Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03 (57 page)

“But it will provoke just a small bit of comment among the northern barons, will it not? He’s told Anwyll prepare a landing for boats bearing grain. An immense amount of grain, out of Casmyndan.”

“He’s importing grain? I had to show him the use of a penny this autumn, for the gods’ good sake.”

“Well, and made him lord of Amefel, my lord king, which I do recall counseling you was a—”

“You agreed it was a good idea.”

“I agreed he would be a most uncommon lord of Amefel, and perhaps it was a safe direction for him, considering the Elwynim prophecy.”

“Damn the Elwynim prophecy! If he wants to be king in Amefel, between the two of us—” He drew a deep breath, his heart still laboring from the realization of new complications in all his plans. “Between the two of us and the walls, master crow, if he would
be
High King at Althalen and rule the damn province between me and Nevris’ kingdom, I’d grant it. The
Aswydds

styled themselves aethelings.”

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

“So does he.”

“When?”

“That the first night, in the oath of Crissand of Meiden, my lord king, who is also Aswydd, may I say? And who swore to him as aetheling. And may I say that that small rumor is starting to make the rounds of the taverns? The word came out of Amefel, I daresay.”

“Like Cuthan.”

“Never forgetting that now troublesome man. And now Ryssand’s priest knows.”

“Damn this zealot priest—what
is
his name?”

“Udryn, my lord king. Chief of them, at least. And while Your Majesty has a very sensible desire to have the Lady Luriel’s wedding without incident—very many rumors may begin to make the same rounds, from the same lips, from the same source.

Do you still bid me refrain from this priest?”

“I want none of his crowd creating a commotion at the wedding.

No. No blood. Just keep that priest out of the way. That’s all I ask. If the Holy Father can’t rein him in… see to him. Frighten him. That’s the best course. And don’t let him know who’s done it.”

Idrys accepted that thrown stone without a ripple. “Will Your Majesty still wish, then, to see His Holiness today? Or Sulriggan?”

“No. I don’t need indigestion. But I’ll do something, perhaps, to Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

uphold His Holiness.”

“A wedding largesse… that might serve.”

“And on the
day
of the wedding, for the hour after. Make preparations, noisy preparations, all for the Wintertide, and a wedding feast in the square. Gods give us good weather. That will sweeten the mood in the town. Hard to make converts against a feast and free ale. Particularly if that zealot priest is too scared to show his face.”

“Dancing in the square, all the merry townsfolk.” No more unlikely proponent of festivities ever arranged a ball. “I’ll have the Guard drawn up, martial display. They
will
be there, and the weapons will not be the parade issue. A royal decree to make merry and a proclamation from His Holiness to sanctify the wedding. Then a royal gift.”

“A penny a head. No, two. Make them say, Gods bless His Holiness, and give them the pennies, as from him. Gods! To think I should be doing this to bolster the old fox.”

“And your former—”

“Never say it! And for the gods’ sake don’t make any noise about this Udryn.”

“For the gods’ sake?” Idrys asked with irony. “Perhaps. Certainly for the kingdom’s sake. And a greater reward you could never give His Holiness.”

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

Chapter 3

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The doors in Henas’amef were hung with winter garlands and the shrines in the Zeide’s East Court were festooned with evergreen and berries, with every manner of garland and banner, in anticipation of Midwinter Day and the turn of the world toward spring.

For the duke of Amefel the tailor brought forth splendid clothing, red, with black eagles on the sleeves; and a warm cloak with the arms of Amefel worked on it. It was wonderful new wool, kind as an embrace in the winter wind. Tassand and the tailor had insisted, for their own pride, to see he did not go to a new year in old clothes. There was magic implicit in that choice, and he agreed with it in all its meaning.

Still the weather held fair. It was cold enough to sting faces, but not a bitter cold.

Ale flowed with particular good cheer all over town, so the staff reported, and the two youngest of Tristen’s servants came back from town late, and in disgrace. The taverns were hung with lights and kept their doors open all night.

