“He does.”
“And the earl of Meiden overheard this plot.”
“He and I,” Tristen said. “Tasmôrden knew about Tarien’s baby, and sent Lord Cuthan to Ryssand, to make trouble.”
“That he did,” Idrys said.
“But more than that,” Tristen said, “Ryssand’s agreed to kill Cefwyn. That’s what I sent with Anwyll. Cefwyn mustn’t let Ryssand’s men near him.”
“That the letter told me,” Ninévrisë said in anguish. “And Cefwyn knows it… but late. I don’t know how I know, but I did learn it late, didn’t I? I felt it, the farther I rode… part of it was late! And if he’d known—if he’d known when Ryssand was in court—”
“Wizardry,” Tristen said. “The weather—everything’s gone back and forth, from what I wish, what Tasmôrden’s wizardry wishes, wherever it comes from.”
“Wizardry indeed,” Idrys said darkly, “and I belong with my king.”
“I don’t wish to keep you,” Tristen said, “but let Uwen come with Gedd, too, since Uwen’s heard all we’ve done here. They’ll ride with you as far as you need. Cevulirn is already at the river, with Sovrag and Umanon. Pelumer’s rangers are wherever they need be, not mentioning Aeself’s band, Elwynim, who watch up and down the river. All our supplies are in place: we can be across the river in one night and reach Ilefínian in three.”
“Do you say so?” Ninévrisë said, as if all the weight of days on the road had lifted. Rarely, too, did Idrys’ grim countenance ever show his heart, but his relief in hearing that was visible in every line of him.
“Well done.” Then, more sharply, as if a thought had come to him. “Sovrag’s there, you say. With boats.”
“One boat, always, if not others.”
“Can he set me ashore at the Murandys bridge? Can he possibly ferry the horses?”
“I don’t know. One man, two—with horses. Perhaps.”
Idrys gnawed his lip, doubtless weighing the risks involved and the fact that once at Anwyll’s camp, there was no other way but the river or the roads on the far side of the bridge—but a vast stony dome and a meander of deep woods lay between the bridge at Anwyll’s camp and that bridge Cefwyn would use to cross into Elwynor: Tristen had seen those hills not in the flesh but in his dreams of Owl, a jagged maze of rock and forest on both sides of the river, rough land that had been the saving of Ninévrisë’ and her father, and of no few men this winter who had escaped Ilefínian—but nowhere in it were trails fit for horses: Idrys and Ninévrisë had surely come here by the longer way round, down by Assurnford, to make any time at all.
And to escape that long swing south by a fast ride north to the camp and a windblown course upriver to Cefwyn’s bridge… indeed, if Sovrag could, it would save time.
“The winds I may wish you,” Tristen said, “but only as well as I’ve wished the weather, which is sometimes good and sometimes not—the winds might be foul for days, and I don’t know how many horses they can manage, or even if they can. But I know Elwynim have crossed with their horses, northerly, by swimming. It’s a great risk.”
“If not the boats, then the swim,” Idrys said. “Afoot until I can find a horse. Cefwyn expects you to come with all your force, as soon as you can. And to protect Her Grace.”
“I’ll ride after you as soon as tonight.—Emuin is here,” he said to Ninévrisë. “Stay with him. Tassand will take care of anything you wish.”
“I have no doubts of either of them,” Ninévrisë said.
“Uwen will go as far as need be, then. We’ve signals among us, for the rangers. He’ll show you. And when you come there, sir, tell Cevulirn secure the far side: I’ll be there, perhaps before he can cross.”
“M’lord,” Uwen said faintly, “you’ll be takin’ only the new lads wi’ ye.”
“I’ll be safe,” Tristen said, with no doubt in his mind, and Idrys took the moment, grimy hands and all, to take a quarter cup of wine and a morsel of bread and cheese.
“I’ll get me kit,” Uwen said, rising, “by ‘r leave, m’lord, and I’ll bring Gedd.”
“Half an hour, Captain,” Idrys said.
“Yes, sir,” Uwen said, and left quickly. Tassand took that departure for a signal to come in and report Ninévris딑s accommodation ready.
“I’ll enjoy the tea so long as it’s here,” Ninévrisë said, cradling the cup in muddy fingers. “And thank you: I’ll be grateful.”
She was at the end of the strength she had, and sustaining herself in the gray space: Tristen had been aware of that failing, and lent strength of his own, steadying, wary of Tarien’s existence above— and aware suddenly of another presence, nearer, at the door.
Owl flew in, eliciting a motion of fright from Ninévrisë; and immediately after Owl, came Emuin.
Ninévrisë held out a trembling, anticipating hand, and Emuin took it like a courtier, pressed it in his.
“Safe,” Emuin said. “You slipped up on us. Slipped up on me, wily that you are, and that’s no mild achievement. We had no idea you were coming.”
“You know what’s happened,” Ninévrisë said.
“I’ve heard,” Emuin said. “Unfortunately, so has the Aswydd girl, I fear, but no matter, no matter, you’re here and Cefwyn’s other advisor…” With a glance toward Idrys. “… is soon on his way back, I gather.”
“You gather the truth,” Idrys said, and washed down a bite. “As fast as horses can move us.” He rose, a tall, daunting presence. “I fear, Your Grace, someone’s followed my men, picked off my messengers, and my lord’s couriers, and known in each instance when and where they’d be.”
They all looked at him.
“What do you mean?” Ninévrisë asked. “Ryssand?”
“Ryssand’s treachery, ultimately. But you say Gedd was followed. Now Cenas hasn’t come. It wasn’t for lack of secrecy. But secrecy’s failed us. Either it’s wizardry, which is not a talent among my men or Ryssand’s, or the culprit doesn’t get his knowledge out of thin air, but from councils.”
“Who?” Tristen asked.
“Someone within my circles.—If you’re the wizard you say, master grayrobe, wizard me this, and tell me who is the traitor.”
Tristen stood still. Owl had landed on a chair arm, and folded his wings as Emuin considered the question in the gray space and out. Tristen did so, too, thinking of all the officers who came and went, and all the pages and servants.
“I assure you I’ll consider the question, master crow,” Emuin said. “If I find an answer I’ll send it to Tristen. He knows how fast.”
“I’ll be to a horse,” Idrys said shortly, “and do the things I know to do. I’ll reach him. Your leave.”
Idrys was on his way to gather resources in a fortress he had lived in for a year and more, and where he knew well where to look. Tristen delayed for Emuin, and Ninévrisë.
“I’ll just sip my tea,” Ninévrisë said. Her hands were trembling.
“A hot bath, a clean gown, and I assure you gentlemen I’ll be very well.”
“Idrys will reach him,” Tristen said.
“I’ve no doubt of the Lord Commander.”
“Best you go upstairs,” Emuin said. “Let the servants put you to bed. They’ll bring you tea.”
“I prefer present company.” There was a certain distractedness about Ninévrisë, a fragile grasp of the world around her, a fear of solitude, and of the halls above, where a presence haunted the gray space. “How does Lady Tarien? Is she well?”
“Well,” Tristen said. “She won’t trouble you.”
“A prisoner?”
“Not free,” Tristen said, “not free to come and go, but where her choices lie, I’ve not asked her.”
“And the child?”