One wondered what effect Maurylʼs fall had had on the border or if they were remotely aware of it.
Or what the inhabitants of such villages as Emwy thought their taxes were, that Heryn collected for the Crown.
And how far the Crown Prince of the kingdom of Ylesuin should ignore the situation.
It was given as truth among every borderer that Ylesuin would eventually have to marry and mistress some sort of agreement to settle the ancient question of the border heritance. That such an agreement was imminent and due in this generation was an article of faith among borderers; that the Prince of Ylesuin had no more choice in the matter than Lord Amefelʼs sisters had was an article of faith on his fatherʼs part but the heir of Ylesuin did not accept that role yet: the heir of all Ylesuin had other ideas, which involved bedding the Aswydd twins, enjoying the labor, and affording the Aswyddim the confidence that their habitually rebel province had secured useful influence.
And if the heir of Ylesuin was bedding the Aswydd twins, the heir of Ylesuin thus became too valuable to offend or assassinate, at least for the Aswydd partisans in Amefel, if not the other Amefin nobles who hated Heryn and his taxes.
It was thus far a comfortable and tacit bargain, one he was certain the Aswyddim had no wish to see the Elwynim outbid with a marriageable daughter. Heryn Aswydd had lately betrayed two Elwynim assassins who thought they could rely on Aswydd aid; and thus far (at least until, at his pleasure, the matter of Aswydd taxes racketed to Guelemara and the Kingʼs exchequer) Herynʼs sisters, particularly Orien, the eldest, were a pleasant dalliance, so long as Aswydd excesses and Aswydd ambition stayed in bounds. It was all Amefin sheep Heryn Aswydd sheared, and thus far none of them had complained to the Crown.
But now Mauryl entered the game, with this wizardling for that was a very good guess what the youth was casting his own sort of feckless spell over sane menʼs credence and doubts, and saying, all unexpected, Believe in me, lord Prince. Cast aside your other plans, lord Prince. Mind your former allies, Marhanen Prince, in Ynefel.
He might be Sihh, Idrys said, out of long silence, and sent a chill down the princely spine.
He might well, Cefwyn said, looking still into the gathering dark, at the last red seam left of the sky, far, far toward Ynefel. But Mauryl did serve us.
Mauryl Kingmaker. Mauryl the sorcerer.
Wizard.
The Quinalt will have apoplexies.
Priests seem to recover quite handily.
Three bids, Cefwyn prince. Do you realize? The Elwynim, the Aswyddim, now Mauryl. How many directions can you face at once?
He made no answer for a moment. The light was going. To see the horizon became, through the distortion of the crown glass, a test of vision.
He said, then, Only guard my back, master crow. Iʼll care for the rest.
CHAPTER 12
Words trembled in air, writings black and red, Names, that were Ashiym, Anas Mallorn, Ragisar, Malitarinvillages, that were Emwy and Asmaddion, and sheep were there, but Anas Mallorn ruled the riverside
Owl flew above a parchment and faded land. Owlʼs wings were barred and blunt and shadowed villages at a time. Owl, Tristen called to him, standing at some vantage he could not at the time understand. But Owl was on a mission, or hunting mice, and would not heed him.
Owl eluded him and kept flying, opening up more and more of the land to him, Names that writhed in red ink and fortresses in black. Streams snaked under Owlʼs broad wings to join the Lenalim, and all, all went under him.
Mʼlord, someone called to him. But he was losing Owl.
Owl, come back! he called, for it seemed to him that Owl would leave the edge and enter the dark. But the map kept widening, Words and Names and lands like Guelessar and ImorMarisal and Lanfarnesse
Mʼlord. Someone touched him, and he blinked, realizing it a gruff voice and perhaps one of the gate-guards, standing over him by dim candlelight.
It still might be, as he opened his eyes wide and gazed on a scarred and broad-nosed face, fair-haired, but gray and bald on the crown. He feared the man at first glance.
But it did not seem an unfriendly face.
Uwen Lewenʼs-son, mʼlord. The captain sent me. He said I should wake ye. Sorry. But it are toward dawn. And yeʼll be ridinʼ wiʼ His Highness, so best ye be up and breakfasted.
Yes, sir.
Mʼlord, I ainʼt sir yet, no wise. Uwenʼs all. Servants is waiting wiʼ a small breakfast, and Iʼll fit ye for the ride, if ye please.
Thank you, he said, if Uwen would not be called sir. Still he was going out riding, Cefwyn had kept his promise, and for the first time in days he was glad to get up. He rolled out of bed and went immediately to wash and dress, while the servants were bringing breakfast in and lighting more candles in the early-morning darkness.
Hereʼs a robe, mʼlord, Uwen said, flinging a robe about his shirted shoulders. Ye have a bite, now. Yeʼll be regretting it halfway through the day, else ye do.
He thought it sensible advice, and he sat down to a breakfast of hot bread and butter and honey, while Uwen was working with something of padded cloth and oil and metal, taking up laces, as it seemed.
He finished his breakfast more quickly than usual. He stood up, and Uwen gave him a padded undergarment, such as he had seen the soldiers wear about the barracks, such as, he thought, Uwen also wore under his mail and leather.
He was disturbed and fascinated at once, exchanging his robe for the soldierʼs padding. Uwen snugged the laces tight around him, saying, Well, yeʼre slighter ʼn ye seem, mʼlord. Breakfast anʼ all. Does that seem fitted, here, mʼlord?
Yes, he said, and Uwen took up a mail shirt.
Watch your hair, mʼlord, Uwen said, twisted his loose hair into a rope and helped him on with the shirt. The shining metal settled on and shaped itself about him like water, like
His fingers traveled over the links, smooth going one way, rough-edged going the other, and as he breathed, he found the weight like a Word, like a Name, settling about his shoulders and about his ribs and becoming part of his own substance but he was not this Thing. He was not this Weight. He was Maurylʼs, not a soldierhe was not this thing that enveloped him in steel.
Yeʼll get used to it, Uwen said. Hereʼs rough land, mʼlord. We got bandits, we got Elwynim, we got Amefin who could mistake ye for a target, silly lads. Here.
Uwen had a coat in his hands, and Tristen put his arms in like a shirt. Uwen buckled it on, then looped a belt around his waist and snugged it tight.
His Highness has got you a nice, quiet horse. She donʼt do no nonsense. Ye ready, mʼlord? Ye set fair?
I think I am. The coat was red, like Cefwynʼs guard, and like what Uwen wore. He looked like another soldier, except the brown hose and brown boots where the soldiers wore black.
Them are house boots, Uwen said, following his downward glance. But the captain didnʼt warn me ʼa that. Theyʼll have to do, begging your pardon, mʼlord, just stay tʼ horseback and mind ye got light feet.
I will, he said. Uwen certainly must have leave to speak to him. Uwen chattered in a friendly way, in a manner of speech he found like singing to his ears, and when he went out, Uwen spoke in the same way to his guards, knowing them all, it seemed, laughing, clapping the one named Lusin on the shoulder as they left.