Fortress in the Eye of Time

by C. J. Cherryh

  “Out!” he shouted, he thought temperately, and moving to his desk, taking up pen and uncapping the inkwell, he wrote four brief notes to four provincial lords, affixed the seal of his personal ring, which precluded tampering with the ribbon he wrapped about each. Then he waited.

  The chest was in front of him. The Elwynim chest. The bride offer.

  And perhaps it was imprudent and tempting his own immod-erate anger to lift the lid and to take out the ivory miniature, and to test his mood against that wide-eyed expression, the full lips, the midnight cloud of curls and swell of bosom daringly portrayed to entice a man, an offer of luxurious peace—to snare the heir of Ylesuin.

  And ask— ask whether there were old bridgeheads being refur-bished across the Lenúalim. Ask what this offer meant against the arrant folly of Heryn Aswydd who, if he were wise, might know his two sisters, fields for every plow, were temptation to lesser lords, but not to the heir of Ylesuin, not to promote His Grace Heryn Aswydd of rebel, perpetually heretic Amefel up to high estate in the court at Guelemara.

  All that Heryn expected, in return for no more than a tumble in the bedclothes, for the latest gossip, for a whisper of Heryn’s ambitions, for a night few whores could match for invention or few councillors for wit: oh, well indeed the twins (who came in a set, he had always believed, principally because neither trusted the other) were full of plans. By what he had heard, Tarien never, never forgave her sister her minute precedence into the world and would knife her in an instant if she thought Orien might gain anything above her.

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  Mothers thereby of a royal heir? No. That was for ladies richer, less versatile, more religious, less profligately trafficked, and certainly of larger, more influential and orthodox provinces.

  He could name an even dozen candidates of higher degree; ladies virginal, well-brothered and -fathered and -uncled—

  Close-kneed, religious, limp and meek.

  But—this—Elwynim. This—ivory bewitchment at which he stared, at odd moments, imagining that face alive with hints of both virginity and hoyden mischief—a crown of pearls and maiden violets, mirth dancing in the eyes, lurking about the edges of the mouth…

  The Regent’s maiden daughter and only offspring, a bid for peace, an end of the old rivalry.

  Meanwhile the vicinity of Emwy seethed with so-called outlaws, that near the ruins of Althalen, that near the Lenúalim’s dividing shores, open defiance aiming at seeing the Prince of Ylesuin come to the same end the Sihhë had met—while the Aswydds simply pursued kin-ties, bed-sharings and bastard offspring (who might be worth lands and money in the coffers of the Aswydds, if nothing else) and endlessly embellished this great gilt palace which, the prince would greatly suspect, came not only of hidden Sihhë gold, but of other sources.

  Foolish offer, this ivory Elwynim loveliness. A message had come with it that Elwynor did not propose to yield up its sover-eignty, but that the Regent’s line, having come down to a daughter with no other royal prospect, considered a matrimonial alliance and separate title for the heirs.

  Audacious. Damned audacious of a man waiting all his sonless years for the Sihhë to rise from their smoky pyre, or for Mauryl Gestaurien to mend his treason and send them a King.

  The more to worry—considering the feckless young man across the hall, who’d shown a seat any rider could envy and a skill at riding he claimed not to have.

  Damn Emuin. Damn Emuin for kiting off to prayers and 250

  piety and leaving him a young man so full of mysteries. Every possibility and every fear he owned was potentially contained in the young man lying cold as a corpse in that bed—who might be fading, for what he knew, with Mauryl’s power leaving the world, who might be ensorcelled by gods knew what, who might be afflicted by some malady that—naturally?—gods! came on the raised dead.

  The source of souls, Emuin had said.

  And fallen into languor at Althalen, the very place where the last Sihhë king perished?

  He heard the sound of men entering the antechamber and knew by the plain fact there had not been a rush to arms among his guards outside that it was Annas or Idrys, and by the scuff and clump of soldierly feet that Idrys had come back with the men he had asked Idrys to find.

