Fortress of Owls

by C. J. Cherryh

  “Then take him at least for the night. —Go to Ness,” Tristen said to the young prisoner, “and do as he bids you. Have a bath at the scullery, have something to eat, and I’ll send someone for you in the morning who’ll tell you what you have to do. You’ve protected the town before. You’ll go on protecting it. And you’ll be an honest boy and not steal anything again, or Emuin will turn you into a toad.”

  Paisi cast frantic glances at Ness and at him, and at Uwen.

  Whether or not he believed the threat of being a toad he surely knew by now he was deep in wizards’ business, and in danger.

  “I have enemies,” Tristen said softly, “and only honesty and my service may protect you. Dishonesty will deliver you to my enemies as surely as if you walked to Tasmôrden’s gates.”

  “I don’t know about lords an’ wizards!” Paisi protested, for the first time finding a string of words. “I don’t know about bein’ in the Zeide!”

  “Learn,” Tristen said, “and make as few mistakes as you can.

  Steal nothing. ” He gave a nod to Ness. “Find him a bed. And supper. I left mine, for this, and left my guest, too. I must go back upstairs.” He had only just realized the extent of his dereliction: strongly as he had felt the need here, he knew now he must go back and beg Cevulirn’s pardon. “I’ll send Tassand in the morning.”

  “Scrub under them fingernails,” Uwen said, “as don’t seem likely ’e ever has. Show ’im how to stand like a soldier and speak up like one, too. It ain’t so different for His Grace’s servants.”

  FORTRESS OF OWLS / 129

  “Aye, Captain,” Ness said in a hushed tone.

  And that was the end of the matter, with Ness and Paisi at last. Increasingly it seemed he had done the right, the necessary thing.

  “M’lor’,” the young voice pursued him, a-tremble.

  He stopped and looked back. Paisi had reached the bottom step, and came another step up.

  “M’lor’, if it’s anything ye wish to hear…there’s talk, there’s talk I heard.”

  “And what talk?”

  The silence after said perhaps the boy was too eager, foolishly eager, to prove himself useful; and all he had was dubious.

  Ness seemed to think so, too, for he overtook the boy and set a cautioning hand on his shoulder.

  “In the market they said…They said you was goin’ to raise up the old tower.”

  “Ynefel?”

  “That ’un, yes, m’lor’. —An’ ye’d bring back the magic.”

  “Who says so?”

  “The gran’mothers say ’t.”

  “He means the hedge-wizards,” Uwen said. “Mostly they’re midwives. Herb-witches.”

  He hardly knew what to say to that charge. Likely it was already true, in the sense that he came from Ynefel. But it was nothing he wanted bruited about the streets: the Quinalt was not that well-disposed to him, and Idrys had warned him of it.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “and I know nothing about these grandmothers. What else do you know?”

  “There’s them carts gone out,” Paisi said, “an’ folk is talkin’

  about war and maybe ye’ll call the muster.”

  “I don’t intend to have war here. It’s far from my intention.”

  130 / C. J. CHERRYH

  “That’s what I know, m’lor’.”

  The words were more than the words. The very stones rang with them…a sense of things to which ordinary men were deaf.

  Of a sudden he reached across the gray space and seized on Paisi’s notice, startling his soul half out of him, and facing him there, in the gray…

  — I think you hear me, Paisi.

  “Gods bless!” Paisi cried, and in the one world fell to his knees and in this one whirled away on the winds of panic…flat into Ness’s arms.

  Tristen pursued, a mere step down the stairs, and had him at close attention.

  — M’lor’…

  “Don’t lie,” he said, in this world and the gray one. “If you’ll do a service for me, ask the grandmothers what they would say to me.”

  He had Emuin’s attention, and knew it; and Emuin was utterly aware of the waif, and of him. In that moment Paisi seemed to see Emuin, for he turned his head all in a jerk and fled.

  In the world of Men Paisi missed the step and tumbled to his knees on it.

  “M’ lord,” Paisi said, trembling.

