Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03 (32 page)

There
was his brother. Cefwyn found himself on the one hand all but breaking into a grin.

“That would set the fox in the henhouse,” Idrys had said, who

had
seen that other Efanor, often… while Ninévrisë sat amazed.

“Ryssand might think twice about what he has and what he might lose,” Efanor said.

“He might think twice and three times,” Ninévrisë said, “but Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

Artisane is a wicked girl. Truly, truly I counsel against this.”

Cefwyn moved his hand to hers. “I would not countenance it,” he said to Efanor, “for one reason: the affront she paid Nevris, whether young Artisane contrived it or whether she only said what her father dictated. I can’t forgive that, or bring her into Nevris’ presence, not for any advantage. Nor will I sacrifice my brother’s happiness.”

“Oh, never a qualm for me, brother. That Her Grace can’t forgive the lady… that’s a difficulty.”

“If I could assure the troops to save my land and my lord’s good heart,” Ninévrisë said, “I’d kiss her and forgive in full view of the court. I account her that little. But for you, dear Efanor, my dear friend, you have a good heart; too good. For your own sake, don’t make light of it. The woman is a serpent, and she has a sting. Gods forbid, that you might ever carry through such a marriage.”

“As for me,” Efanor said, with a ruddy color to the roots of his hair, “my reputation is largely deserved: women have never moved me to the extent…” Efanor’s voice trailed off, but Cefwyn had no reticence.

“You are not tempted to follow me,” Cefwyn said, “in my previous folly.”

“I could remain lastingly indifferent to the lady, and, being good Quinalt, she is chaste.”

Ninévrisë laid her hand on Efanor’s sleeve. “No. Never throw Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

away love.”

“I’m half a monk,” Efanor said, “don’t they say so? What should I lose? And she’s young. She may learn to be pleasant.”

“Pleasant!” Cefwyn said, for he could bear no more.

Efanor gave him one of those glass-clear looks in his turn, innocent as Tristen’s eyes at this challenge to his priests and his holy aspirations. “Kings and princes marry for policy, not love.

Would you not have married Luriel, if there were no other prospect? The girl is young, and Quinalt at least in observance, and by the gods’ grace the true faith might give us something in common. Ryssand’s offered. He cannot object to being taken up on it.”

“Gods, what a recommendation of a bride. I’ll not have the brother I love fling himself between me and Ryssand’s ambition.”

“I’d give her no heir,” Efanor said with quiet assurance. “And I assure you’t would be as good as a nunnery and no inconvenience to me. My life is simple… monastic, in most points. It can remain so. And we only speak of responding favorably to Ryssand’s offer… not of the actual marriage. Take Luriel as an example. No marriage resulted.”

He had never imagined such cold depth under Efanor’s calm good humor: somehow, in some way, Ryssand had stirred Efanor’s absolute detestation. Efanor had all but drawn in his defense and Ninévrisë’s, and while Efanor would not take up the sword with any good cheer, this was indeed the brother he knew, Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

who had planned at least half the forays of their childhood… and who had become his enemy when Efanor had believed him guilty of sedition.

Now it was Ryssand who had made Efanor angry. And monkish Efanor might style himself, but he was Marhanen.

“I will countenance a courtship,” Cefwyn said, “but never a marriage. I will find fault with it. I’ll find some flaw in any arrangement.”

“As they did,” Ninévrisë said. “And yet we married.”

“Because we
willed
to marry, as gods know Efanor has no such desire. Gods. Gods. Idrys, you’ve been silent. What say you?”

“That nothing Ryssand plans favors anyone but Ryssand. But I’m not sure he’s planned His Highness’s acceptance. That will worry him.”

“Write,” Cefwyn said to Efanor, “and I shall. His own damnable arrogance may lead him to believe
we
think it a good idea. But gods save us, Nevris, if that baggage
ever
affronts you in the remotest… I’ll have her head
and
her father’s.”

“That baggage is
feared
, mark me. Cleisynde fears her, as much as follows her. But Luriel—”

“Luriel hates her cousin, and always has.”