  He disposed the miniature to the chest; he closed the lid; he looked up as Idrys shepherded his choices to his desk. Idrys took a stance with arms folded, his eyes disapproving; and Cefwyn ignored the pose as he had ignored Idrys’ objections to his decisions.

  Four men, plainly armored and armed, Guelen men. So was the patrol that was going out in pursuit of the bandit remnant that had official blame for the attack on the Marhanen prince.

  They were Guelen men, too, that patrol, with orders to believe nothing too fantastical of bandit origins, and to look closely at kinships with Emwy and with Henas’amef did they take any bandits—did they take any, which a gold sovereign would wager they did not.

  But these four men would not ride all the way with the patrol.

  Nor would the four parchments bearing the Marhanen Dragon and Gillyflower personal seal of Cefwyn Marhanen, the King’s viceroy—who did have specific authority to do what he proposed, but who… with the King’s grant of a viceroy’s power in Amefel…held the royal command over this whole uneasy border, with authority the southern barons would ignore at their peril.

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  “A patrol will go out under sergeant Kerdin Ansurin,” Cefwyn said. “And once out of view of the town, you four will go your ways, avoiding all eyes; that is important. You, sir: this to Pelumer in Lanfarnesse; you, to Sovrag in Olmernhome; you, to Cevulirn at Toj Embrel, in his summer residence; you, fourth, to Umanon in Imor Lenúalim. Say nothing of this to anyone, not to man, nor woman, nor lover, light-of-love, nor your own barracks-mates. Walk from this room to your horses and join the band at the gates. A good opinion and reward if you dis-charge your missions faithfully and discreetly. The patrol you will leave is seeking the bodies of your comrades up in Emwy district. Believe there is danger. Believe there are those seeking Guelen lives. Be prudent, be quick, seek water only at brooks and springs, and lodge nowhere but under the sky.”

  Heads nodded. Grim looks confirmed their purpose. Young, these men, but Idrys had chosen them, and he knew Idrys’

  standards.

  “Further,” he said, “say no word of departure to any but your officer on the road, and if the lords to whom I send should ask you further of my business or the reason of the message, say that you understand that the summons is general; no more than that. You know no more than that. All else is surmise which cannot be profitable.—Have you any question? Ask now.”

  There were shakes of heads, and “No, Your Highness,” faintly from two.

  “Go, then.” Cefwyn leaned back in his chair the while the men filed out.

  And waited, foot on the rung of the table, one ankle on the other.

  Idrys came back and lingered, arms folded, a shadow in the doorway.

  “You’ve given me your opinion,” Cefwyn said.

  “Surely now you will need a fifth messenger.”

  “How and where?”

  “To your father the King, to explain what you’ve done.”

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  “Blast your impudence! You do surpass expectation.”

  Idrys remained unmoved. “He will surely send to you then, my lord Prince.”

  The bare foot slipped off the rung. He drew a deep breath and tucked his feet under him, canting his head at Idrys. “Tell me truth, master crow. Are you my man or his?”

  “Yours, my lord. Of course I am.”

  “Then grant I have some wit. Grant I do what I must.”

  “Perhaps so, my lord Prince; but you know that it will not at all please His Majesty. You did well to send for Emuin.”

  “Because he will listen to Emuin?”

  “Because the situation on this border is increasingly unsettled.

  And it would be wise.”

  “I am summoning the lords to cons
ult.”

  “You are raising an army to intimidate the Amefin, and there is no one who will fail to understand that. Best it were a Guelen army, not provincial, raised of their neighbors and quartered about this town.”

  “Yield this inquiry back to my father? Come crawling to his knee and say I could not manage it?”

  “You would win far more by filial humility than by what you propose, my lord Prince. An appeal for more troops would not be accounted an admission of fault or failure.”

  “Are you my man, Idrys?”

  “I have given you my oath, my lord Prince.”

  “Then act like it.”

  Idrys inclined his head slowly, with just irony enough to sting.

  “My lord, a second time: wait for Emuin.”

  “Because I will not take your orders, Idrys?”

  “Because you are in danger here and I am not given resources enough to protect you from it. When danger comes into these chambers, I am one man, my lord Prince, with no more resource.

