“Ivanor has drawn weapons in the king’s presence!” Prichwarrin cried. “Arrest him!”
Cefwyn raised the sword as the first of Prichwarrin’s guards imprudently moved. The men stopped.
“The king,” Cefwyn said in measured tones, “may forgive the lord of Ivanor. Any man else that draws I will cut down like a dog.”
“Your Majesty!”
“I weary of you, Murandys. I have made one duchess over a province. I may make another.”
“This is the son of a loyal baron, murdered in your presence, his heir, his sole son!”
“A loyal baron!” He pointed at the discarded parchment with his borrowed sword. “Gather that up!” he said, and one of his guards complied. “Every man who signed that is party to this, and will be questioned. Any man who impugns the honor of myself or my household or Her Grace or her household will be accounted a traitor. You have bedeviled me, you have insinuated, insulted, inveigled, and imposed on my goodwill too long! I am not my father, sir. I am notmy father, and you have been fatally mistaken to think so!”
He had the satisfaction of seeing stark fear seep through the self-importance of Lord Murandys, before the cold reckoning crept into him that while he was rid of Ryssand’s heir, he had declared a war on the northern barons, and could not continue it, not now.
Men gathered up Brugan and bore him away down the hall, a trail of blood which Prichwarrin was obliged to follow. Servants had not yet stirred forth.
Cefwyn ventured a look at Cevulirn, who had calmly cleared the blood from his blade and stood, despite the spatter, composed and awaiting some word from him… as something had now to be done between Ryssand and Ivanor, and the king had to mediate it. Idrys stood silent, giving away nothing of what he thought, but he was not frowning. Efanor stood near him, pale and shaken, but having his dagger in his hand—Marhanen at last.
Cefwyn gave the sword back to its owner.
“Ivanor,” he said then to Cevulirn, and indicated the way up the stairs. At the top, where the stairs went up to Ninévrisë’s apartment, he cast a glance up, wishing he could go in person, lay eyes on her, hold her and assure her.
As it was he might send a page, and a brief message:
The accusation was raised in my presence, answered by His Grace of Ivanor, and will be bitterly repented by Ryssand. Dismiss Artisane at your pleasure. I no longer suffer fools, nor should my bride suffer them any longer.
But it was not all a victory. Ryssand would take this exceedingly hard, and become not less, but more set on challenges, very likely directly so, if Ryssand could find men who would face Cevulirn. And a man might take on one challenge, but not challenge after challenge, all hired by Ryssand’s gold… if they were at all willing to contest on the field, and not in some dark stairway. He put nothing past Ryssand.
And before he had quite reached the crest of the stairs he knew he had to protect his southern alliance against just such an attempt, and he had to send away one more of his friends, to save all the rest. Snowy evening that it was beginning to be, Cevulirn himself should ride, not delaying for men or servants… most lords could not move with such dispatch, but the lord of the Ivanim might, with a handful of men, and before Ryssand knew that he had gone.
CHAPTER 6
Snow came down in this sinking of the persistent wind just enough to powder the roofs of the Zeide. An iron-hued canopy of cloud dulled the late-afternoon light so the white stones looked gray and the gray steps turned to pewter. And there had been no word, the Guard scouring the town, of the missing documents. No one had seen the archivist, and the Guard had blocked the gates from the start of the fighting until midday of that first day; but after that, they had opened, first when master Haman came in bringing Liss and after that to known individuals, until with the discovery of missing documents and murder, the order came to shut them. Anwyll reported some stablelads and pigkeepers had come and gone, various of the Guard, and their stablehands, the quartermaster and his staff, a freeholder or two, and woodcutters, charcoalers, and the considerable number of chief men over orchards and outlying establishments of all sorts belonging to the ducal lands and to various of the town-dwelling lords, besides a miller with a load of flour and a tanner and various others taking out refuse and coming back.
In short a flood of people had gone in and out the gates that second day, and now more found need to go in and out, the weather holding passable and people growing anxious about last-moment winter supplies, so Uwen said. To Tristen’s notice the gray space stayed but slightly troubled, master Emuin was camped in utter discomfort and utter lack of news at Maudbrook—the farrier’s wagon had broken down utterly, and blocked the ford. Yes, Emuin had heard a rider pass in the night; and yes, had seen the lord viceroy and had provided the stranded man a horse and several of his guards, how not? And what had set the man in such a plight and in such haste?
There Tristen found himself reticent. The gray space still felt uneasy, and the servants whispered of cold spots in the library and on the East Court stairs, for which the Quinalt father provided charms and against which the Bryalt father performed a rite and ordered candles lit. It pleased the servants, and might have done some good; but justice still went begging, and satisfaction, Tristen thought, would come more slowly.
The ashes of Mauryl’s letters yielded very little to his study… nothing thus far but requests for flour and candles, and a warning of flood in some long-ago spring. He could hear Mauryl’s voice in the writing; he ran fingers over the charred paper and remembered Mauryl at his writing, while the wind of a different year pried and wailed at the windows.
The snow still no more than outlined the stonework and the roof tiles, and made a white haze between the town and the orchards. The banner, not that far away on the gate, was at times dim and pale.
Snow did not prevent the town dignitaries and the lords, however, coming to the Zeide, wrapped up in furs still with snow clinging to them. The business of the town was simple, the matter of markets and taxes. Meanwhile he sought an accounting from the armory, which was well prepared; and wished he had the Amefin records which were returning with Emuin.
More, he wished to send men into districts, particularly those bordering Elwynor, in case any villages should be harboring Elwynim, either fugitives or Tasmôrden’s men. But sending Dragon or Guelen Guard into districts as uneasy as Henas’amef had become under Parsynan’s rule begged trouble; and that left him only the resource of his lords and theirmessengers, the lord of Amefel having otherwise been stripped of personal forces at Heryn’s fall.
So the Amefin lords came, and immediately presented their several matters regarding lands and winter court. Tristen held informal audience with several of them in the evening.
“Join me at supper,” he said, with thoughts of the gatherings Cefwyn had held in that hall, memories of a hall noisy and sometimes argumentative, but a time, too, at which men might prove more easily swayed in judgment. The great hall was larger than their gathering needed by far; but the servants had lit a fire and arranged a blaze of candles; and Cook provided her famous pies and sausages and good cheese from the market, acquired at the last moment and when the numbers to feed suddenly increased. (I had the lasses taste everything, Cook had assured Lusin, and they hain’t a one come to grief yet.)
Cuthan was one of the three who came to supper, and Drumman and Azant, each foremost in the several factions that existed among the earls. Drumman and Azant spoke for their country interests, and begged understanding on the taxes, which they feared would be heavy on account of the war; and which the recent counting had given them to fear would be the case.