Bridges can be mended.
The stones are old.
Wizardry raised them. Wizardry could mend them, could it not?
I donʼt know, sir. Mauryl would have known. Emuin might know. We never saw any men, ever.
Elwynim press at us. The skulls above the gate? Those are Elwynim.
Did those men steal sheep from Emwy?
They came to kill me.
He found it shocking. I donʼt know about that, sir.
Donʼt you?
No, sir. Mʼlord Prince. I donʼt at all.
Mauryl knew. Mauryl assuredly knew.
He didnʼt tell me, sir. He didnʼt tell me everything. He became afraid, here, riding alone with Cefwyn, with no advice from anyone, and with the talk drifting to killing and stealing. What should I know?
Uleman.
Is that a name, sir?
One might say, Cefwyn said, seeming in ill humor. Then Cefwyn said:
The Regent of Elwynor. That must mean something to you.
Names, again. Words. Tristen shut his eyes a moment, and there was nothing in his thoughts, only confusion, Words that would not, this morning, take shape. I donʼt know. I donʼt know, sir.
I thought you just knew things.
Reading. Writing. Riding. Words. Names. But I donʼt know anyone in Elwynor, sir. Nothing comes to me.
He was afraid to have failed the test. For a time Cefwyn looked at him in that hard and puzzled way, but, unable to answer, he found interest in Geryʼs mane. It was coarser than a manʼs hair. It was clipped short, and stood up straight. He liked to touch it. It was something to do.
Tristen, Cefwyn said sharply.
Sir. His heart jumped. He looked to find what his fault was. Perhaps even his respectful silence. Cefwyn kept staring at him as they rode side by side. He was afraid of Cefwyn when Cefwyn looked like that.
Ninvris. Does that name come to you? Does Ilefnian, perchance?
Ilefnian is the fortress of the Elwynim.
And Ninvris? What does that name conjure?
He shook his head. I have no idea, mʼlord. Nothing.
Such names donʼt come to you.
No, mʼlord.
Do you take me for a fool?
No, sir. I donʼt think you are at all.
And where do you find your truths? Do they come to you Cefwyn waved his hand. out of the air? The pigeons tell you, perhaps.
My teachers do.
Your teacher is dead, man. Emuin is gone. He fled to holy sanctuary. Who teaches you now?
You, mʼlord.
I? I am many things but no teacher, I assure you. And damned certainly no moral guide.
But I have to believe you, my lord. I have no other means to know. He was afraid, and shaken by Cefwynʼs rough insistence on what he knew must be the truth. The philosophy I read makes no sense of Names. Rarely of Words.
Gods witness, Cefwyn said after a moment, gods witness I am a man, not a cursed priest. Choose some other. At large and random you could fare better.
Emuin said to listen to you.
Then damn Emuin! I am not your guide, man. Moral or otherwise. Would you believe anything I told you?
I believe everything youʼve told me, mʼlord Prince. The prospect of doubt in things he had taken for true was sufficient to send sweat coursing over his skin. I must believe you, sir. I have no other judgment, except to judge the people that tell me.
Gods. Cefwyn slumped in his saddle, then suddenly took up the reins. Follow me! he said, and spurred around Idrys and past the vanguard.
Tristen followed; Idrys and Uwen would have, but Cefwyn turned and shouted, ordering their separate guards back. Their lead widened until they two rode alone with the escort far too distant to hear.
Do not, Cefwyn said, ever confess to any man what you have just told me.
Yes, sir.
They rode in silence a time. I have never lied to you, Cefwyn said at last, and quietly. At least that I can recall. Do you know who I am, Tristen? Do you really understand?
You are the Kingʼs son, Tristen said, looking at him, of Ylesuin.
Of Inreddrin, King of Ylesuin, son, yes, his heir; and of Amefel, by His Majestyʼs grace, his viceroy in Henasʼamef and over Amefel and its uneasy borders. Cefwyn looked down his nose at him, a narrow stare. Most men and women, oh, especially the women have ambitions to share that grace. I have a vast multitude of devoted followers, and from none but a handful of my guard would I take untasted wine. What say you, Tristen?
Of untasted wine?
Poison.Poison, man. Poison in the cup, a knife in the dark. I defend this cursed tedious border against old resentments, and the Amefin, in particular those Amefin who are opposed to the Aswyddim on account of their burdensome taxes, would prefer another heir, since me they cannot manage, and they have discovered that. Now with nine heads on Henasʼamefʼs gates, the Elwynim sue for peace and the Regent offers me his daughter. And the Amefin like that well, save Heryn Aswydd and his lovely and well-traveled sisters, who like that least of all. He lifted his hand to the east, where Henasʼamef itself showed small and remote, now, falling behind them. And should you lack for suspect affections or affiliations, or even bedmates, why, my dear sir, consider Guelemara. The capital. My father, my kith and kin, another pack of wolves, but with far better and courtly graces. The capital is vastly more civilized than here. They poison only fine vintages. Youʼve been treated far more shabbily, having experienced Henasʼamefʼs rough hospitality.
I find it kind, Tristen said, mostly.
You are quite mad, you know.
Most have been kind to me.
Mad, I say.
I think I am not, sir, please you.
Cefwynʼs hand moved to a medallion he had at his throat, like Emuinʼs. Do you not suffer midnight impulses to revenge? Do you not resent what certain folk did to you? Do you not think remotely of serving them in kind?
Who, sir?
A man has a right Cefwynʼs words tumbled one over the other in a passion and fell to a halt.
Sir?
Donʼt look at me like that! I am notEmuin. Donʼt look to me for answers, damn you, donʼt you dare look to me for answers! Iʼm no arbiter of virtue! Youʼll not trap me in that!
Emuin said you were a good man. But he said not to copy what you did.
Cefwynʼs mouth opened. And shut. Cefwyn stared at him.
I ought not to have said that, Tristen said. Ought I?
Gods. You will terrify the court.
He was terrified, too. And lost. Cefwyn used words very cleverly, very quickly turning them from the course Tristen thought they would take.
Or is such your humor? Cefwyn asked.
What, sir?
Cry you mercy, Tristen. I have never met an honest man.
You confuse me, Tristen said. He felt cold, despite the sun. I donʼt understand, sir, I fear I donʼt.
I donʼt ask that you understand, Cefwyn said, only so you donʼt ask too much of me. Emuin did tell you the truth.
The sun climbed the sky, and far past the view of the town, even beyond the reach of the fields, they took a westward road that ran up among low hills. The guard had long since swept them up again within their ranks and Idrys rode with a small number out to the fore, sometimes entirely out of sight as the road bent back and forth.
But it seemed the land declined, then, and in very little time the hills gave way to meadow, where a breeze that had made the day a little chill grew warmer and stronger, and lifted the banners and pennons.
They kept a moderate pace over an hour or so, between pausing to rest the horses. One such rest, as the sun passed its zenith had bees buzzing about a stand of white and pink flowers, and the horses cropping grass and the blooms of meadow thistles. Their company disposed themselves on a grassy slope and shared out a portion of the food they had brought.