Pack-ponies went out the gates of Henas’amef heavy-laden with supplies for Anwyll, who was doomed to the watch by the river Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

for the festive season: it was on Tristen’s order they sent him a special load of ale.

Another train of mules kept continual rounds between Henas’amef and the river and between Henas’amef and the winter camp at Althalen, where more and more of Auld Syes’

sparrows came. The mules brought special supplies, sweets, for the Elwynim, the same as the Amefin, hallowed Midwinter Day.

But beneath the cheer of the festal season, and despite the new clothes and the well-wishes, Tristen worried, for there was no sign yet of grain or boats. Especially in the evenings he watched the main gate from the windows where his pigeons gathered.

Noting this congress of pigeons, some of the house servants said the birds were his spies, but this was never so, and his birds brought him nothing but comfort—never a hint of the passage of boats or of any other sort of transport that might bring him guests or grain.

What would be the outcome if he had made all this preparation and only Cevulirn returned?

So he wished, and he wished for days, all but in despair, and Uwen’s best wishes could lend him no assurance.

But one morning that he waked after a deep, peaceful sleep, he faced the windows early and with a joyous, inexplicable confidence.

He said no more to Uwen than that he had a hope this morning; and Uwen cast an eye to the banners cracking and straining at Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

their poles, and said with that good south wind he had the same.

For the next three days after the wind blew from the south, so strong and so constant it might even melt the snow across the river… so Tristen began to fear, and he sent word to Anwyll not to let down his watchfulness a moment during the holiday.

But on that wind, he believed the boats were coming. Olmern was on the wing. His pigeons flew out to the north on the third day, and returned at evening, noisy on the ledge, all accounted for, but not so hungry as he would expect.

Paisi came in the same hour, announcing that master Emuin would attend in hall the Midwinter celebrations, and begged Tassand’s assistance to make his robes presentable.

There were travelers on the road as well as on the water. Tristen became convinced of it… distracted while Tassand complained that whatever master Emuin had spilled on his gray robe would not come out, and he must call on the tailor, who was busy with other holiday requests, and at his wits’ end, and might he afford the tailor an extra coin for the effort?

Cook had more preparations now than a general contemplating battle, for an arrival Tristen assured her was coming precisely on the day.

There were the tables in the stable-court, well to the side of the stables, where staff and servants would hold their feast, in a tent set up for the purpose, with torches set up to light the premises.

There was the table in the South Court that would be spread for Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

the notables of the town, aside from those high lords and guests the great hall would accommodate.

The hams, the preserved meats, all these things laid by since fall, came out to be decorated; so did the stored apples and nuts and spices. There were partridge pies. The whole west wing smelled of baking apples and spice cakes.

Tristen bade Tassand advise the lords to expect a Midwinter Eve banquet as well as on Midwinter Day, for as he had dreamed of white-sailed boats coming to Anwyll’s camp, now he dreamed of Modeyneth and Trys Ceyl, and of camps more distant, all with weather blessed with the south wind and not a hint of snow or hindrance. Emuin had foretold Midwinter Eve as full of chance, fearsome and dark, but now the prospect was of wishes fulfilled.

On the afternoon of Midwinter Eve, indeed, while the sun was still high, the bell at the town’s South Gate announced arrivals—

and shortly thereafter the courtyard erupted in brawling confusion, horsemen and banners of not one but
two
lords, Umanon and Sovrag, who had arrived both from the riverside and down that short northern road from the guard stations.

Their arrival was the fulfillment of a promise. Their arrival together was a marvel, and the fact that they had traveled together was a miracle. Neither lord had liked the other. Yet here they were, and Tristen stood amid the din of yapping dogs and shouting stablehands to welcome them in great relief.

There were never in Ylesuin two more opposite men… even a wizard’s Shaping knew how very little likely they were ever to Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

admire one another. Umanon was Guelen, Quinalt, proper and lordly, fastidious with his person, and Sovrag of Olmern was a stout old river pirate lightly glossed with nobility—king Ináreddrin having found it easier to ennoble him than to ferret him out of his river-cliff stronghold.

