Fortress in the Eye of Time

by C. J. Cherryh

  feared to go back, and I could not, in the end, forbear

  listening to Hasufin disparage my hopes, and warn me of

  my own lords, and tell me true things—mark you, true

  things about their plots—which I think now he engendered.

  I began to doubt the goodness of the men I ruled, and my

  doubts changed them. I asked myself whether there was

  any hope of a King and whether I should not take the crown

  for myself and forestall the plotters against the Regency.

  My doubts, my precautions, estranged the very people who

  should have stood by me. That was how Hasufin found

  purchase on my life. That was how he pried apart the alle-

  giances that supported me. I became unjust in my own

  heart. Don’t disbelieve your friends, young King. Never

  go dream-wandering with him.

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  You dare not. And I know that he will invite you.

  — I hear you, sir. I do hear. But you withstood Hasufin.

  You fought him.

  — Oh, yes. But came the time I would not follow down

  his trail of questions and doubts. I said to myself—no, I

  need no more visions: my foresters would go to Ynefel and

  see what was the truth. But my foresters lost themselves

  in Marna and never came back. So after all I had only my

  doubts to keep me company; and I bartered with Hasufin.

  I said—take a year of my life, I’d see Ynefel again—if he

  would let me ask Mauryl two questions. He showed me the

  tower. I thought I was so clever. I asked Mauryl in this

  dream: Lord Wizard, when will you keep your promise?

  And Mauryl was angry, because he knew at once how and

  with what help I had come there. He told me the price was

  far too dear. But I asked my question, all the same: I asked

  him when he’d keep his promise, and I asked him how I

  should recover my faith; and he said only, I shall keep it

  when I will, and when I must, no sooner. As for your faith,

  it matters not to me. After that the dream stopped. All the

  dreams stopped. But after all that, I was never sure even

  of that answer, you see, because it was Hasufin’s magic

  that had taken me there, and Hasufin’s voice that

  whispered ever afterward in my dreams. I lost all cer-

  tainty, that was what it did to me. Mauryl was right, that

  my faith was my affair. My faith was that you would not

  come in my lifetime, no more than in my father’s. My faith

  was that I should die sonless—and I shall; Hasufin foretold

  to me that Elwynor should be thrown into civil war when

  I die—and I had faith in that. So two of my lords have

  raised armies, and now a third bids to do so—all demand-

  ing my daughter so that they dare claim my place. In des-

  peration I sent even to the Marhanen, as my last hope to

  secure my daughter’s safety and to preserve the realm

  against a Marhanen conquest by arms. I hoped—I

  hoped—he would come here—

  The Regent’s voice faded.—Sir? Tristen called to him, and took a firmer grip on his hand, which became like gossamer 487

  in his, and impossible to feel. Lord Regent, what will you?

  What shall I do for you?

  — I must not become a bridge for Hasufin to any other

  place. I listened to him too long, you understand, and I

  fear—I fear he will lay hold on me. For that reason I came

  here. I must be buried here in Althalen, where Hasufin is

  buried. I came here to fight him—on ground sacred to him.

  Make them understand. Make my daughter understand—

  — Sir! The old man slipped from his hold. He reached out, and the old man caught his hand again, but oh, so weakly.

  Then it seemed to him he saw Althalen standing as it had once stood, and that years reeled past them, or that they spun together through the years.

  — Listen now, the old man said, compelling his attention.

  Listen. In my father’s time, in the reign of the Last King’s

  father, an infant died; and came alive again when they

  came to bury him. Do you know that story?

  — No, lord Regent. Shadow had wrapped close about them both and the old man seemed dimmed by it, sent into grays—but his own hands blazed bright.

  — Hasufin could not do for himself what Mauryl did for

  you. Hasufin could only steal the helpless, infant dead,

  and grow as a child grows—but you—you are a marvelous

  piece of work, a theft from Death itself, flesh and bone long

  since gone to dust—Oh, gods! Oh, gods!—Oh, gods protect

  us! I know you! You are not that lost, dead prince—you

  are not. I do guess what Mauryl has called!