  “Go with Ness,” Tristen said aloud, and added, “Boy?” It echoed to him with Mauryl’s voice, kind and commanding at once. When had the tables turned? “I’ll never hurt you.”

  “My lord,” Paisi whispered, on his knees.

  “Send to Tassand in the morning,” Tristen said to Ness, “and let him have the run of the town as he has had. I’ve given him something to do for me.”

  With that he had done all that was profitable to do, and he turned and went up the stairs with Uwen.

  *

  *

  *

  FORTRESS OF OWLS / 131

  Emuin was there, with a handful of the Guelens, Emuin with hands in the sleeves of his gray robes, beneath the fitful light of a lantern, shielded light there in the drafty stairs. And even so the wind gusted the little flame and cast Emuin’s face in ominous shadow.

  “A thief, you say,” Emuin prompted him aloud.

  — And what more? Emuin confronted him in the gray space as well, and the gray clouds were roiled with the storm of Emuin’s distress.

  — A boy, Tristen answered.He guided me to Cefwyn:

  should I leave him loose and unwarded? He’s an open

  threshold. Now he’s ours.

  — Yours. Yours, young lord. I have nothing to do with

  him!

  Paisi had led Tristen straight as an arrow from the town gates to Cefwyn’s doorstep, the night he had arrived. Wizardry went for weak points, and Paisi’s hunger was that; it went for movable points, and there was none more unstable than a boy with no bed at night; it went for persons with a glimmer of the gift and no knowledge how to use it. And if there was malice afoot in the gray space at large, seeking any approach, any weakness in his Place in the world, he had just mortared in that stone with strong wards. He had meant what he said to Paisi: if hostile force attempted this boy who had so basic and early a connection to his presence here, he would know that threshold had been crossed. But the boy was himself harmless as the old women Uwen named.

  — Harmless! Emuin echoed his thought. Harmless now.

  Bring back the magic indeed.

  — Is there truth in it, sir? Can you see? I can’t. Who

  are these grandmothers?

  — The truth, gods, the truth! The cursed truth is the magic’s worn thin and raising it is work, young lord, wearying work, until a draught of your presence

  132 / C. J. CHERRYH

  pours down, and a wizard who ought to know better finds

  it headier and headier wine, gods save me. Gods save us

  all.

  The Guelen Guard, who had lost their prisoner to higher orders, stood frowning, meanwhile, and all the distressing exchange was in an eyeblink, leaving him staring at Emuin and Emuin conspicuously evading his eyes.

  “The boy is a thief,” the Guelen officer said, “and will steal from Your Grace, if he goes free.”

  “He will go free…in my service.” Tristen had no idea what the boy had stolen or whether they had gotten it back. The wagons bound for the border had been laden with all manner of things, supplies, soldiers’ belongings, tents and fittings as well as grain for horses. Paisi, however, would not have made off with a grain sack. Likely it was something smaller.

  “Whatever he stole,” Tristen said, “have the owner come to Uwen, and I will pay it.”

  “Your Grace,” the sergeant said, “it was a man’s kit, an’ we ain’t ever found it.”

  “Then Paisi will tell where he hid it.” He saw no profit in long debate with the officer, and pursued his way doggedly toward the lower west hall, having learned to
disentangle himself from the importunate: solve a matter and move on, disentangling his guard and those with him at the same time, and leaving firm orders behind him.

  But even so he felt himself constrained and hemmed about.

  “What in the gods’ good name possessed you to ride out today?” Emuin asked. Not: why have we left a supper upstairs?

  That he took in stride. But riding out with Crissand…that was in question.

  “Crissand asked,” he said simply. “Have you marked it, sir, he has the gift?”

  FORTRESS OF OWLS / 133

  “As does that boy. This is Amefel. Half the province has the gift in some measure!”

  “Not to that measure.”

  “No. That’s true.”

  “I’ve done what I see to do. I ask, sir, this time I ask very strongly, that you advise me.”

  “And still, I say I will not—”

  “I know what you will not, sir! But consider…the harm is out across the river. It is across the river, is it not?”

  “It seems to be.”

