Tristen drew a sharp, keen breath, feeling a shiver in the air. Dust moved aloud the street as a stray gust of wind blew toward them. The gust gathered bits of straw, whipped a frame of dyed yarn standing by a doorway, and one woman, one old woman was in that doorway.
Are you Auld Syes? the sergeant asked.
I am, the old woman said, and lifted a bony arm, pointing straight at Cefwyn. Marhanen! Bloody Marhanen! I see blood on the earth! Blood to cleanse the land! The wind danced around her rough-spun skirts, it skirled through the tassels of her gray shawl and the knots of her grayer hair. She wore necklaces not of jewels but of plain brown stones and knots of straw. She wore bracelets of knotted leather. Tristen looked at this woman, and the woman looked at him. She feared him. He knew that look. She stretched out her arm at him and pointed a finger, and cried a Word without a sound; and now in dreadful slowness Cefwynʼs men were making a hedge of their weapons.
The wind wrapped around and around the old woman, winding her skirts and shawl about her until she was a brown and gray bundle in the midst of the dust.
The Word was still there. He couldnʼt hear it. People were screaming and running and Gery was plunging and snorting under him, crazed, as the wind whipped away from them, taking straw and dust with it, still blowing in and out among the houses, still whipping at the skeins of yarn. The frame fell over on the woman, covering her in hanks of yarn. Dogs were growling and barking, but some had run away. A handful of old men and women and a boy with one foot all stood where they had, and Cefwyn was shouting at the ridersUp the lane! Catch one!
Maurylʼs damnable tinkering, the Wind was saying, with a hundred voices.Maurylʼs meddling with the elements. Unwise. He would never take advice.
Who are you?Tristen asked it, and thought of Emuin it was like that gray place. But Gery was with him, Gery refused to go further, shied back and turned
Tristen! Cefwyn was shouting at him, and the wind whipped about, blinded him with bits of straw that flew and stung. Gery jolted so strongly forward he hit the cantle, and he fought to hold her as old women hauled the sputtering woman out from under the hanks of yarn and young women bolted down the lane between the houses and fled.
She Tristen began, but had no words to say what the wind had said to him it was all fading in his mind the way dreams faded, except it had spoken of Mauryl, and home.
Mʼlord Prince, Idrys said, sword in hand, this is no longer a ride for pleasure. Take an escort. Ride out. Now!
Cefwyn was incensed. Damn it! Iʼll not be chased by a pot-wizard and a gust of wind! Cefwynʼs horse was fighting the rein and he brought the animal full about in the midst of them. Sheʼs a foolish old woman!
Lost sheep be damned, Idrys shouted at him. It was a lure, mʼlord Prince! They wished nothing but to draw you here. Your life is in danger. No one dragged their sons across the river. Theyʼve gone, theyʼve taken to your enemies. No, Your Highness! Cefwyn had gone aside from the road, and Idrys went so far as to ride in front of his horse. Go up in those hills and youʼll be feathered like a goose. Thatʼs their purpose. Thatʼs what they want!
Do not you dispute my decisions, sir! The women know where to go!
Straight to their brothers and husbands! Idrys said. Give over, mʼlord Prince. This profits no one but your enemies! If thereʼs aught to learn, the patrol Iʼve sent will find it!
The wind came near them. The air seemed to buzz and hum like insects on a lazy day. Uwen caught Geryʼs rein, and Cefwyn was still disputing Idrys, but Idrys seemed then to prevail.
Two riders who had left them were still chasing across the fields, jumping fences, but the banner-bearers and the rest of the troop gathered around Cefwyn.
They were alone in the village, then, with the old villagers and the lame boy and the dazed old woman staring at them.
Where are your men? Cefwyn asked again, and had a confused babble of pointing, and swearing, oh, indeed they were up with the sheep.
The lost sheep? Cefwyn shouted at them. The sheep that strayed, that you complained of? Or was I ever to see that message? Was it to Heryn Aswydd you sent? And what was it to say to him? Treason? Do we speak of Elwynim, and not of sheep at all?
The villagers were afraid. Tristen was afraid. The air still seemed to him to be alive with threat. The elderly villagers kept protesting their innocence. But the air tingled. The light was strange.
Uwen Lewenʼs-son, Cefwyn said then, take your charge and ride as fast as the horses can bear. Tell them at Henasʼamef weʼve stayed in this village asking questions, and weʼll hold these people under guard until the patrol comes back with you. Take Tristen with you!
Aye, Your Highness. Uwen turned his horse, reached out, leaning for Geryʼs rein, and drew Gery about with him perforce.
No! Tristen said, fighting him for the rein.
Mʼlord, Uwen said, and would not give the rein up as Gery jerked and shook her head, hurt, Tristen saw, and abandoned his attempt to hold her back. Weʼre ridinʼ for help for the prince, mʼlord! His Highness donʼt need no argument. Come on!
Gery went, fighting a step more, and then Uwen let go the rein and expected him to follow. He knew that Uwen had no time to spare for his fear. He steered Gery with his knee as Gery joined Uwenʼs horse in a brisk gait, back along the road.
Prince Cefwyn will manage, Uwen said. Unarmed and unschooled ye ainʼt much help, mʼlord. Weʼre bound to do what weʼre told, ride to the other side of that damned woods, and fast back as we can.
What are they looking for?
Just you leave the village to His Highness! Uwen said to him. Anʼ stay wiʼ me, mʼlord. We got to get us past them trees. If we start summat from cover up there in the rocks, that woods is all one woods, clear to the other end of Lanfarnesse, and full of trails. Can ye stay a fast ride?
Yes, Tristen answered. His breath was coming hard. Idrys had spoken of enemies, and that word he did know Mauryl had had enemies. The Shadows were enemies, and the forest seemed the most apt place for them to hide. He rode with Uwen, and glanced back as two more of the guard came riding breakneck down the road and their own horses picked up pace to match.
Hawith, Jeony, Uwen said, waving his arm toward the road and the woods ahead. Get yerself out to the fore of us, we got a mʼlord to get through here. He took off his helm as they jounced knee to knee and offered it to Tristen across the gap. Put that on, mʼlord. No disputing me on this.
Tristen settled Uwenʼs helm, warm and damp with Uwenʼs sweat, on his head, and made Uwen no more trouble. They were coming to the woods, with the danger of some sort to pass, he understood well enough, trouble which might try to stop them. He understood the concern to know where the village men were, if they were supposed to be in the fields, but some of Cefwynʼs men had gone up in the hillside meadows chasing those who had run and what they thought those fugitive women had done or might do, he did not understand. Their own course seemed the most dangerous, a road winding past gray rocky knolls and through thick forest shadow, and as they approached the forest, with the horses already tiring, Uwen reined back, jogging a little distance, letting the horses take their breath.
Weʼll ride hard through, Uwen said. Fast as we can. Ainʼt no deceiving anybody. If they come on us, if happen I donʼt come through, ye ride straight on for town, hear me? Woods or fields, overland, wherever ye can find a way, ye get to the Zeide gate and tell the Lord Captain of the Watch his name is Kerdin, heʼs always on duty at night, and heʼll get us help. Mind the village is Emwy, and ye donʼt talk to no Amefin officers, ye hear me, young mʼlord?