  The Guelen forces have lost man after man: niggling losses, but good men. You’ve just sent patrols out into the countryside. The remaining men will be on longer shifts, under the constant knowledge that they are

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  few among these Amefin. The kingdom could lose its invested heir here, my lord; and that would not well please His Majesty, either. I do not know how I should explain it to him. Forgive me, sire, but I seem to have lost your son? I think not, Cefwyn prince.”

  “I hope to save you the necessity. Bear no reports to my father.

  Give me time to summon the march lords in. Once done is done, once I have the necessary troops to impose peace—my father and my brother will accept the settled state they see here.”

  “That is not the way I know my lord King.”

  “He loves me well,” Cefwyn said with a twist of his mouth,

  “only so I make no errors. My brother, now,—Efanor…is the one who will fret himself hollow at my maintaining an army here.”

  “One cannot possibly see the cause.”

  “I am the heir. Am I not? And shall I not, in I hope not imminent prospect, command the armies of eighteen provinces, including the ones I’ve summoned tonight? And why should my brother be anxious about four, now, as if I had cause to fling over my duties here and leap upon his privileges? Should I care, in his place, if he raised armies? But I do think he will care, Idrys; he was all out of countenance that I had had you to my household when Father posted me to this province. As if my brother should need a general in Llymaryn. And good gods! we have sworn oaths of our brotherhood. I do find it curious what men surmise one will do that they would do, Idrys. Do you ever ponder such curiosities? It seems to forecast their inclinations more than mine.”

  “Your brother has unhappy precedent. Your uncle’s death—”

  “Was chance.”

  “His advisers believe not.”

  “And Father loves Efanor. Let us say the truth. Father loves him and would not mourn overmuch if some Elwynim put a dagger in my back.”

  “Fathers often dote on the lastborn. So I’m told. This does not make him first.”

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  “So my father set me this duty to teach me responsibility. So he said.”

  “I heard.”

  “Well, then, duty leads me to this measure, and my royal father knows he need have no fear of my diverting that army off the Elwynim border and against him or Efanor. Whatever he thinks of me, he does at least believe me sane, and my brother can learn so.”

  “Your father is old, and it does not well agree with his years or your brother’s anxious fears, my lord Prince, to have one son amassing troops in the countryside while the other son is living quietly in Llymaryn. Whatever your father knows or believes of your intentions, there will be concern about this among the northern barons. That is the plain truth.”

  “I am the invested heir; if trouble comes of what I do, then let Father look to the ambitions of the barons whose advice he’s leaned upon too much,—including Heryn Aswydd, chief among them, Heryn Aswydd. I don’t know whether Father has me watching Heryn or Heryn watching me, and, damn it! I have nothing to gain that is not already mine.”

  “It would still be more politic, my lord Prince, to use only Guelen troops.”

  “And what will that say? Dear father, send me your armies?

  I promise not to bring them home?”

  “I shall sharpen my sword.” Idrys made a second ironical bow.

  “You will have Heryn and his men buzzing about your ears when word of this flies free. You raise the wind, my lord Prince. And there may follow rain. Perhaps a frost.”

  “Given this present situation, Idrys,—how would you secure the Zeide from disturbance, without reinforcements?”

  “Disarm the Amefin—now, before they can hear what you have done. Put the Guelen on guard at all posts, and bar the Amefin guard from duty and from the armories.”

  “Do it. Tonight.”

  Idrys’ brows lifted. “That is extreme, my lord Prince.”

  “You claim to be my man. You give me advice. Then you 255

  have my authority for whatever needs be done to make it clear to all Ylesuin where this mustering of forces is aimed—at Amefin treachery, not my brother’s feverous fancies of an enmity I do not bear him. The one is a family matter. The other—is an order to me to hold a province with two hundred thirty men. Folly, Lord Commander, and letting Amefin fill out the posts after the business at Emwy—I think not. They cherish no thoughts of our good will, only hopes of our timidity. Hence my summons to the southern provinces, which my father may count his elder son’s folly, or his elder son’s premature ambition, but not if I turn up sufficient stones quickly enough. Lest you marvel, I do not believe Heryn—not his rescue, not his protestations.”

