Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles (31 page)

The men of the Guard found their accommodation in a disused drying shed, where a fireplace provided a welcome warmth. The drivers shared canvas-sided lean-tos provided with a bonfire in front; but for the lord of Amefel and his captain and his servants, and for the king’s officers, there was the guesthouse, which boasted four proper rooms besides the warm common room. But supper was waiting for all of them, and they were able at last to put off the armor they had worn since before dawn, and to set aside their weapons and sit down to a hot meal. “These are countryfolk,” Uwen said approvingly of the monks. “These are good countryfolk, no rich city men. They put the soldiers and the muleteers and all right into walls, which with this wind startin’ up and the damp and all is a fine thing, a very fine thing.”’

The wind had become very bitter at the last, nipping noses and making riders’ toes cold as the sun went down, marking a night of small comfort for anyone beyond a safe fireside and in the open.

Master Emuin, on the road (asleep, as seemed, in a wagon, as Tristen felt from moment to moment a slight uneasy balance) would Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles not fare half so well, and despite master Emuin’s tenancy in the drafty tower, the unfettered gusts outside were bitter and strong.

But there was nothing he could do to lend wings to oxen, and he knew no way he could hurry distant wagons. He only hoped the axles bore the weight of master Emuin’s load of baggage and brought him here as soon as might be.

With a waft of cold air from outside, Anwyll came in to join them midway through their supper, reporting everyone under cover and the soldiers exceedingly grateful for grain and water they had not had to carry for themselves—water which had healing virtues for man and beast.

“The shrine is famous for the water,” Uwen explained in a low voice. “It heals, so it does, the stomach complaints. His Highness…” Uwen cleared his throat quietly. “His Highness’d set great store by it, on account of the holy precinct.”

The water tasted of sulfur, to a tongue familiar with the powders of a wizard’s workshop; but Uwen’s quiet tone and hushed reminder of His Highness advised him it was a matter of gods, which Efanor would revere.

“They sell amulets,” Captain Anwyll added, “which have the virtue of the water. And the local blessing.”

“This is a safe place,” Tristen said, since some acknowledgment of the virtues of it seemed called for. “It feels so.” And to the rescue of the moment, the monks brought ale, three pitchers of it. “From Marisyn,” the chief monk said, and they finished their supper, with sweet buttered cakes, and talked of safe things like wagon wheels Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles and harness until Anwyll was through with his supper and left them.

The sulfur-tasting water satisfied thirst. Tristen much doubted the amulets, after Emuin’s dismissal of Efanor’s; but some mark of courtesy seemed due. The monks had done far more for his comfort than ever the great shrine in Guelemara had done.

“What shall we do to repay the monastery?” he asked Uwen at length. “Shall we give them gold?”

“It’s the custom to give a gift.”

“Then will you do that?” he asked, and gave Uwen the purse Idrys had given him, supposing that that was enough: the rest of their money was not in purses but in that great chest the company quartermaster guarded.

“ ’At were a good thought, ” Uwen said. “I’ll see to it. ”

“Do. But,” he added, “make sure of the coins as you give them.

Idrys cautioned me strongly.”

“That I will,” Uwen said, “and have the lord abbot bless ever’ one of ’em as I deal it out.”

“A very good thought,” he said. He was here because of a Sihhë coin as well as a lightning bolt, he well understood so, and he no longer trusted everyone he met, even when he made a gesture of friendship and respect to them. It seemed a sad and sorry way to proceed. But he sent Uwen to pay a coin and test the balance of the heavens tonight, in the very unlikely chance that wizardry had truly transmuted his last one.

He sat sipping the remnant of his ale before the fire, aware of monks who tiptoed close among the columns to stare at him, and Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles aware of Anwyll and his men, who in pursuing duties in the cold kept letting the wind in.

He was aware of Emuin, too, on the road and uncomfortable, and that venture into the gray space seemed riskier than in the daytime.

Perhaps it
was
the weather, with the wind keening around the eaves of what was a strange lodging, even once visited. He had had his way today in sunlight, but the clouds were moving in again. The shadows which abounded in the cluttered edges of the common room leapt and flowed like the firelight as wind fluttered down the chimney… not wicked Shadows, but there were a few more dangerous ones, he suspected, among the natural ones.

