“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.”
That sent more than one misgiving glance toward Tristen, and toward Emuin, who stared, arms folded in his sleeves, at the floor of the dais.
“You and I are old friends, Lanfarnesse,” Cefwyn said, feeling the whole alliance, the whole kingdom tottering. “How do you say?”
Pelumer drew a deep breath. “I have already come here on faith, my lord King. My house and the Marhanen were first to rise against the Sihhé kings. You became kings; we, your most loyal subjects on Marna’s very border. I have a great respect for wizards. I’ve lived too near ’em, too long. I like less committing my men into any pitched battle. Lanfarnesse will support you with archers, the best of my men. But I much prefer the notion of fortifications.”
“No,” said Tristen. “They will not hold. There will no man be alive, sir. There will be substance and Shadows to fight. Enough men, enough men can deter even my enemy, because he has no substance without moving men to act for him, and if his men can be frightened, it may daunt him. At very least it would remove some of his strength. If the men can be stopped, it will stop him—at least in the world of substance. But you cannot replace numbers of men with walls.”
“I like this not at all,” Sulriggan said. “This is folly, Your Majesty.
One cannot fight unholy magic with swords. Our war is against As6yneddin. We should root out the influences—all godless influences-we should purify our land of taint and accept no advice from those who carry that vile taint into our land.”
“Tristen’s is advice worth listening to,” Cefwyn said sharply, because, now it was launched, he had to keep his hand on its scruff and not have the Elwynim war and Tristen’s war become the same thing in the lords’ minds. “I suggest, sir, that we do so.”
“Wizardry and Elwynim,” Sulriggan muttered. “On our very souls, Your Majesty, —we—”
“A warning of wizardry; and these are allies opposed to intrusion into this border!”
“Heretics, Your Majesty! We cannot swear with heretics!”
“By the blessed gods whose anointing I bear, sir, hold allegiance to me, or count yourself forsworn. Bear faith to this kingdom’s allies, or, if not, wait at your fireside for the issue, and deal with me later. And I warn you, if you fail my summons when attack does come on this province, if I go only with what Guelen and southern forces I can muster, then pray for our enemies across the river, because if I prevail, I shall be next at your gates, sir, with questions to which I shall want answers. I’ve no doubt of Lord Tristen’s good will to us, and if his advice runs counter to my plans I shall still heed it and take precautions of both sorts. I will support the Elwynim who are fighting with us: it is unconscionable and foolish to turn away from them, and I will not! Olmern is already in a predicament: he cannot withdraw; and I think that Ivanor may stand with us. I think that Lord Cevulirn understands me.”
“Aye,” said Sovrag. “You do got us, m’lord King.”
“You will have cavalry, Your Majesty,” Cevulirn said, his thin lips taut.
“Cavalry and foot,” said Umanon, “as soon as we can muster, Your Majesty.”
“I shall be with you,” said Pelumer heavily. “If so many fall, we have no safety, else. But I greatly fear for us, Your Majesty.”
Cefwyn found himself almost trembling, angry at Pelumer, angry at Sulriggan, angry at Efanor, and tried to disguise it by leaning on the table. “Brother?”
“Aye, my lord King.”
Gods, that infuriating, punctilious manner.
“Will you hold Henas’amef for me? Will you be my right hand here, my viceroy, to serve here and gather forces, and advise yourself what action should be taken should anything go amiss? At any time you find it wise to withdraw to the capital, do so, but I would have you here, at my back, close enough to be of help.”
“As the northern lords come in, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. If needed. —My lords of Ylesuin, prepare to meet on Lewen plain in Arys-Emwy at the full moon. Sooner if we must. Give me the tallies you anticipate before you depart. Establish signal fires along the way through Amefel—we shall do the same for outlying villages—and set those men by fives, under canvas, and well supplied. The weather may turn any day and it will be a difficult, long watch for them.”
Heads nodded, Pelumer’s reluctantly, Sulriggan’s last of all and but slightly.
The trembling did not leave his hands. Gods, gods, he thought, first thinking it was rage, and then knowing it for fear. Why am I in such haste, he asked himself, to start this menace from cover? It might bide longer and give us more time, time to bring in the northern lords. Efanor could be right.., sometimes he is right.
Northern lords of Sulriggan’s ilk, or at least men solidly Quinalt, and Sulriggan’s natural allies. That arrant fool Sulriggan will politic with any situation. And dares front me, in this hall, and in peril of the realm? He has to fall—and soon.
“Brother,” said Efanor, “by your leave I’ll dispatch a messenger of our own, summoning half the Guelen levies. They can be in reserve in Henas’amef against Your Majesty’s need.”
He looked at Efanor’s frowning face, suspecting his motives, suspecting that Efanor, with the help of such as Sulriggan, wished to protect himself and keep himself isolated from the Amefin as much as he meant to have those men in reserve for his rescue. Did he send for them in some hour of need, there even was a chance Efanor would not send them: in his worst fears, Efanor, realizing Henas’amef’s defensive deficiencies and besieged by his priest, would feel constrained to secure a peace with Aséyneddin, abandon Ninévrisé, and cede heretic Amefel to the Elwynim for peace in his reign over provinces solidly orthodox.