  — What is my name, sir? Who was I?—Tell me! Don’t

  leave!

  But the old man broke free of his hold and the Shadows drew back in turmoil. The old man blazed bright, held his hand uplifted and said a Name he could not hear, a Name that went echoing out into echoes the sounds of which he could not untangle, and for an instant he feared the old man had deceived him about his strength: the old man was fearsome, and blinding bright.

  — Most of all—the old man said, do not fail in justice, lord

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  King! Love as you can, forgive as you can, but justice and

  vision are a king’s great duties! Never forget it!

  The Shadows began to circle in like birds, alighting about them, thicker and thicker—bad behavior, he would chide his pigeons in the loft. He would chase them like pigeons—he would call on Owl and rescue the old man—

  “You!” someone said, and seized his arm and shook him.

  “You!—This is wizardry! Stop him! Someone for the gods’ sake stop him!”

  He looked up, startled, exchanging the rush of Shadows for surrounding night and a murmur of angry voices about him.

  “Guard the old man!” he called out to anyone who would hear.

  “He’s in danger! Help him! ”

  He could not tell if they understood at all. He heard voices declaring he had worked some harm on their lord, and some spoke for killing him.

  Lines on the earth, Mauryl had said. Spirits had to respect them.

  Windows, Mauryl had said to him, windows and doors were special places. Mauryl had spoken of secrets that masons knew.

  And masons had built these ruins. When he looked for other lines, those lines showed themselves, still bright in the gray space, clear as clear could be, glowing brighter and brighter to his searching for them. He saw one crossing beneath him as he began to follow the tracery they offered, lines far more potent than the hasty circle unskilled Men had made, lines of masons offering him a path along them, to doors and windows that masons had laid.

  But search as he would through this maze, he could not find the old man. There were abundant Shadows, flitting about in confusion, and he could see nothing but the lines, nothing of company in his vicinity. He had never asked the old man what the Shadows were, and it seemed now a grievous omission. He called out again, Lord Regent! Do you hear me?

  He heard a murmur then like the sound of voices. He looked back in the direction from which he had come and did not see the place he had left until he looked for it to be there.

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  And in the blink of an eye—he was overwhelmed and buffeted with voices, and tried to know where the old man was, here, as well as in the gray place.

  — Where is the lord Regent? he asked, and there came to him, echoing like the axe blows off the walls, the answer: Dead,

  dead, dead.

  “
Wizard!” Voices came through the dark. “He killed him! He bewitched him!”

  Then one shouted,

  “Send Cefwyn’s man with the lord Regent!”

  “Hold!” someone cried then, and silence fell.

  It was the man called Tasien, with two other lords.

  “He killed the Regent!” a man said. “Ye didn’t see ’is eyes, m’lord. He was sittin’ and sittin’ and starin’ like to turn a man to stone. He’s cursed him. Kill ’im before he kills us all!”

  “The lord Regent is scant moments dead,” Tasien said. “For the gods’ good grace, do your lady the courtesy of awaiting her orders.”

  “Wrapped in Marhanen arms,” one of the lords said. “A wizard, besides, and have we not suffered enough from wizards?

  Strike off his head! This is no king of ours. It’s a Marhanen trick!”

  It was clearly his head in question, and he knew he must do something desperate if it came to that, but Tasien—Tasien, who did not like him—said, “Wait for the lady’s word. Keep this man safe, I say, or answer to me.”

  Tasien and two other men went away toward the tent, and left him in the care of the others in the starlight. He only knew individuals by the edges of their clothing and their gear. They had no faces to him. They spoke to him in quieter, more respectful terms: “Lord,” they called him, and said, “You sit there, lord wizard,” directing him to sit again on a section of the old wall, under their watch.

