They passed the intersection of hall and stairs and came to that chamber they called the Lesser Hall, where the guards had brought him to meet with Cefwyn the first night he came here.
“Wait outside,” Idrys bade Uwen.
“Uwen, do so,” Tristen said, because Idrys’ tone had not been polite.
Uwen was soaked; he was; he wanted to have answers from Cefwyn while Cefwyn was to be found; and as quickly as possible take himself and all his guards upstairs into dry clothing. He did not expect it would take long, or that Cefwyn could spare much time for him, but he was determined that Cefwyn should know what was done outside, if Cefwyn was in any wise ignorant. He did not wholly trust Idrys, regardless of Cefwyn’s word. He saw reasons the lords around Cefwyn might wish not to inform Cefwyn of everything that happened, and he still found it hard to believe that Cefwyn knew of that horror outside.
He entered the hall behind Idrys, into a space which now held a large table. He brought smoke with him, the reek clinging to his clothes, but he could not be certain he was the sole source. The lords from the south and strangers who had come with Cefwyn’s brother were gathered about the table, and their armed escorts stood about, crowding the walls, some of them rain-draggled, proving that they, too, had been outside.
So perhaps Cefwyn did know. But there was no dampness about Cefwyn. He saw Cefwyn and Efanor among those standing at the table, over a collection of maps, and before he could approach, Idrys arrived at Cefwyn’s side and whispered something precautionary in Cefwyn’s ear.
Cefwyn looked about at him in anger. “I told you stay to your room!”
He was shaken by the anger, dismayed, and he did not thank Idrys for whatever Idrys had said. He remembered that Idrys clearly knew what was going on in the courtyard. But he still held out hope Cefwyn did not.
“They’ve hanged Lord Heryn,” he said to Cefwyn. “And other men. I don’t understand, m’lord.”
Cefwyn seemed disturbed, and still angry. “They’ve beheaded Lord Heryn. Noble blood does have its privilege. But you’ve clearly passed the bounds of things you need to know, sir. —Idrys, why did you bring him here? Damn it, why isn’t he in his room?”
“Your Majesty, Lord Tristen begged urgently to have personal audience with you. I thought it might be of more moment than it seems.”
“No, sir,” Tristen said, and evaded Idrys’ reach to come to the table between Cefwyn and lord Pelumer. “No, sir. I need to speak with you.”
“Not now, Tristen.”
“Sir, —Emuin—” He had diminishing confidence he had any argument at all regarding Lord Heryn, but that was not the only cause he had of disturbance tonight, and it was not the only thing Cefwyn needed to know. But he recalled that Uwen doubted his hearing Emuin, and Cefwyn did not look patient of his stories or his questions at the moment. “Emuin warned me of a danger—and this—”
There was a murmur among the assembled lords.
“What danger?” Cefwyn asked. “When?”
“Tonight, sir, now.”
“Is Emuin here?” Cefwyn asked. “Has he come?”
“M’lord King,” Idrys said, “Emuin is not here.” Idrys took Tristen’s arm, and his fingers hurt. “Let me take you upstairs, young lord.”
“No! M’lord, I saw it—” He resisted Idrys’ attempt to draw him away, and it was clear on faces all about that no one of them believed him, or thought it likely he had spoken with Emuin at all. He kept the struggle between himself and Idrys a quiet one, and kept the pain Idrys caused entirely to himself. “I shall wait my turn, m’lord King, if you please. I think I might know something useful, but I don’t wish to speak what I don’t know.” He thought of Uwen shivering in the hall. “Only let me dismiss Uwen and my guards upstairs. They’re wet through.” “So are you.”
“Yes, sir, but I want to stay.”
“Dismiss your men,” Cefwyn said. “Page. Get him a cloak.”
“From his quarters, Your Majesty?” the page asked.
“Give him mine! Good gods!” Cefwyn was in pain, and limped when he moved—Cefwyn ought to be in his bed, Tristen thought, but Cefwyn was trying to decide something with his maps that were strewn across the tabletop, and with these men, not all of whom were pleasant or agreeable. Tristen took his small permission to go to the door, and put his head out.
Uwen was there, shivering till his teeth rattled. So were the two night guards, in no better case.
“Cefwyn’s guards will see me back,” Tristen said quietly, for there was business and argument going on behind him, among the lords in the room. “Please go upstairs and go to bed, Uwen. Have the guards change clothes. I’ll be safe.”
“Ye’re sopped, too, m’lord. Shall I bring a cloak down?”
“They have me one. I’ll not be long. —Or if I am, please go on to bed.
The guards here will see me upstairs. There’s no need of you to stay.”
“Aye, m’lord,’ Uwen said, not sorry to be sent for a change of clothes, he was certain. Uwen was shivering and miserable, and gave him no argument about it.
He shut the door to the hall and took the heavy cloak from the page who waited at his elbow. He wrapped the thick, lined velvet about him with relief and went back among the others in the room.
“What happened inside Amefel and on the border,” Cefwyn was saying, “we must answer, early and strongly. Heryn claimed his frauds against the Crown frightened him to such a desperate treason. Heryn claimed that his only intention was to call the King here and to arrange an attack of a small Elwynim force—he swore that he meant to be there with his own forces, to come to my father’s rescue. He had the effrontery to say—” Cefwyn drew an angry breath. “That had my father not moved early and had I not had him under arrest, the plan would have worked and my father would not have died.”
There was a muttering among the lords. Tristen thought it a foolish plan on Heryn’s part, a dangerous and desperate plan. He saw the motions of troops in his mind, he saw the lay of the land.
And he thought that there had been far more enemies than seemed likely for a false threat against Cefwyn’s father.
“This was Heryn’s claim,” Cefwyn said, “and we could obtain no other word from him. From two prisoners, common men, we have a name, Lord Caswyddian of Lower Saissonnd. Style of shields and various leavings on the field do indicate the river provinces of Elwynor. The prisoners did not see him on the field, but avow a son of his led them in what was given to be a retaliation for the execution of five Saissondim under flag of truce—this never happened, but this was what they were told. Sovrag’s men are not back with a report, but either by bridge or by barge, the Elwynim have at least light horse across the river in numbers.
Which they may have withdrawn. Disregarding the question whether Heryn told the truth, whether this story of the prisoners reflects something Heryn did, which he denied, or whether the Elwynim betrayed Heryn and advantaged themselves of his folly to do far more than he wished—a possibility which I do not discount—I am not in either case convinced the Elwynim Regent was behind the attack. That—is behind my reasoning.”
“M’lord,” Efanor said, “this was not a rag-tag element. These were well armed. We have names.”
“Of a lord and men bearing no device, no banner. This is not the Regent. It is a sign of the Regent’s lords with the bit in their teeth. It is a sign which way the wind is blowing should the Regent die.”
“Our father is dead!” Efanor said. “What matter which cursed Elwynim crossed the river? The Regent is ultimately responsible! You do not consider accepting any marriage offer from them! You would not do this!”
“Did I say so? Have I done so? I point out that we are not dealing with a well-organized enemy, brother, and that a message to the Elwynim Regent possibly—if it cannot produce us names—may still produce action, even strengthen the hand of the Regent against troublesome elements within his own realm and get us the justice we’re due.”