Fortress of Eagles

But the color meant something among the nobles of Ylesum, and these, and the draperies downstairs… all this green said Aswyddat every glance.

“Will Lord Heryn’s gold di

“They might, m’lord. Might well.”

He saw a servant standing then, waiting to be noticed, a reflection across the room. He turned and acknowledged the presence.

“Your Grace, the bath is ready.”

“Heat more water. Bring more towels. My men and I all will use the bath.”

“ ’T ain’t lordly,” Uwen said, “m’lord, and lord ye are, now, lad. The men and me can wash in the scullery.”

“Not tonight,” he said. “No. Here,” he said, and that was an end of it. He went to his bath, and afterward found the servants had stripped the bed in the adjacent chamber, laid on clean bedclothes and strewed herbs over them, crushed, dried petals, as well as set pomanders in silver dishes everywhere, until the place smelled of last summer’s flowers… or a woman’s perfume.

But the air smelled of cooked sausage, too, and when he walked out to the fire to surrender the bath to Uwen, his guards, sitting at the fireplace, offered him hot tea, bread, and toasted sausage. “From our own stores, m’lord,” Syllan said. They had toasted it on a knife blade that he was sure had not come from this room.

So Uwen had his bath, and they camped, he and his men, like wayfarers in the splendor of the Aswyddim.

The door opened, and someone came in… Lusin, it proved to be, back from the stables, with straw clinging to his cloak. “Bath is waiting,” Uwen said.

“Captain,” Lusin said, “a word with you, sir.”

Uwen got up, and went to hear the report, and no one’s attention was quite for the fireside, then. Tristen listened, but heard nothing, only saw Uwen’s face grow grim and glum, and saw Uwen shake his head as he answered Lusin, no good news, it was clear. Uwen’s shoulders slumped in a second shake of his head.

The cheer had gone out of their gathering. They all watched as Lusin left again and Uwen trudged back to the fire to sit down.

“What news?” Tristen asked.

“His lordship the viceroy is on his way an’ out of the town for good an’ all,” Uwen said. “Didn’t stay for a man to go with ’im.”

“And are you sad on that account?” Tristen asked.

Uwen heaved a deep sigh. “No, m’lord, not to see his lordship’s back, good riddance.”

“Then what more? Uwen?”

“His lordship rid out on Liss.”

Tristen had been at an ebb of his energies, and now found himself awake and angry.

“We might send a messenger,” Syllan said, “m’lord, and ask her back.”

“The stablemaster ain’t master Haman,” Uwen said glumly. “It’s some man the viceroy put in charge, and the damn fool let some boy give him Liss, who’s been on the road hard going all yesterday, and if he don’t run ’er to ruin in the hour, it’ll be a wonder.”

“He will not,” Tristen said. He was never so indignant, and never so sure of a thing. He sawa roadway, feltthe shift in the gray space, felt the world shaken and his breath grown thin. The mare shied away from under her heavy burden, her rider flew over her shoulder, and hoofbeats echoed in the hazy gray.

“M’lord?”

The mare slowed, weary as she was, drew the cold air into her nostrils, and smelled grain and warm straw on the wind out of the west. Footsteps and curses approached her. She shied from reaching hands, turned, bolted off to follow that waft through the dark, freed of weight on her back, freed of spur and rein.

“M’lord?” Uwen said, and the mare, Liss, turned north again, across open meadow.

“Find out,” he said to Uwen, against all honor, “find out who is in Edwyll’s household, and to whom they send messages.”

There was a small silence. Uwen had looked tired and distressed. Now the distress grew. But the understanding was there, too, what was required of him, what the exchange was.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“I don’t trust even Captain Anwyll in this,” he said, and included Syllan, Tawwys and Aran in his glance. “You are my guards. You I trust. Find out everything about Crissand. What is shaken is apt to slide loose. Emuin says so, and he knows. Wizardry will always find that unhappy man, that book on the shelf, that cup too near the edge.” To no other Men these days would he have spoken so plainly, but with them he had no longer any doubt. “Guard Meiden. Watch him. Name me all his friends, all his enemies. —And find us all the old servants of this hall, so we afford no more chance for such mistakes. Find master Haman, find Cook, the maids in the kitchens. Find those people, and put them back where they were, and restore the Zeide as it was this summer. There was a boy…” He had given orders regarding almost all the world within his power. But thinking of all the potential pieces, he cast back to his first day in Henas’amef, and the boy who had guided him into a trap. There, too, was an element that once had moved to some wizardly direction, and he wanted all such pieces within his ken and under his hand. “Paisi is his name. The gate-guards know him. Tell me when you find him.”

“M’lord,” Uwen said, and Tawwys, and the rest, with bows of heads and solemn attention.

“He will not keep Liss,” Tristen said with equal solemnity.

“Yes, m’lord,” Uwen said very quietly.

The dismay had quieted. Or had become better hidden. He had brought Uwen to something very different than Uwen would have ever chosen, and offended against Uwen’s sensibilities and Uwen’s heart. But he saw no other way for all of them to be safe in Amefel.

He sat, in this strange encampment of his men, in front of a fireplace in a place lately full of dead men.

The mare moved at a walk now, weary and aching in her steps. But she smelled apple trees and thistle. She smelled summer, and the wind continually told her lies.

Tristen wished, if he wished for anything more than a province, a palace, and gold di

And for Cefwyn to be back in his apartment like the sun in the heaven above.

And for them to wake in the morning with everything put right and no war in the offing.

But Cefwyn was no longer a prince in exile, and he was no longer an i

He thought of the mare, moving from meadow to a nightbound road. He thought of the silly pigeons of the Zeide roofs, and knew the nooks and cra

He had learned when he was still i

The men around him had let down their watchfulness, and looked as weary as he had ever seen them. And when all the to and fro of bathing and water-carrying was done and the servants were banished to the hall, Tristen found himself wearier and wearier, the wine cup all but falling from a hand that had wielded a sword in the long, shadow-haunted night… that lately bloodied silver-wrapped sword which, like some gray, grim bird of prey, had found itself another lurking place, a new fireside to lean by.

Dared he rest? A seam of daylight showed between two dark velvet curtains, but in this room it was still night. He was aware that Uwen went to the door and spoke to someone and came back. He struggled for wakefulness, watching the fire leap and dance, an element the same in every campfire, every fireplace, and never diminishing until one failed to feed it. Master Emuin had sat by such a fire tonight, cold and complaining, almost certainly.