“Luriel is new-crowned queen of all eyes.” Ninévrisë said, “and is also clever, but not wise; and there have been great changes since Artisane left. If Artisane returns, when Luriel’s all a-flurry over Panys and a prospect of
her
grand wedding, and all of us Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

stitching on Luriel’s wedding gown, oh, now there’s the fox and the weasel in the same sack, with the neck tied.”

He had had small understanding of the women’s court, which he had thought of as sheep without a shepherd since Efanor’s mother’s death. Weasels in a sack seemed more apt since Ninévrisë’s ascendancy.

And he gave what Ninévrisë said his careful consideration, for while Artisane and Luriel led no troops, wielded no swords, nor had good Quinalt ladies a voice in the councils of state, a quarrel between the niece of Murandys and the daughter of Ryssand would unsettle the relationship between those two houses. And that relationship, however unholy their recent acts, was the rock on which the north was built.

It was also the reef on which the kingdom might shipwreck itself for good and all. Quarrels in the women’s court where the king could not directly intervene had their own potency.

“If Luriel gained a firm rule over Artisane,” Cefwyn said, “the whole kingdom would be the safer. But neither the fox nor the weasel ”will threaten
you
, Nevris, and that I swear. There is one intervention I
can
make in your secret realm upstairs, and that is to see Luriel in one convent and Artisane in another at the other end of Ylesuin if ever you find their quarrels tiresome. You may not be queen of Ylesuin, but by the blessed gods the ladies of this court will know they have you to please, and none other.—So likewise for your peace, brother. I swear it, quite, quite solemnly.”

Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

“So shall we disturb Ryssand’s?” Efanor asked with—Cefwyn could all but see it—the old sparkle in the eye and the old flare of the nostril that meant Efanor had decided and was bent on the deed.

“Be careful,” Ninévrisë wished them both, and from Idrys, that dark eminence: “Hear her. Very carefully hear her, my lord king.”

By evening of an easy ride, Tristen at Cevulirn’s side came in sight of the river and of the camp, orderly rows of tents beneath their high vantage on the hill: there was one of the several bridges that led into Amefel… or its pylons and framing, for the deck was stripped of planking and that planking stored on this side of the river in sections, under guard. There was the camp, long-established with several sheds and a small company of guards, that had maintained their guard over the bridge before Anwyll had come here. Now the sheds that must have been all the camp were swallowed up in the brown and gray tenting that spread along the shore, and the fires which before now must have been modest and few sent up a blue haze of smoke which hung low above the water.

There, too, across the river, was their first view of Elwynor, a shore that, far from being ominous, looked very like their own, with snowy low hills and wooded crests. There, Tristen said to himself, there was Ninévrisë’s kingdom. Ilefínian, under siege, lay far away over the hills. The dark Lenúalim, which had lapped Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

like an old serpent about the stones of Ynefel in the spring and summer, ran here as a broad, cold river, sided by ice.

They rode down toward the camp in a light sifting of snow from the heavens. Banners unfurled, and showed to the camp who had come, which sent the soldiers scrambling to their feet. Men ran, and the camp answered with a brisk and anxious welcome.

Captain Anwyll, only just arrived himself, came half-dressed from the largest tent to meet them in the main aisle of the camp.

“Your lordships,” Anwyll said, looking up at them on their horses. Anwyll’s breath steamed in small, hurried puffs. “Is there trouble?”

“No. Only a visitor to see the camp,” Tristen said, for he had no complaint of what he saw. “His Grace of Ivanor has come to see our situation.”

“Honored,” Anwyll said, though most likely, Tristen thought, their visit was not entirely welcome tonight, while order was not complete; Anwyll still looked distressed and caught at a loss. But he sent for a cloak and his coat and showed them about his small command.

“I’d see the bridge,” Cevulirn said, “the captain’s good grace extending that far.”

Anwyll cast Tristen a glance as if to see was there contradiction, and receiving nothing contrary, led them to the bridgehead, where great timbers stood skeletal against the wintry sunset and the empty pylons stood tied by timbers, which alone lent the Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

structure strength.

“There’s some concern about the spring flood,” Anwyll said,

“We’ve the planking under guard; I’m told we should cross-brace when the floods come if the decking’s not in place by then.”