  He saw no gain in arguing with them. He had had experience of guards who had orders, and he avoided looking at them—nor did he venture into the gray place: he only remained subtly aware of it.

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  But the Shadows had gotten their comeuppance, that was one of Uwen’s words: he felt that the old man was safe in some un-assailable way, and had crossed a threshold of some Line invisible to him and unreachable. The old man had not lost. And perhaps, he thought, this time with a tingle of his skin and an inrush of breath, perhaps Mauryl had not.

  Perhaps he had come where he had to be, and perhaps he had not failed, either. He no more knew where to go from here, and how to persuade the Regent’s men—nor dared he think that the Shadows of Althalen were powerless to do harm to him or to Mauryl’s intentions. Hasufin marshaled and commanded the Shadows in this place—but it seemed to be the Regent’s purpose to contest him. The old man had been fighting Mauryl’s fight for years. And waiting for him. His King, the old man had called him. What was he to do with that? Clearly these men had no such notion.

  More, there were dangers attached to this place, both in the gray place, and in the world of substance. Uwen he was certain was looking for him, and in the dark, and with their distress over the loss of the lord Regent, the archers might not restrain themselves for an ordinary-looking soldier and a band of Cefwyn’s guard. The lady might prevent disaster, if she would listen, but she was refusing to see what the old man had seen—she had been refusing steadfastly, trying to hold him in life and to keep him with her, and, wrong though that had been, it was not as wrong as other things she might decide to do. Removing the lord Regent from this Place, if he understood what the lord Regent had tried to tell him, would free Hasufin to act as he pleased and work whatever harm he pleased without whatever hindrance the lord Regent might have been to him.

  These men must not listen to Hasufin. She must not.

  Cefwyn’s Ninévrisë. That was the other matter. Somehow and suddenly there were too many Kings.

  He had ridden out to listen to the world and not the clamor of voices. He had ridden out hoping to understand answers—but another world opened under his feet, and

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  purposes he had never guessed turned out to involve him.

  I shall not harm Cefwyn, he had sworn to himself. I shall not harm Uwen.

  And even that simple, desperate promise came back to him tangled and changed.

  Bridges, for certain: with decking in one case hidden near them on the Elwynim side of the river, and with new timbers stained dark and with smith-work cleverly concealed along the stone of the old bridges, making a bed ready to receive decking. That meant the bridges which looked stripped of surface and unusable could become a highroad into Amefel within hours of the engineers setting to work, and which of several bridgeheads the Elwynim might use could be settled in strategy at the very last hour it was possible for them to move troops into position.

  It settled the question of Elwynim preparation for war in Cefwyn’s mind. It did not say where they might strike—perhaps, which the Olmernmen had not had time to investigate, not into Amefel at all, but to the north. The Elwynim had the flexibility to do anything, to challenge Ylesuin at its weakest point, or to feint and strike in several attacks.

  Grim news. Arys-Emwy’s bridge was definitely involved, and others, and very suspect was another bridgehead lying within the haunted bounds of Marna Wood, of which neither Olmernmen nor Elwynim were as cautious as other ventur-ers—where, in fact, Olmernmen had lately had Mauryl’s leave to be: it had been no surprise to him, certainly, Sovrag’s admission of trade with Ynefel, and he would not be surprised at all to find Elwynim rangers and engineers venturing into Marna. If there were, it cast still a darker hint of Elwynor’s allies in their actions—and on Tristen’s flight. Cefwyn did not want to think ill in that regard—but the thought was there: he could not help it.

  The extent and advanced progress of the matter advised him that he had been complacent in assuming his spies were 492

  loyal and well-paid enough; and in assuming they were receiving valid information. More—the concealment and the extent of the preparations indicated affairs some months in organization under a firm hand, at a time when he had been receiving marriage-offers and taking them as possibly sincere.

  Fool, a small voice was saying to him, and urging that in some way he might have managed this province more wisely—that, if he had, his father might then not have died, though gods knew his father had not done wisely, either.