  “Is this recent disbelief or longstanding?”

  “Oh, growing apace. Nor patient of further incidents. I take to heart all your warnings about the Amefin. Say to all who ask that the armory is locked to prevent thefts. We have had recent thefts, have we not?”

  “If you say so, m’lord.”

  “Say, too, that we suspect an Elwynim spy among the guard.

  I should hate to offend the honest among them. Just let the next shift—be Guelen. Will that not make a quiet and quick trans-ition? They won’t know the replacement is general until they go back to their barracks. Review all rosters for patrols or issue of equipment. Better we have short patrols for a few days than lose our knowledge of what tidings have flowed to what place in Amefel.—And set up the sergeants with the scribes to take down a list of our loyal Amefin guard, man by man, accounting their villages, their residences, their relatives, persons who may vouch for their provenance and behavior, and question the men they name to vouch for them, and check back again. We are foreigners here. How else can we tell loyal men from trespass-ers?—Appoint Mesinis to the task.”

  “Mesinis? Mesinis, do I hear correctly?”

  “This should take sufficient time for a muster of foot out of Far Sassury, if we needed send so far.”

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  “My lord,” Idrys said, “Mesinis it is.”

  “Wake me,” he said, “promptly—if it goes amiss.”

  “My lord Prince, I am well certain, if our guard-change goes amiss, you will hear the alarms in the night.”

  “But alarm among the Amefin will give my brother far sounder sleep. Will it not? And Heryn certainly less?”

  “If success tonight goes to our side, m’lord, and not to Heryn’s. The man might take action, my lord Prince.”

  “See it does go to our side.— And, and, Idrys,…have master Tamurin take yet one more look at Heryn’s tax accounts, past years as well as this. Have master Tamurin go directly into archive without warning, and appoint him pages to carry all relevant books to his premises, no matter the protests of those dotards Heryn appointed. Including the books of the town accountants, this time. That will divert m’lord Heryn from his pet
ty grievances over Emwy and his guard appointments, and set the rumors flying among his earls and his thanes and his what-nots, some of whom may come to us in their distress.”

  Idrys actually lifted a brow, looking pleased and amused. “As you will, m’lord Prince.”

  “Good night, Lord Commander.”

  Idrys went without further objection. Cheerfully. That was rare.

  Afterward Cefwyn lay in the broad bed, threw a coverlet over himself against the breeze from the window, and stared at an unrevealing mural on the ceiling, a trooping of fairy and a breaking-forth of blossoms, wherein smaller fay lurked under leaves and made love in the branches. A star was in the painted sky. A gray tower—or was it silver?—was on the hill. A star and a tower were the arms of the Sihhë, alike the arms of Mauryl, the Warden of Ynefel, were they not banned throughout Ylesuin.

  But surely Heryn would not lodge his prince in this chamber, under that painting, if they were more than chance elements of the piece. Perhaps the prince was

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  suspicious and uncharitable even to suspect Amefin humor in the arrangement—as he was suspicious and uncharitable to suspect Amefin humor in Heryn’s riding, oh, in hall velvet, and lightly cloaked, with the guard, risking danger—

  —only in his tardiness to make his claim of innocence. Heryn had faced no danger of alleged outlaw weapons, the real nature of which he would wager his royal stipend Heryn knew.

  He had laid out his riding clothes, his sword and his leather coat on the bench nearest the bed, without advising Annas or asking the servants’ or the pages’ help. He wanted no rumors running the halls until a bolt was on the armory door.

  He did not take for granted at all that he could, without a blow struck and with but a handful of loyal guard, collar Heryn Aswydd—who was no novice in deceit and who had far cannier and hereunto unknown advisors. Even relying on Idrys’ skills to avoid surprise, he knew Idrys’ failings in diplomacy toward recalcitrant outsiders, and knew he risked stirring resentment where none had existed—at least where none existed to any extent that would prompt Amefin to assail the prince of a realm that had been, if not loved, at least peacefully and reasonably obeyed.