If they lost pylons or decking, they could not cross without considerable delay and difficulty; and Tasmôrden would very much aim at that destruction if he could spare the men from his siege: the bridges might well be his next attack.

“By no means must we let the bridges go,” he said. Anwyll was shivering, and sneezed in reply. “Be well,” he said, and Anwyll blessed himself with a worried look. “We should go where it’s warm,” Tristen said, and on their walk back to the center of camp observed Anwyll pressing a hand to his heart, where no few soldiers wore their Quinalt amulets, or Teranthine ones, beneath their coats, and so Anwyll had had, on a gold chain.

But worried or not, Anwyll ceased the small cough that had troubled him on their walk to the bridge, and there were no more sneezes.

Anwyll’s tent was a spare, snug, and modest affair, with a forechamber large enough for a small chart table and field chairs, such as assembled out of pegs and parts. Twilight was deep, and the lighting of lanterns made a fair contribution to the pungent air, the smoke, and the warmth in the place… a smell that conjured other tents, and the battle at the end of summer… not, Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

curiously, an unpleasant stench, that of oil and leather and horses, and the nearby river, only one that carried the implication of weapons advanced, battles possible, the enemy opposed.

Ale added its own aroma, ale provided from Anwyll’s own store; and at that table and in Cevulirn’s company, Tristen provided the news he had, the confirmation of Drusenan as Lord Bryn.

To the appointment of a lord of Bryn, Anwyll said nothing, nor likely knew whether Drusenan was good or otherwise; but to the mention of fugitives at Modeyneth, he frowned, doubtless not pleased to have Elwynim between him and his capital; and chagrined, it was likely, to have marched his force of elite Guard past a band of Elwynim without knowing they were there.

It was a fault. Tristen neglected, however, to mention it.

“I’ve moved these folk over to Althalen, across the hills,” Tristen said, “to have them safe within walls and not let them gather in numbers on this road.”

“To Althalen,” Anwyll echoed, in mild dismay. “Women and young children. But with the siege of Ilefínian there may be more seeking to cross.”

“And what shall we do with them?”

“Let any cross who will cross,” Tristen said, “if they swear to Her Grace.”

“Armed troops as well?”

“If they’ve Tasmôrden at their backs,” Cevulirn said dryly,

“they’ll be in a considerable hurry, and reluctant to discuss. And Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

very difficult it will be to sort out Tasmôrden’s men from the rest.”

“If that should happen,” Tristen said, “by no means receive armed men into your camp. Have them draw off to the east on the shore, and not up the hill, under any circumstance: occupy that, and be sure. If they obey orders, they may camp and not stir out of that camp. And should it happen, advise me of it as quickly as you can. You can change horses at Modeyneth: Drusenan would provide you -what you need.”

Anwyll looked much more content with that instruction, yet a little anxious all the same. “I understand so, Your Grace. And welcome news.” Over all, Anwyll looked more content than he had been in coming here, and seemed particularly friendly toward Cevulirn’s presence, as if, Tristen thought, Anwyll had not quite trusted his orders; but now seeing the duke of Ivanor, had more confidence in what he was bidden do.

That was very .well: whatever comforted Anwyll could only make him a surer captain in this post; and until late hours and by lanternlight, with the snow sifting down from the heavens, they sat in Anwyll’s tent and talked of Bryn’s wall and of extending the river-watch all along the border.

“In both cases,” Cevulirn said, “no prevention to any small force bent on mischief, and going through the hills, but no great force can cross.”

Such forces needed heavy transport, and therefore needed roads, Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

and well-maintained ones, with gravel and rock to fill the soft places. And that, too, Tristen knew as he knew that it was not the kind of warfare he and Cevulirn would use, if there were not Cefwyn’s express order in the way.

“The men of Nithen district in Elwynor were forced to join Tasmôrden’s army,” Tristen said, “and so may others be with him by no choice of their own. Such men may well find occasion to slip across by ones and twos. Question carefully any Elwynim you find, man or woman, and treat them kindly. But be wary.

Limit what they can see here. If you get the chance, learn where Cuthan has gone, whether he joined Tasmôrden, and doing what; and what the situation is in Ilefínian, and what kind of force Tasmôrden has. All that manner of thing.”