwyn hoped Lord Elfharyn in the capital, loyal to Ninévrisë’s father Uleman, could hold the capital in her name through the winter… and divide Tasmôrden’s attention. But if Tasmôrden ceased to believe their feints at the bridges, and if Ilefínian fell to Tasmôrden quickly, and he was then able to secure himself behind Ilefínian’s walls before the snows, then… then it was a far grimmer situation, with many of Ninévrisë’s people in a way to suffer for it, and many to pay with their lives.

“We should have camps across the river,” Tristen said to Cefwyn. “We should cross the bridges now. We should make the threat so strong he will have to regard it, and not dare move on Ilefínian.”

“ IfLord Brysaulin can find me wagons. I have had some moved in. But how many others might I rely on? Gods know. My chancellor counted haystacks, not wagons.”

Wagons. Always there was the consideration of moving in force, never striking with the light cavalry, which Tristen would have wished, against this quick-footed enemy. He had believed from the first day in Guelessar that they should move at once and not delay for marriages and swearings and musters and the objections of all the northern barons. He had thought the first time he had heard of Tasmôrden rising against Ninévrisë’s claim to the Regency that they should be straightway across the river on the southern bridges out of Amefel, march to the capital with light horse, receive it from Elfharyn, who would almost certainly yield it to Ninévrisë as soon as she appeared at the gates, and only afterward hold the land by drawing heavy forces across from Guelessar… but, no, Cefwyn had to receive the oaths first. Then it was deep autumn. Then they dared not launch a campaign, because it was bound to be laborious and slow in rainy autumn. Tristen frowned at what he heard now, which only confirmed what he had already thought; and now he saw the map as if it were before him, the bridges that led from Amefel to Elwynor repaired this summer; likewise those that had once led from Murandys to Elwynor in the north repaired this fall. “We might still move. Open an attack from Amefel, now. Cevulirn can carry it. You have the oaths. The north may be unready, but the south could march and the north could move as soon as they can. In the meanwhile Tasmôrden will not have Ilefínian.”