They had to start earlier tomorrow morning. They had to reach Lord Tasienʼs encampment at Emwy Bridge in order to hold Asyneddin in Elwynor; at very least, if they were too late, they had to do something to keep from meeting Asyneddin on ground Asyneddin or his wizardly ally chose.
Wizardry.Sorcery, rather. It was the first time he had ever used that word advisedly; if it ever applied, that dark art which Emuin had named in the necessary lessons of a prince of a land with such a history, it should apply to this ghost, this whatever it was that Tristen feared.
But they faced mortal enemies too, and it would be fatal to panic, to tire his forces, or wear down either the horses the heavy horsemen used for travel, or the warhorses who would, over much shorter distance and under all the weight of their armor, carry them into battle. Nor dared he have wagons and draft teams broken down under rushed and imprudent handling: that would be as fatal as losing them to the enemy.
He looked across at Tristen to ask what he thoughtand saw that Tristen gazed as often he did toward the west, toward Marna.
Toward Ynefel, Cefwyn thought. Now the nature of Tristenʼs lapses seemed transparent, which they had never been to this degree before, with walls to mask their direction.
If it will satisfy you, Cefwyn said to him, fearing that attention of his to the west, once we have settled with the Elwynim matter, next spring, I shall agree we must concern ourselves with Ynefel. So I plead with you, my friend, as you swore to bemy friend, delay what you can delay. Sovragʼs boats can provide you and what forces you need a safe way to Ynefel, if go you must. No walking that end of Marna. You may have done it once under Maurylʼs protection, but never think of going there alone. Never think of leaving us. I shall stand by you at your need but now I have need of you. You are my eyes toward that enemy. If you fail me I am blind. Do you understand that?
Tristen looked at him, lifted his hand to the northwest, between forest edge and plains. He will meet us beforeEmwy.
It was possible Tristen had heard nothing of what he said. Are you certain? he asked Tristen.
Yes, Tristen said distantly. Then: Yes. I have feared so all day. Now I know. I wish not.
It meant Tasienʼs annihilation, almost certainly. Cefwynʼs heart sank, and he glanced aside to see who rode in hearing of them. Idrys was. Ninvris was speaking with one of the Guelen guards he had assigned to guard her, and could not have heard. More of Maurylʼs visions?
Tristen shook his head. Mine, sir.
Is Lord Tasien fallen, then?
I think he is, sir. I feel it certain. I have feared it for hours.
The news was maddening. He did not want to believe it.
Then Asyneddin has crossed the river. That is what you are saying.
Yes, sir.
Donʼt say it to Her Grace, and donʼt say it to anyone yet. Even Uwen. Not until I say so.
Yes, sir.
Across the river. Then, damn it. He looked where the scouts had ridden over the hills to the south. Where is Lord Cevulirn? And when will we find him? he asked, with his fatherʼs irreverence for visions and, still, a hope that wizardry would fail or find exception. Vision me that vision and save my scouts the hazard.
Tristen gave a visible shiver, a drawing in of the shoulders. No. I would not venture to say, lord King. I donʼt see them. But I do see a shadow on the landwestward and north, that is not good. That is not at all good.
A shadow. Wizardry, you mean.
It is, sir. But itʼs all the same a Shadow.
Cefwyn scanned the western horizon and saw nothing. You can see bad news but not good? Is that it? Or what doyou see?
Things that a wizard touches. My enemy is withAsyneddin. He is atYnefel.
Oneʼs at the bridge, oneʼs in the heart of Marna! How can he be two places at once?
I donʼt think heʼs at Althalen. I hope, sir, I do hope for Althalen to be safe. If it isnʼt
If it isnʼt, weʼre destined to camp there tonight. We rely on camping there and passing that place without being engaged. If there was a possibility of this, you might have told me before now!
I would have told you, sir, if I thought he was there. I donʼt think so. And going overland is far slower. But where Lord Cevulirn is, I donʼt know.
Wizards. It was enough to give a man pause. And when Tristen was rapt in thought he forgot all instructions of protocols, all agreements, all that was between them he simply told what he believed; and increasingly he did believe it. He had a sudden vision of himself, a man of practical Marhanen blood, pursuing Tristenʼs will-oʼ-the-wisp enemies across two provinces of ancient superstitions, elder gods, and demonstrable wizardry.
Scratch an Amefin and wizard blood bled forth. And if he fought for Amefel against what tried to claim its ancient soil it was most reasonably a war of wizards. By his own choice, a Sihh standard, black and ominous, fluttered beside the Marhanen Dragon. By his own choices the Amefin rural folk, emboldened by the fall of the Aswydds and the impotence of their own lords, had flocked to Tristenʼs standard. He could bear with that.
But in Guelessar and the northern provinces were honest and good and loyal men who would shrink in horror from what their King had allied with, even if their King won.
If their King lost a province and retreated into the heartland of Ylesuin, with sorcery let loose in Amefel and the Elwynim in its employ he would have failed his oath to his own people. The wailing of slain children had haunted his grandfather to his dying hour. In the godsʼ good name what might haunt him hereafter?
A rider, Tristen said, and he saw it at the same moment: a scout coming back full tilt down the hills toward them.
More bad news? he asked himself. He braced himself for it. Idrys swung closer, clearly seeing it. Gwywyn and Ninvris came near.
The man of the Princeʼs Guard, as all their scouts were of that regiment slid to a walk alongside them. Your Majesty, the scout breathed, while his horse panted and blew. Your Majesty, dust on the south all along the south, mʼlord. My companion rode ahead to see.
Fall back and find Qwyllʼs-son. Have him inform the ranks. Pass it back by rider.
Yes, mʼlord. The man drew rein and fell back in the line.
It may be Cevulirn, Cefwyn said. That would be very good news.
Certainly better than such sightings on our north, Idrys muttered. Idrys had been close on Tristenʼs other side, close enough to have heard his exchange with Tristen. And Idrys believed bad news before good. Always.
Coming from the south, they must be ours, Ninvris said.
Tristen said, solemnly, They are ours, my lady. But weare to their north. Best they be certain who weare.
Tristen said such a thing. Something else had clearly unfolded to him, in only so few days.
Possibilities unfolded to the Marhanen King, too.
What if it were the writer of theArt of WarMauryl had brought back? His mentor of that long-ago text, riding unguessed beside him?
It was too cursed poetic. And, no, Tashnen was an engineer and a strategist.