Ynefel, which held always a warm, homelike feeling for him was a terrible place, where he he! had done something unthinkable and destructive.
Mʼlord, Uwen said, moving his horse close. Mʼlord?
He could not move. He could not look aside from that structure of glowing lines, feeling always less than he needed to be, less wise, less kind, less able to create something like this, so fair and so bright in the gray world.
His handiwork was other than this.
Men feared him. All men did well to fear him.
Uwen took the reins somehow, and turned Petelly about, and once they were faced the other way he realized that Ninvris was close beside him on one hand, and the guardsmen had gathered about them, hands on weapons and yet with no enemy against which they could defend him.
He put his hands on Petellyʼs neck, and patted his neck. I can manage, Uwen, he said as steadily as he could.
Mʼlord, Ninvris said frightened, too, he thought. He had taken her into danger. I saw nothing nothing amiss here.
Then the harm, if there is harm, is in me.
No such thing, mʼlord, Uwen said firmly, and, leaning from his saddle, managed to pass the reins over Petellyʼs head again, which required his help to straighten out. Petelly lifted his head, making the maneuver more difficult; but he secured the reins, settled Petellyʼs anxious starts in one direction and the other, and as their small party began to ride home, went quietly, reasonably back the way they had come, among the hills, shadowing with night, and finally across the road, down the busy center lane of the camp, where wagons and men continued to come in.
The leg ached, ached so that a cup of wine was Cefwynʼs chief wish, far more than a supper, no matter the servantsʼ efforts. It was past dark, there was no sign of Tristen and Ninvris, and he had debated with himself whether to offend Ninvris by sending men out or whether to sit and worry.
But the mere sight of Cevulirn and Umanon was reassuring, and persuaded him he had so many men in the vicinity that no enemy scouts would be too daring, and that the Elwynim rebel that tried Tristenʼs mettle would find that small band no easy mark at all. Sit still, he told himself. Let them learn what they can learn in their own way. Sending someone into wizardous doings was not wise.
Sending two most valuable persons to seek out wizardry worried him intensely.
But he had trusted Tristen too little so far. He could not rule by hampering his best counselors, whatever the frightening nature of their investigations.
Outside the royal pavilion, the White Horse of the Ivanim and the Wheel of Imor Lenalim were snapping in a stiff wind alongside the Dragon and beside them, the Tower and Star, the Regentʼs Tower and the Amefin Eagle. The wagons belonging to the Guelen regulars were disgorging their supplies. The Duke of Ivanor and the Duke of Imor had pitched their tents alongside his, with Tristenʼs on the other side, next Gwywynʼs tent, which was the command post for the Dragon and the Princeʼs Guard. They made no individual fires tonight, in the tents of the common men, so as to give any spies that did venture onto surrounding hilltops no convenient way to count their number. But fires were starting outside, and cooks were hard at work with the big kettles, boiling up soup and unpacking hard bread they had brought from town. The common men would not fare at all badly tonight, mutton stew and enough ale to wash it down, very good ale, he had ordered that personally. But it would not be enough to become drunk.
There was a grimmer and very businesslike feel to this camp, from which they would set out on their final march either to fight or to establish a camp in the face of the enemy, from which they would launch a more deliberate war.
There was more and quicker order, for one thing, so Idrys had reported from his latest tour about. Untaught peasants, accepted into Amefelʼs line, followed lordsʼ and officersʼ orders and soldiersʼ examples tonight in the not unreasonable confidence that their lives very soon would hang upon what they learned. So from a slovenly behavior at the outset, things were done remarkably well this evening among the Amefin, and two of the Amefin village units, of Hawwy vale, were at drill even in the dark and by lantern-light, an excess of zeal, Idrys said, and he agreed: they dared not have the men exhausted.
Meanwhile, Kerdin Qwyllʼs-son said, the Guelen regulars moved among the Amefin, impeccable and meticulous in their procedures, instructing those who would listen. A few officers had gone about near the fires and had eager and worshipful entourages of wise Amefin lads who wanted to live long lives.
Among them, too, in the attraction of the bonfires, were Cevulirnʼs riders, drilled from boyhood to ride the land and teach the young village lads what time they were outside the service of Cevulirnʼs court. They had set the small Amefin section of the horse-camp in good order very quickly, and joined the tale-telling around the fires. So did Imorʼs men, mostly townsmen, well-ordered and well-drilled; merchantsʼ and tradesmenʼs sons, they drilled on every ninth day, and of those merchantsʼ sons every one that afforded his horse and attendants was proud and careful in his equipment a haughty lot, more so than Cevulirnʼs riders, who, if the ale did start flowing, might grow less reserved than their gray, pale lord.
But they had not heard from Pelumer and they had not received Olmernʼs messenger.
He had made his third venture to the door, and to the fire at which his own cook was preparing the lordsʼ fare, when horses came down the main aisle of the camp, and he saw Ninvris and Tristen and their escort coming in safe and sound.
Then he could let go his anxiousness, particularly when firelight lit the arriving partyʼs faces, and Ninvris leapt down and ran to him saying that things were very well at Althalen.
It was beautiful, she said, accepting his hands. It was beautiful. I wish you had seen
I doubt that I could, he said, conscious of Guelenfolk about and wondering what she might have said or seen out there that might find its way to orthodox ears; but he had not meant to make it a complaint.
The lord Regent protects us here, Tristen said. I was right. He has won Althalen. Heʼs held. Men loyal to the Regent died there, and so did his enemies but most of all is Emwy village. Theyʼve sided with the lord Regent. I think they have, all along.
They fed us when we were camped there, Ninvris said. They kept us secret from Caswyddianʼs men. They were good people, in Emwy village.
Then the gods give them rest, Cefwyn said, though he thought perhaps the wish was ill considered. They were uneasy dead, by what Tristen claimed, and would always be.
But Tristen was looking downcast as he turned Petelly off to the groom. He stood gazing off into the distance at the moment, and comprehension seemed to flicker in those pale eyes, cold and clear in the firelight, as if he had heard from some distant voice.
What is it? Cefwyn steeled himself to ask as he should have asked in council before. He had determined to mend his faults. And to tell Ninvris what he did know.
Trouble, Tristen said, trouble. My lord, I very dangerously misstepped tonight. He carried me to Ynefel. I was very foolish. I almost lost everything.
What did he gain? He did not need to ask who it was Tristen meant; and he had no room for charity. Tristen?
Little, I hope. Perhaps knowledge of me. I do not think lord Pelumer will join us. My enemy is moving. He is well ahead of us.
Tasien? Ninvris asked in alarm, and looked at Tristen.
Tristen had spilled it. Gods knew what else he had let loose. We fear Lord Tasien may have fallen, Cefwyn said, gently. My lady, Tristen only fears so. At this point