That sent more than one misgiving glance toward Tristen, and toward Emuin, who stared, arms folded in his sleeves, at the floor of the dais.

“You and I are old friends, Lanfarnesse,” Cefwyn said, feeling the whole alliance, the whole kingdom tottering. “How do you say?”

Pelumer drew a deep breath. “I have already come here on faith, my lord King. My house and the Marhanen were first to rise against the Sihhé kings. You became kings; we, your most loyal subjects on Marna’s very border. I have a great respect for wizards. I’ve lived too near ’em, too long. I like less committing my men into any pitched battle. Lanfarnesse will support you with archers, the best of my men. But I much prefer the notion of fortifications.”

“No,” said Tristen. “They will not hold. There will no man be alive, sir. There will be substance and Shadows to fight. Enough men, enough men can deter even my enemy, because he has no substance without moving men to act for him, and if his men can be frightened, it may daunt him. At very least it would remove some of his strength. If the men can be stopped, it will stop him—at least in the world of substance. But you cannot replace numbers of men with walls.”

“I like this not at all,” Sulriggan said. “This is folly, Your Majesty.

One cannot fight unholy magic with swords. Our war is against As6yneddin. We should root out the influences—all godless influences-we should purify our land of taint and accept no advice from those who carry that vile taint into our land.”

“Tristen’s is advice worth listening to,” Cefwyn said sharply, because, now it was launched, he had to keep his hand on its scruff and not have the Elwynim war and Tristen’s war become the same thing in the lords’ minds. “I suggest, sir, that we do so.”

“Wizardry and Elwynim,” Sulriggan muttered. “On our very souls, Your Majesty, —we—”

“A warning of wizardry; and these are allies opposed to intrusion into this border!”

“Heretics, Your Majesty! We cannot swear with heretics!”

“By the blessed gods whose anointing I bear, sir, hold allegiance to me, or count yourself forsworn. Bear faith to this kingdom’s allies, or, if not, wait at your fireside for the issue, and deal with me later. And I warn you, if you fail my summons when attack does come on this province, if I go only with what Guelen and southern forces I can muster, then pray for our enemies across the river, because if I prevail, I shall be next at your gates, sir, with questions to which I shall want answers. I’ve no doubt of Lord Tristen’s good will to us, and if his advice runs counter to my plans I shall still heed it and take precautions of both sorts. I will support the Elwynim who are fighting with us: it is unconscionable and foolish to turn away from them, and I will not! Olmern is already in a predicament: he cannot withdraw; and I think that Ivanor may stand with us. I think that Lord Cevulirn understands me.”

“Aye,” said Sovrag. “You do got us, m’lord King.”

“You will have cavalry, Your Majesty,” Cevulirn said, his thin lips taut.

“Cavalry and foot,” said Umanon, “as soon as we can muster, Your Majesty.”

“I shall be with you,” said Pelumer heavily. “If so many fall, we have no safety, else. But I greatly fear for us, Your Majesty.”

Cefwyn found himself almost trembling, angry at Pelumer, angry at Sulriggan, angry at Efanor, and tried to disguise it by leaning on the table. “Brother?”

“Aye, my lord King.”

Gods, that infuriating, punctilious manner.

“Will you hold Henas’amef for me? Will you be my right hand here, my viceroy, to serve here and gather forces, and advise yourself what action should be taken should anything go amiss? At any time you find it wise to withdraw to the capital, do so, but I would have you here, at my back, close enough to be of help.”

“As the northern lords come in, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. If needed. —My lords of Ylesuin, prepare to meet on Lewen plain in Arys-Emwy at the full moon. Sooner if we must. Give me the tallies you anticipate before you depart. Establish signal fires along the way through Amefel—we shall do the same for outlying villages—and set those men by fives, under canvas, and well supplied. The weather may turn any day and it will be a difficult, long watch for them.”

Heads nodded, Pelumer’s reluctantly, Sulriggan’s last of all and but slightly.

The trembling did not leave his hands. Gods, gods, he thought, first thinking it was rage, and then knowing it for fear. Why am I in such haste, he asked himself, to start this menace from cover? It might bide longer and give us more time, time to bring in the northern lords. Efanor could be right.., sometimes he is right.

Northern lords of Sulriggan’s ilk, or at least men solidly Quinalt, and Sulriggan’s natural allies. That arrant fool Sulriggan will politic with any situation. And dares front me, in this hall, and in peril of the realm? He has to fall—and soon.

“Brother,” said Efanor, “by your leave I’ll dispatch a messenger of our own, summoning half the Guelen levies. They can be in reserve in Henas’amef against Your Majesty’s need.”

He looked at Efanor’s frowning face, suspecting his motives, suspecting that Efanor, with the help of such as Sulriggan, wished to protect himself and keep himself isolated from the Amefin as much as he meant to have those men in reserve for his rescue. Did he send for them in some hour of need, there even was a chance Efanor would not send them: in his worst fears, Efanor, realizing Henas’amef’s defensive deficiencies and besieged by his priest, would feel constrained to secure a peace with Aséyneddin, abandon Ninévrisé, and cede heretic Amefel to the Elwynim for peace in his reign over provinces solidly orthodox.

But that was only supposition. And it gave too little credit to the clever little brother he had once—loved—when the enemy was their grandfather.

Efanor gave him nothing—nothing—of what he thought, or agreed to, or purposed. Efanor had not ventured an opinion—except to bring in the Guelen regulars in force, which, with their officers, gave the new heir of Ylesuin a Quinalt force under his hand.

“Call them,” he said to Efanor. “And call Lord Maudyn with them.”

That was, next Idrys, the most experienced of Ylesuin’s commanders. “We dare not risk both of us. I know you would rush in if I needed you. But I forbid it. I forbid it, do you hear me? Send Maudyn.”

Something like guilt, or was it bitter shame? touched Efanor’s face and Efanor ducked his head. He clapped Efanor on the shoulder in walking down from the dais, closed his hand on Efanor’s arm and pressed it.

Emuin had always counseled him that if he would have the best from a man it was needful to expect that best. And (his own sullen thought} to do so as publicly as possible.

Then he walked on down the steps, taking a chance, desperately willing the leg to work—to convince the lords it would. It didn’t hurt so much. He could ride in two days, he thought, with sufficient bandaging-it would heal by the next full moon.

Meanwhile Efanor’s precious Quinaltines were not doing outstandingly well at praying calamity away from their borders. Call it fate, call it the actions of wizards more than one in number—he had his heart in his throat when he thought about entering battle with a very demonstrable wizardry as one of the weapons, far more demonstrable than the gods’ presence on the field; and when Tristen admitted that he was afraid—he began to worry indeed.

Change the plans? Rely on Tristen’s untutored skill? Tristen’s guesses which were no guesses?

Somehow, in the push and pull of wizardry that seemed to be a condition outside plain Guelen sensibilities, Tristen might prove their worst ally or the best defense they had. The wound that kept him sleepless with pain had only happened when he sent Tristen away. His father had not died until he sent Tristen away. In constant pain, he was exhausted of mind and body and becoming outright childishly superstitious about