They rode away from the place. Things came clearer as they went, the dark of ordinary night succeeding gray in his vision. But they were going, they said, back to the town, back to safety, where they might send men to find out the truth of business about Emwy district.
Althalen, he heard Idrys mutter. A fit place to murder the Marhanen heir.
A Name, a Name that rose up and coiled along the road, a Name that cast the night into confusion and distrust.
A Name that wrote itself on aged parchment, and shadowed with Owlʼs broad wings.
The gray was more, then, and the light in that place breathed with voices all striving to tell him something, but so many spoke at once he could not hear a single word.
He was sitting on a rock, and horses were nearby. He swayed as he sat, and a hand touched him he reached to feel it, seeking something solid in the reeling, giddy light.
A blow stung his cheek. A second.
Cold as the dead, Cefwyn breathed. Tristen.
Mʼlord, he said. The world was clear, if only the small dark space of it where Cefwyn was kneeling on one knee that was not right. Cefwyn should not do that; but all else was gray, and cold, and went and came by turns as Cefwyn fumbled at his own collar and drew out a circlet of metal on a chain.
Here. Cefwyn drew the chain off and pressed the object into his hand perforce. He felt the shape. He felt it as something alive and potent. Numbly he clenched it tight, pressed it to his heart and breathed, seeing the world dark and overwhelmed with Shadows and starlight.
I was lost, he murmured, trying to make them understand. Cefwyn,
The Marhanen. We are betrayed once and twice, creature of Mauryl Gestaurien. You are deceived if you trust in these. Mauryl cannot have intended this, of all things else he would have done. You are in the wrong place. Leave them. Come away.
Unnatural, a soldier muttered. Theyʼs ghosts about. Theyʼs no good for a Marhanen nor a Guelen man on this road.
Get him up. Set him ahorse, someone said, and Tristen tried to see, but the Shadow was around him. He knew he stood. He knew Cefwyn took the object and the chain from his hand and put it over his head, and about his neck, insisting that he wear it. It chilled him through the mail. I am afraid, he said. Cefwyn, I donʼt know the way from here. I canʼt find the road home.
Hush, Cefwyn said, or Mauryl said. He was not certain. Rough hands pulled him, guided him, lifted him up and across a saddle which he struggled at the last to reach, knowing it was his way to home and safety.
A long time later he heard the sound of horses. He said as much, but no one would listen. Later, after another rest, and after they were on their way again it might have been hours they heard them, too, and he heard men curse and some invoke the gods. He heard metal hiss and knew the sound for the drawing of swords.
He felt at his side, but he had no sword. As in the loft when Mauryl died, when others took measures against the danger, he waited, not understanding, searching through the grayness to know whether the riders that came toward them were friend or foe.
Someone hailed them in the distance. Mʼlord Prince? that voice said, then closer. And eventually another called, rough and grown familiar since a morning that now seemed a world past, a voice that had called him out of a safety amid the bedcovers, out the dark of his room yesterday morning.
Mʼlord Prince? Lord Commander? Is that you?
He trembled, recognizing Uwenʼs voice. He saw Uwen with a bandage about his head, ahorse and leading other horsemen toward them out of a faint coloring of dawn above the hills.
Among the riders was His Grace Lord Heryn in velvet hall-clothing. Heryn made haste to get down and kneel on the roadside and to offer Cefwyn his respects and his concern.
Well you came, Cefwyn muttered. And with the Guelen guard. How kind of you to bring my soldiers. Or was it my soldiers who brought you?
I heard the news, Heryn said. Your Highness, I had no inkling, none, of any disaffection in the area. My men have come and gone there with no hint of their doings. I swear to you Iʼll find out the truth. Iʼll get to the heart of this. Iʼll find the ones responsible and their kin. Damn them all!
It was not the last word that Heryn said. Cefwyn also gave some answer to him. But the sound of voices grew dim. Uwen had ridden close, and asked if he was well.
I think, he began to say, but did not finish.
Tristen, the Wind breathed.Tristen, Tristen.
He felt the chill, and struggled against the touch.
No, said the Wind, and there was fear in it.Tristen is not your name.
Uwen, he found wit to say. He stood on the ground. He had gotten down from Gery at the rest they took; but he stood foolishly with Geryʼs reins in hand, and could not manage them, he was shaking so. Uwen. Help.
Aye, mʼlord. Hereʼs a stirrup clear. I got ye. A hand reached down to him, took Geryʼs reins, and lingered to take his hand. Put your foot in ʼt, mʼlord, Iʼll pull.
He set his foot in Uwenʼs stirrup. Uwen pulled on his hand as he tried to rise, pulled until he could catch a grip on Uwenʼs coat, and then on Uwenʼs arm, as he came astride the horse. He settled, taking a grip on the saddle, not knowing what else to do with his hands, but Uwen bade him to put his arms around himThe horse can carry us both a ways, Uwen said. Ye ainʼt got but a mail coat, nor me much more, mʼlord. Rest forward against my back, thereʼs a lad.
He let his head sink again, trusting Uwen, trying with all his will not to fall into that grayness again. It had become a deadly place. He knew this as he recognized Words when they came to him. The gray space, which Emuin had warned him was not their own, was not a refuge here, this close to haunted things. He had not reached Emuin. He could not attract Emuin, only that hostile Voice that called and urged at him, and of all things else, he dared not listen to it.
But it was safety he had found at Uwenʼs back, at long last, after long running. Uwen offered him protection, a trusted, a kindly presence, strong enough to chase the shadows for him.
He slept, utterly, deeply slept, then, his head bowed against Uwenʼs shoulder.
CHAPTER 14
Idone what I knew, Uwen said. The veteranʼs voice shook. And Uwen Lewenʼs-son, Cefwyn thought, was not a man who feared that much of god or devil or the lord court physician. I talked to ʼim all thʼ way home, Your Highness, Uwen said, I told ʼim, donʼt you fear, I told him, Donʼt ye go down, lad, and he clung on. He hears what ye say. He ainʼt deaf, sir. The latter to the physician, who tucked his hands in his black sleeves and scowled.
Cefwyn scowled at Uwen and at the physician alike, as the learned fool shook his graying head and withdrew from Tristenʼs bedside.
In sleep, despite the protestations of unlearned men, there is no awareness, the physician said. It is perhaps a salutary sleep, Highness. There is no hurt on him that mortal eye can see, naught but scratches and bruises, doubtless from the falls
A fool can see that! Why does he sleep?
Nothing natural can cause so profound a sleep. I would say, ensorcelment. If he would bear the inquiry The physician moistened thin, disapproving lips. I should say this far more aptly is a priestʼs business. Or failing that the burning of blessed candles. The Teranthine medal is that his choice?