He was glad when Uwen came back, after, it seemed to him, too long a time.

“The lord abbot’s right pleased, and the captain and all.”

“Why should the captain be pleased?”

Uwen ducked his head somewhat and seemed to have said a small word too much.

“On account of the luck. Havin’ a lord do things for luck, it makes a soldier happier.”

“The soldiers are unhappy?”

“Well, there’s some as is anxious about Your Grace, that’s the truth, with the lightning and all. But,” Uwen added, cheerfully, “they ain’t sorry to be here, counting ye a lord that wins his battles, m’lord, which is a long sight better ’n one that don’t.”

“It seems I hardly won the one against the Quinalt.”

“I don’t think it were the Quinalt that done ye wrong, m’lord, an’ so Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles say others.”

He looked straight at Uwen, and Uwen, with something he had gathered himself to say, went on:

“Likeliest Murandys, maybe Ryssand, is what they’re sayin’ around the fire. Some thinks it was magical, but others says it’s again’ His Majesty on account of Her Grace, which the barons don’t like…

Murandys is the name some say.”

Uwen had a knack for hearing things, in the kitchens, in the stables, with the common men wherever he was, and most particularly with grooms and soldiers. He paid attention when Uwen told him such things, and trusted Uwen’s estimations as much as he trusted Idrys’

warnings.

“Is Cefwyn in danger?” he asked. That had to be asked first.

“Not so’s ye’d say, in danger, m’lord, as folk think. It’s that the barons in the north was accustomed to goin’ on their own advice in the old king’s reign. I’m talking above myself, here, but the old king favored ’em and His Majesty don’t, and I pray to the gods His Majesty gets before ’em soon an’ checks ’em hard.”

Gods were much in his thinking lately, and unresolved. But he was entertaining less and less hope of them. “I wish he may. What more should I wish?”

Uwen looked squarely at him, understanding what he meant, he was well sure. At times he longed for Uwen to know more than he did, and to be able to advise him, as Emuin refused to do.

But Uwen set his own limits. “I couldn’t judge, m’lord. Truly, don’t ye ask me. I can’t tell ye what’s right. All the same I trust your Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles heart, m’lord; ye’ve done naught but good to me. And good to His Majesty. He’s on his throne, and I wouldn’t say His Grace of Murandys is safe if he crosses the Marhanen, not an hour.”

“Yet Cefwyn wouldn’t do any man harm. He has no wish to do it.”

“That’s so, m’lord, but he is a king. And kings ain’t common men, as goes wi’out saying.”

“Nor am I.”

“No, m’lord, ye ain’t.” Uwen gave a great breath, as that damning statement hung there, and they neither one could mend that, nor mend what had sundered him from the place he had longed to have.

“The whole household come wi’ ye, m’lord. Lusin and them has all left the king’s service for good an’ all, to come wi’ ye.”

“I am grateful,” he said, but had no idea what more to say, when men put themselves and all their substance at risk on the currents that swept him up and carried him here and there in the world. To follow him seemed an unreasonable choice in men who might have had peaceful lives. And at the moment he saw his servants and his guards alike waiting at the side of the room, on benches, some, or squatting down to talk to comrades, none asleep, none appearing impatient of the long day’s travel.

He found no gods in this place, no more than in the Quinaltine. He hoped for the safe rest and peaceful dreams of all the men with him.

The Lines were well-ordered here, at the least, a greater comfort and source of strength than the famed water. “The household should go to their beds,” he said, “you among the first. I may sit here a while by the fire.”

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles

“Yes, m’lord,” Uwen said quietly, and went and spoke to Lusin and Tassand. The staff moved quietly off to the hall.

But when Uwen came back alone and settled close by the fire, he was not surprised. Uwen maintained his solitary watch, armed, but not heavily so, wary, but nodding sometimes. “How’s Emuin farin’?” Uwen asked at last.

“Master Emuin has had to stop,” he said quietly.