  “We should have men up there and break those stoneworks down,” was Efanor’s conclusion, and Cefwyn did not agree, on several accounts; but he said only, “That is certainly one thing we might do,” to avoid starting a public argument with Efanor before the wounds of the last unfortunately well-witnessed dispute had healed, and before his own thoughts were in order.

  Wine was involved. One could obtain consent of the lords on a matter not requiring debate under such conditions. He did not want to discuss this news until there were clear heads and straighter thinking.

  But perhaps he should not even have hinted of contrary thoughts. Efanor went glum and stared at him, and spoke quietly with the priest. Clearly Efanor’s pride was still getting before his reason—one certainly saw who stood high in Efanor’s personal council, and it truly threatened to annoy him.

  Cefwyn let the page refill his cup again, and ordered Sovrag’s two scouts set at table and served with the rest: it had been a far trip for two exhausted travelers, and plague take the skittish Amefin diners lowermost at the tables, who were far enough in their cups to be fearful of piracy—at the tables, did they think?

  Two weary rivermen were going to make off with the Aswydds’

  gold dinner-plates?

  They served enough ale and wine to make the company merry—except Efanor and his priest. The Olmern scouts fell asleep not quite in the gravy, and Sovrag sent men to carry the lads away, while the lordly Imorim were discussing gods-knew-what with Sulriggan. Cefwyn had yet one more cup, 493

  and vowed to himself he would go to bed forthwith, on half of it. Efanor was withdrawing, with his priest, doubtless to godly and sober contemplation.

  But on a peal of thunder Idrys, who had been at the doors, came down the narrow aisle between the chairs and the wall, and bent beside Cefwyn’s chair to say, in the quietest voice that would carry:

  “Master grayfrock’s at the gates, m’lord. It’s a storm wind tonight, blowing in all manner of wrack and flotsam.”

  “Would
it had blown Tristen in with him,” he muttered in ill humor. He had drunk rather too much since the scouts had come in. He was not in a mood, in this collapse of things he had hoped were safe, to face his old tutor, the arbiter of his greener judgment, the rescuer of his less well-thought adventures—and to inform Emuin that, no, he had not outstandingly succeeded in his charge to keep Tristen out of difficulty.

  But Emuin had been conspicuously absent in his advice as well as his presence, and had fled for clerkly shelter when he remotely comprehended the potential for hazard in the visitor Emuin counseled him keep—and love.

  So he swore under his breath, and arose as he had already intended, to take his leave. There was a clap of thunder. Men looked for omen in such things. “Give you good night and good rest, gentlemen. It sounds as if heavy weather has moved in. A good night to be in a warm hall with friends. Drink at your pleasure and respect my guards and the premises, sirs. I shall hope for clear heads by midday, and good counsel. Good night, good night.”

  Cevulirn rose to excuse himself as well, early and sober, though his lieutenant would remain; Sovrag and his lieutenants would tax the staff’s good humor, and Umanon and Pelumer were drinking in quiet consultation on the far side of the room with glances in Sovrag’s direction, while Sulriggan and his man were likewise departing. They gathered themselves to order and rose and bowed, on their way to the door.

  The King cared little. The King had his old tutor to deal with, and withdrew to a private door that led to a hall that 494

  led again to the main corridor, in the convolute way of this largest of the Zeide’s halls of state. Idrys followed him; so did his guard—not to the stairway which led to his apartments, where he would have received most visitors, but down the corridor to the outer west doors, which, before they reached them, opened to the night and the rain, and a gray-frocked trio of rain-drenched religious.

  One of them was Emuin, white beard and hair pouring water onto his shoulders, cloak sodden, standing like a common mendicant.

  “M’lord,” Emuin said, and to the doubtful servants, who arrived from their stations, began giving orders. “Find somewhere for the good brothers. Take them to the kitchen. Feed them.