“Ye do what Prince Cefwyn bids ye. Ye swear and ye become Cefwyn’s man, and ’t is all ye can do. He’s a good lord. Ain’t none better. But ye don’t cross ’im. Marhanen blood is fierce, m’lord. And there ain’t no living Sihhés. The Marhanen damned the name, and damned the arms that he give you. For that reason, His Majesty ain’t apt to be pleased in what His Highness has done.”
He listened. His heart hurt. “Then I shall send you away. You were brave to stay with me, tonight, in Cefwyn’s apartment. But I don’t want you to come to harm, Uwen. I never want you to come to harm.”
“He won’t harm me, m’lord. For his honor, he won’t be laying hands on me. I was his before he give me to you. I’m still in the guard, and he ain’t one to dispose his men to trouble. But that ain’t reckoning His Majesty the King. I’ve no wish to be watching them set your head at Skull Gate. I don’t want to see Prince Cefwyn’s there either, after the King learns what’s astir here.” He touched lips to the fist that held the medal.
“Don’t repeat none of this. Maybe ye hain’t no sense of it, m’lord, but growing up in Ynefel surely taught ye some sort of caution. Don’t ye cross Cefwyn. Don’t think of crossing him.” “I can’t, I shan’t, Uwen.”
Uwen’s hand pressed his. “Lad ... m’lord,... I give ye my oath t’ be your man, right and true, by the good gods, by their grace. That’s my word on ’t. But ye be careful. Ye keep the prince and the Lord Commander happy wi’ ye. For your own sake.” “I shall. As best I can, I shall, Uwen.”
“Let me get them boots off. Ye’d do better abed.”
Tristen thrust out his foot and braced himself for Uwen’s pull on one and the other. He shed his clothing and let Uwen put him to bed. He shivered between the cold sheets.
“Shall I blow out the lights, m’lord?”
“No. Uwen, please. Let them burn. Let them burn until morning.”
“Aye, m’lord. If ’t please ye, I’ll send for more candles. We’ll light ’er like a festival, only so’s ye sleep.”
Chapter 17
Te bell at the lower town gates tolled arrivals. Cefwyn continued to sift through the revenue reports, ignoring the bell until one of the guards outside opened the door and crossed the foyer to report that Lord Heryn Aswydd was demanding admittance.
Idrys was otherwise assigned. Cefwyn considered, finally rose and gave instructions to grant the demand, with appropriate precautions.
The lord of the Amefin had brought his twin sisters. Heryn bowed, Orien and Tarien curtsied, and Cefwyn folded his arms and leaned against the dead fireplace, secure if nothing else in the guards who had trailed this trio into the room.
“What is this at our gates?” Heryn asked.
“I do hardly know, Your Grace, being here, and not there, and not prophetic, but I will assume they are several of the neighbors.” “Send these men of yours away.”
“Patience.” Cefwyn returned to the table and perched on the corner, amid the tax records. “Though I have limited patience myself. Your tax accounts are exceedingly nuisanceful, Lord Amefel. My master of accounts daily assails me with new complexities of records-keeping.—Do believe that my humor today is not the best.”
Heryn’s face was all formality. “I shall have my seneschal make account to me where this fault may lie. But do rest assured, my lord Prince, that the Crown has always received its due.”
“You’ve furnished this hall in grand style, Amefel. I would rather iron and horses than gilt and velvets, with matters as they stand on the far borders.—Or perhaps you don’t count the Elwynim a serious danger to your interests.”
“I have constantly maintained the requisite levies.” Heryn drew a quick breath and made a wide gesture. “This is not the issue, Your Highness. There are strangers at my gate, that you may call neighbors, but I do not. I protest this treatment of me and my house. I protest the dismissal of my personal guards. I am treated like a lawbreaker. I cannot but believe that Your Highness has lent his ear to malicious influences.’
“Idrys, mean you? Pray don’t attack him. I fear he’s not here to defend himself. He’s pursuing business you set him.” “M’lord prince?”
“A messenger you managed to dispatch.” Cefwyn raised his voice and the twins backed away. “Where is your man Thewydd?”
Heryn went white, and for a time no one moved, neither he nor his mirrorlike sisters nor the equally mirrorlike guards who escorted them.
“Dispatched to your father,” Heryn answered after a moment, “that His Majesty the King may know my situation, my duress, and my complaint.”
Cefwyn let go a long breath, angry, and hoping that a message to Guelemara was the only truth. “You have the right to appeal any grievance to the King. You hardly need subterfuge to effect that, no midnight departures or disguises.’
“I have the right to walk my own hall unimpeded, but your treatment of that right makes me doubt the others.”
“You may say so, Amefel. You may complain to my lord father. I’ll seal and stamp the message myself if you like. But you will give account to me and to my father the King when the accounting comes.’
“I am prepared to do so, Your Highness, in clear conscience.”
“You have hazarded your man’s life,” Cefwyn said. “If taken, he will pay for your lack of trust in me, since Idrys, as you well know, is not a patient man.”
“My lord Prince.” Heryn spread wide his hands in an attitude of entreaty. “I protest this arrest. I have done nothing—”
Cefwyn gestured toward the records. “Nothing improper? You’ve bled this province white, sir. You’ve made the Crown look rapacious and you’ve appropriated to yourself taxes you declared to the province to be due to the Crown. Is that of advantage to us in our defense of a dangerous border? Does that win the loyalty of the peasants? Have I even cavalry to show for it? No. Gold dinner plates.’ He stalked as far as the windows, lest his anger choke him, turned and paced back, and Heryn stood with Orien and Tarien on either hand, a whey-faced lot and suddenly loathsome to him. “You may regret having appealed to His Majesty, Heryn Aswydd, since, having invoked the King’s law, you will now be unable to stop it. And I, my finely-dressed lord, and ladies, have begun a long list of questions in which my father the King will interest himself when he summons you to Guelemara. We speak of treason, sir, as well as theft.”
“My lord,” Orien began, and winced as her brother gripped her arm and pulled her back.
“Do not involve yourself,” Cefwyn advised her. He turned his shoulder to them. The bells rang down at the outer gate, distant and clear on the air, but there was another bell pealing out now, that of Skull Gate, and a clatter of hooves echoed off the inner walls. “What have you done?” Heryn asked him.
Cefwyn looked out the window, ignoring Heryn and all he represented.
The doors opened. One of the Guelen pages entered, out of breath.
Sasian, his name was, an earnest lad. Cefwyn signed to him. “Your Highness,” the lad breathed. “It’s Ivanor’s banner, and Imor’s.”
Cefwyn’s lips made a taut smile. Cevulirn and Umanon together, neighbors and allies, the horsemen of the southern plains and their city-dwelling allies from across the Lenfialim.
Here. Safe. Answering immediately to his summons. Breath left him in a long sigh, and he cast a look askance at Heryn’s pallid face. “We have guests, Amefel.”
“To be entertained at my expense?” Heryn cried. “You are quartering Ivanim in my town?”
“Expense, expense, matters with you do seem to have a single song, Lord Heryn. We are conferring on matters of import to all the region; the others will doubtless be arriving before twilight.” Heryn opened his mouth and shut it quickly.