  “Yet it was a great storm out there!” He needed exercise no discretion in front of Lusin and Uwen, who had been there, but he kept his voice low with great effort, lest it echo to the guards elsewhere, who surely could hear that they argued, if not what they argued. “Crissand urged me go, Auld Syes met me, Cevulirn had been on his way long before I took the notion to ride out. I say I felt disturbance in the west and you say not in the west. So where shall I look for it, sir? And what shall I do about it when I do find it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Nor do I care to, young lord. I’ve told you that.”

  “And yet came with me back to Amefel.”

  “Someone needed to.”

  “And having arrived here, you do nothing, all for fear of involving yourself in Mauryl’s spells. And what if Mauryl wished you to advise me?”

  “I know he did, young lord! That’s the bloody point! He had the cursed gall to leave you and me equally ignorant of his purposes and you ignorant of your purposes, and wherein am I to substitute mine? If mine were adequate, why am I not ruling Ynefel at this hour? No, no, and no! I am not Mauryl’s successor, and I am most certainly not your master! Rail on him, that he failed to advise you! But on me? Why, I do as 134 / C. J. CHERRYH

  he did! I leave you ignorant as a new-whelped pup and trust the unwinding of his spell to inform you of your reasons or his intent…so where am I at fault more than he, pray?”

  Now they were well beyond what the guards should witness, even Lusin and Syllan, and some consciousness of witnesses and the echoing halls seemed to return to Emuin, and he moderated his voice. “Forgive me. But think on statecraft and moderate behavior, young lord. I’ve every suspicion the knowledge of that art is in you, and does Unfold at need. You are the lord of Amefel. Conduct yourself so! Hold audience for your people and don’t complain of me that I fail to advise you, when you will not act on the simple advice I have given you! And what do I tell you? Establish a court! Settle in one place and let entreaty come to you, not the other way about, none of this haring about the countryside looking for trouble!

  We are not yet at that need, that we must find troubles out by some country shrine.”

  “I mentioned no shrine.”

  There was a moment of silence then, and Emuin did not meet his eyes.

  “You knew. You expected her,” Tristen said accusingly, “and never told me.”

  “Say I’m not surprised at her,” Emuin confessed, “since she precedes trouble, and trouble we shall have by spring, young lord, so she might as well have the winter’s start on it. I say act on the advice I do give and then we will proceed to the advice you complain I do not give.”

  “And establish this court, sir?”

  “That, for a beginning.”

  “And spend my days settling the design for carved doors, and debating with craftsmen? Hard enough to see to the things I need to.”

  “Better that than raising storms in the countryside.

  FORTRESS OF OWLS / 135

  Stay out of mischief! Provoke nothing before its time.”

  “Provoke what, sir? And in what time? ” It was the very question he pursued, whether Emuin knew there was something on the horizon, or whether he was equally baffled and casting about for hints of what opposed them. “Storms may always come from the west, but Ynefel lies that way, too, and whether the tower is vacant or not concerns me. I have felt it vacant.

  I’ve thought that it was. Do you know?”

  “Yes, it is vacant! I am certain of its vacancy, as I am certain there is no active shrine at Levey, and no hallow nor shadow beneath the oak that fell, not tonight, whatever may have been true at dawn this morning. But I’ll be most grateful, young lord, if you and yours could refrain from poking and prying under every stone in the province. Follow the advice I do give, and don’trush into other things and then run to me for advice, as if I should have foreseen everything! I don’t I can’t. I won’t.

  So there! I’m out of need for supper this evening, and far from polite converse. Entertain your guest. I’ll go back to my tower, by your leave, my good and gracious lord, and let you younger hearts plan the downfall of Tasmôrden. I’m weary.”

  “You’ve not had all your supper. And your advice would be welcome. Come upstairs with me and have the rest of your supper. Please, sir.”

  Another lengthy silence, Emuin seeming distracted and weary.

  “You don’t hear me, do you? Nothing’s come to you? Crissand lured you out there. Crissand brought you to this shrine. And who is Crissand? What is Crissand?”

  “My friend, sir. My loyal friend.” Dread afflicted him at the hearing. “Do you say otherwise?”