Umanon, having just precedence over Sovrag in any courtly encounter, hung back frowning and amazed at Sovrag swaggering ahead to meet his host with open arms and a broad grin on his red-bearded face.

“Well, well-done, lad,” Sovrag declared, clapping Tristen fiercely about the shoulders. “Lord of Amefel! Gods damn, I said to myself when I had the horse-lord’s letter that the Marhanen had a rare good sense, damn but he does!” Sovrag stood back then, ceasing his friendly battering in favor of a broad, estimating view of him. “And a far better neighbor ye’ll be to us all than lord thievin’ Heryn Aswydd or his sisters ever could be, an’ by this beginnin’, a good customer, too. I asked His Grace here“—

this with a nod back to Umanon—”I said as he was supplyin’ the grain, he might as well come on the river and have a look at the far shore hisself. As I might say, your grain is all safe at the landin’ with that Guelen captain, who I trust’ll get it moved to some right place, wherever ye wish it.”

“He’ll manage,” Tristen said, having all confidence in Anwyll’s resourcefulness.

In truth, he had expected to feel great pleasure at the sight of Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

familiar faces, but Sovrag’s assault was not within his plans, and his heart widened dangerously in the honest joy of that friendly embrace.

Yet he feared the disaffection of the silent man in the meeting. If Sovrag had never been his enemy and had never dealt coldly with him, he could not say the same for Umanon, who, being Quinalt, was least likely of all the lords to approve of a wizard’s Shaping.

He had somewhat doubted Umanon would come. He had thought Sovrag might go to the south for grain rather than to Imor’s ample warehouses, for one thing because Umanon supplied Cefwyn, and might not have grain to spare from that army’s needs

—and for the other, because Umanon would never trust Sovrag.

Yet Umanon had come with the grain. And on boats, not the heavy horses that were the pride of Imor. Umanon had, therefore, a share of Lord Heryn’s gold dinnerplates… he did hope it was a fair one.

With all that in mind he resolutely braved Umanon’s icy calm and dared a warm welcome and a reach toward Umanon’s hand.

“Thank you for coming, sir. Thank you ever so much.”

“Lord of Amefel,” Umanon said, distant as ever, but pleasant, amazingly so. In fact Umanon had a far different expression toward him than he had ever had, not so much that the face changed, but that the eyes lacked hostility and the hand that met his had no coldness at all.

“Welcome. Very welcome, sir.” He found he had no idea quite what to do with Umanon, or how to keep him in this good Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

pleasure, but he had learned at Lewenbrook that this was a brave, hard-fighting lord, if a prickly and difficult one; and well-begun with him secured all the rest.

“A bold choice on His Majesty’s part, your appointment,”

Umanon said. “I take it there are northern noses sorely out of joint.”

“Very much so, I fear.”

“And this moving of grain? What’s the purpose here? To finish the business we left unfinished this summer?”

“Aye,” said Sovrag, having followed on Tristen’s heels.

“Cevulirn’s man had no great store of news, and your man out riverside’s no better. But partridge pies was a lure good as gold, well, close on it, and here we are. There’d better be those pies. I promised me lads there’ll be pies.”

“There will be,” Tristen said. “Cook says so. Master Haman!

Take the horses!” The horses on which Sovrag and Umanon had ridden in had Imorim and Olmern emblems on their tack, no mark of Anwyll’s company. And how they had gotten them upriver on boats he could not imagine. More, they were handsome, well-groomed animals, having no signs of a hard passage. He was quite amazed, and thought of large barges, as if the thought had Unfolded to him, Boats such as he had never quite imagined.

“And our answer?” Umanon asked. “Is it to Ilefínian, then?”

“Sir, before we say much, I think we should have all of us at Fortress of Owls - C.J. Cherryh - Fortress 03

once. But you do know Ilefínian’s fallen.”

“That news indeed traveled,” said Umanon, and Sovrag:

“I said we’d pay for not goin’ on across last summer, didn’t I say it?”

“Many of us said it,” said Umanon, and then, dryly: “Our grain is in this Olmernman’s boats,
to
which I have tally sheets, fair written, and signed to, and in my possession.”