Emuin was at least warm, if damp, and the cold wind was catching the canvas that sheltered him, an intermittent thumping. “Has Captain Anwyll gone to bed?”

“The captain’s turned in, aye. I said I’d watch.”

“You might make a pallet.”

“Ye might lie down on your own bed, young m’lord.”

“I shall. I shall, Uwen. But just now the fire is warm.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

A question nagged his peace. “Does he fear me, the captain?”

“He’s Quinalt, an’ ain’t never dealt with wizards. Ye do set a body back a little with your seein’ master Emuin, m’lord.”

“Doubtless so.”

Tristen watched the flames, wondering did he dare sleep, and asking himself whether they should simply wait here until tomorrow evening and until master Emuin might overtake them. He had let the captain go to his bed without discussing the notion. But he still might propose it at breakfast, which they did propose to have, before they hitched the wagons. Delaying another day could have Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles risk, once the messenger had reached Amefel and let loose his news in a town known for unrest. If the town expected a thing to happen in a certain number of days and it failed, speculation started, and men did unwise things.

Meanwhile Uwen’s head nodded and his chin sank on his breast.

And in the gray space, softly, subtly, as Tristen watched the fire, Emuin was with him, a wisp of a presence, a comfort in the shadowy dark.

A wind seemed to blow through the gray, tattering edges. Emuin’s presence grew more attenuated still, butwhether he was as thin and insubstantial to Emuin he could not say. He resisted all temptation to reach out and hold on to the old man by his own strength. There had been risk in speaking like this in Guelemara, the chance of being spied upon; and he was not sure, resting among so many priests and monks, whether it was entirely safe to make such an approach.

But there was also a decision to make.

—
Shall I bid the company wait?
he asked master Emuin.
We might

stay here tomorrow.

The wind blew stronger. And colder.

—
Master Emuin? Are you well?

—
Be careful!
Emuin said, a mere wisp now.
Beware, young lord!

Something crossed the wind, shadowed it for a moment, uncommon
in his venturing here.

—
What is that?
he began to ask. And in alarm:
Is someone there?

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles

—
No!
Emuin caught at him, but wafted backward as if the wind had
blown him, sailed away and down like the leaf from the hilltop.

Don’t pursue me. Don’t look. Don’t ask, don’t wonder. I fear

shadows in that direction, young lord. I do fear them. Perhaps I

see them more clearly where I stand. But this is altogether an

uneasy night. Go!

Distances here were not the same. At one moment Emuin had as
well have been in Guelemara, in the next as solidly as if he were in
the monastery, and yet Emuin had not stirred from his camp nor he
from his chair.

And beyond… beyond and in some direction he could not equate
with the chair or the fireside… was an Edge of the sort he had
learned was dangerous. It was death … or it was at least a loss of
some sort. He had seen it appear with Uleman, the lord Regent, Her
Grace’s father, and lost him very soon after. Of a sudden he was
afraid for Emuin, and was amazed how very like Mauryl Emuin had
become, with his hair and beard far whiter since summer. It shone,
in the light there was. He could easily mistake one for the other.

—I am not Mauryl
, Emuin said fiercely. I have no wish to become
him or to set my hand to his workings, no matter your wishes.
Don’t

mistake us, young lord! I cannot amend his Working, never think

so! Gods forfend! Dont pull at me so!

He was duly chastised, and it was a moment before he dared a
wider breath.

—Master Emuin
, he said in this waking dream,
I meant no such

thing. Nor ever mistake you. And I only ask
—

Cherryh, C J - Fortress 02- Fortress of Eagles
Fear had come in from over that dark Edge. There was no clear
direction in the gray place, but it had always more or less
corresponded with directions in the world of Men. It seemed to him
now that he had been facing north, sitting before the fire. That
would put the perilous Edge at the west… at the west, where Amefel
lay, just across the river, not north, toward Tasmôrden.

But that reckoning set the shadow he had felt in the wind to the east,
and the south, which he did not immediately believe. He dared not
distract himself with wondering, or trying to find himself in the
world of Men. There had been the danger, before. He felt the
uncertainty, now, and felt…