  “Not so far as he wills.” Emuin’s lips trembled in the dim light, as if he would say more, and refrained. “He is Aswydd.

  And Amefin. And you are Mauryl’s.

  136 / C. J. CHERRYH

  And have ever been.—Go to your guest. His arrival, too, is momentous, like this ragabones from the streets that you send to trouble the wisewomen. I’ll go to my room.”

  “You’re angry, sir. I only wish the truth.”

  “I’m in perfectly good sorts. I want my own tower. That number of stairs I can climb, none of this traipsing up to yours and down and up again. I grow weary of this up and down of this stairs, that stairs, come down to dinner, down to the guardroom, up again, pray. Your bones don’t know the pains of age, young sir. The steps yonder are a mountain, my tower equally so, but at least it leads to bed.”

  “Sir.” Contrition moved him. He had raised his voice to Emuin, and wished nothing more than to have Emuin’s trust, and did not know how to win it. “I’ll have your supper sent.”

  Emuin looked at him, old eyes, much the image of Mauryl’s, worried, and shaded by wrinkled lids. Flesh had fallen away, the lines had gone deeper since the summer. Emuin looked at him, however, and there seemed fire in the shadow of his eyes, the lively dance the candles made.

  “Master Emuin, Auld Syes told me things. I’ve tried to tell them to you. Have you heard me?”

  “Oh, indeed I’ve heard. Have you?”

  “As much as I can understand.”

  “Then more than I,” Emuin said. “I’ll go to my tower, in all goodwill, young lord.”

  “Have I done well?”

  Again that long stare. “You’ve done very well,” Emuin said unexpectedly, and walked away, leaving him to his puzzlement, but hugging that last as dearly as a cloak against a bitter wind.

  The old man looked frail as he walked away, frail and fragile, in that hallway that had never felt safe.

  FORTRESS OF OWLS / 137

  It did not feel safe tonight, less so than ordinarily. Many of the candles were out. It was the east wing draft, again, and the servants battled it, lighting and relighting the candles, and never yet had they found the reason of it: for years and years, the servants said, candles there had gone out.

  And the stairs to Emu
in’s tower equally well suffered from it, especially when Emuin opened his door.

  “Syllan,” Tristen said.

  “M’lord.”

  “Go with him. See he’s provided for. Make tea for him.”

  Tristen was never to be without at least two guards, but Uwen counted among them. Syllan bowed his head and went after master Emuin, while he and his armed companions continued up the stairs.

  “Master Emuin’s sayin’ there’s troubles,” Uwen muttered on the way up to his apartment. “An’ dangers, an’ what good are we simple lads when it’s wizards?”

  “I don’t think that’s to fear now,” he said. “The things we have to fear I hope are all across the river at the moment.”

  “If that was so, ye wouldn’t need us.”

  Uwen had right on his side.

  “I wish I had been more moderate with him,” Tristen said.

  “I made him angry.” He had been angry himself, and that had never been his habit. He regarded the past moments with some dismay, and recalled he had been angry with Parsynan, for good reason, and angry at the archivist’s murder, and angry at the workmen underfoot. He had been angry, in fact, for days, and felt as if never yet had he been able to lay aside the sword…that was the feeling he had. He was different from Men. He was different still when he took up the sword, and until he laid it down, and he felt as if he had taken it up at the 138 / C. J. CHERRYH

  gates of Amefel and never since been able to let it go.

  And now he had fairly shouted at Emuin, or would have, if there were not the witnesses, and he had cast Cuthan out, and sent Parsynan on his way afoot, and done very many things that he would never have done until he had unsheathed the sword at the gates of Henas’amef.

  He did not know what to do about it, save to continue to carry it, and to defend the town as he had begun to do. But, he said to himself as he came to the level of the hall, he could not go about full of temper. He had yet to learn how to carry the sword and not use it, that was the thing. He supposed that Cefwyn managed, and that Uwen did, and other men who had soldiering for a profession…for that he was very good with the sword did not mean it entirely protected those who were on his side.