Fortress of Eagles

He had learned. He needed no one these days to hit him three and four times. He looked up at His Holiness, —smiled his grandfather’s smile, and saw his brother blanch and the Holy Father’s jaw set.

Did he need the Holy Father? The Holy Father might hold his fiefdom from the gods, but he needed the blessing of the Marhanen king as much as the king needed the Quinalt’s.

But later? After the wedding?

“A narrow path,” he said, “a narrowpath, Your Holiness, royal disfavor on one side, in which, who knows, I mightfind a new Patriarch and Your Holiness might suffer a fatal indigestion. Consider your path: royal disfavor on the one hand and a wakening of the Old Magic on the other. Sorcery, you fear—so say I, and I tell you, I will have myself a new priestbefore I suffer any discommodation in my marriage, in this campaign, in the installation of Her Grace as Regent of Elwynor.“

The Holy Father’s face had gone stark and pale as ivory. A vein throbbed in his temple. The thunder still rumbled overhead.

“Your Majesty is close to blasphemy.”

“Dare I suggest, Your Holiness, that Your Holiness has seized marvelously on opportunity tonight. I daresay some priest would confess, if questioned stringently, and, oh, I would not stick at that to get that confession, never doubt me. Such a man would swear that Your Holiness bade him obtain a Sihhë coin among the small practitioners of magics that still flourish, yes, even in Guelessar, even in the heart of Quinalt piety. I know I could find such a man and his tale would be whatever I wish. The lightning was only opportune.”

“Brother,” Efanor said, overwhelmed, “for the good gods…”

“Oh, let us not couple good and gods in this priest’s company. His Holiness would create a breach between himself and me only if he were an utter fool—which he is not. Being no fool, nor dealing with one, he will bless the wedding and make very certain there are no ill omens or offending liturgy in the ceremony. He has overreached himself, coming perilously close to extinction. Let us see if we can arrive at a definition of our positions, we two, tonight. Now.”

“I advised two kings, most gracious Majesty, I counseled your grandfather and your father. I advise you now for your good, that the Quinalt can find exception for everything you ask. Everything but one. Nor can I unsay what is being said in half the houses in Guelemara tonight. If Your Majesty wishes not to see a breach between Quinalt and Crown, let him not place the Quinaltine at odds with him! The northern barons are in doubt of this marriage. The Quinaltine, on Your Majesty’s part, would stand firmly with Your Majesty, but ca

“I shall value Your Holiness’s view,” Cefwyn said, coldly purposeful as the old man was purposeful in every well-prepared word. “Her Grace has a strong right to inherit of her father the Regent, and now this new Usurper is advancing on her capital… with wizardous assistance, Holy Father. Threatening all of us. As witness your roof. Tristen it was who came to us with the first warning of sorcery, Mauryl’s heir, and would I had understood that warning earlier than I did, but I suggest if Your Holiness canmuster the wherewithal to turn sorcery from the Quinalt roof, Your Holiness should consider doing so quite urgently. Even so great a wizard as Mauryl Gestaurien did not withstand what assailed us at Lewenbrook and could not safeguard his tower from destruction or his own life from extinction. Dare you take up the battle—without the Warden of Ynefel?”

“The prayers of the righteous are not to be despised.”

“Excellent. Pray away and keep a supply of roof tiles. Meanwhile we stand a chance of settling the Elwynim succession in a lasting peace, gods send us common sense. As Mauryl’s heir, Tristen opposed hostile sorcery by force of arms on Lewen field. And did Your Holiness wish to hear us who wereon Lewen field, I do strongly believe that we are appointed one vital chance, byMauryl’s defense, and that the gods have guided us to this marriage, these unlikely allies—”

“Do not lesson us on the gods, Your Majesty!”

“Do not lesson meon policy! Sorcery has bent all its strength to prevent this marriage!”

“To gainthis marriage, equally well!”

“Oh, no, no, no, you dare not say so much, Holy Father. I assure you, you dare not say so much. I was there, Holy Father. Sorcery threw the rebel Aseynéddin at us, at Lewenbrook. That failed. Now it advances on Ilefínian through Tasmôrden’s attack; and ifthat lightning bolt that descended on your roof is sorcery, then the prayers of the righteous did damned little to prevent it. Sorcery tried once to overthrow us. It tries to cast misfortune in the path of a marriage it does not want, Holy Father, and if there was by any remote chance some sorcerous transformation of a good Guelen pe

Thathung in the air, and occasioned immediate reconsiderations and retrenchment: “Your Majesty is in our devotions constantly. We only suggest possibilities.”

“We value your goodwill, Holy Father.”

“And who will say, if this is sorcery, that there may not be another, fatal attempt? If it is sorcery that directed the lightning, I pray Your Majesty come to sober thought that, as you may believe, Idid not direct it. Your Majesty wishes a wedding free of omens. I ca

“ Youca

“ In the name of the gods, I ca

Fear. There was the word. His Holiness was not the young priest who had stood with his grandfather, or exorcised ghosts from the Guelesfort stairs.

Cefwyn stared at him in bleak consideration, leaned forward, chin on fist, and stared longer.

And longer, while his heart beat hard with anger and his eyes refused to see except through a dark pall. Something thumped into place; it felt that way. Safety for Tristen—power to his southern lords—comeuppance for Ryssand.

“Amefel is vacant,” he said at last, out of that moil of shadow, and saw his brother open his mouth.

And shut it.

“Tristen might do very well in Amefel,” Cefwyn said with a deeper breath, and leaned back in the seat of judgment, regarding all before him. “What says Your Holiness?”

“To make this creature lord of a province?”

“He is already lord of Althalen and Ynefel, within the selfsame province. You wish no untoward doings; I wish a peaceful wedding and an end of talk about the roof. Dare we agree that we agree?”

Again, a hesitation. A quaver in the voice. A man who had danced with lightning was, whatever his other faults, grateful for simple things, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Never mistake me,” Cefwyn said, and left a long silence. “Never mistake me, Holy Father. As I shall never mistake you. We each have our domains. Never cross into mine.”