Tristen’s presence, as superstitious, he feared, as Efanor had become about his gods: he wanted to know where Tristen was. He began to feel safe only when Tristen was in his vicinity. Tristen had brought the
Elwynim to him, which was more than good fortune; Tristen had brought him Nin6vrise when malign force had meant otherwise. He had never ignored Tristen’s warnings except to his peril and now he took the most emphatic one entirely to heart.
He knew what Idrys must think, and he sensed Idrys’ worry, when he had begun improvising on their already deliberated plans that suddenly, on as little sleep as he had had—Idrys would warn him. Idrys would have very strong things to say to him for this morning’s work, though Idrys had renewed his oath without demur or question.
Meanwhile the lords must be scratching their heads, trying to figure had they witnessed a real change of plans or a maneuver cleverly devised to sweep their objections sidelong into an agreement with the Elwynim and wizardry that they would not have otherwise taken.
But he took Ninévrisé’s hand, and left the hall the private way, by which they could reach the stairs, Ninévrisé to her guarded apartment, himself to his own, in search of privacy and rest. The leg, although it would stay under him, hurt so much, walking and standing on it this morning, that the pain had begun to cloud his thoughts. He was scarcely past the door when a page came running to bring him the stick, all concerned—was his misery that evident? he asked himself, and in relative private, he followed Ninévrisé and her guards up the stairs, seeking his own floor and his own apartment where he could limp and hurt and worry about whether he could in fact sit a horse in the requisite time.
He could not send a leaderless army into a battle on the scale this required. The King had to be on a horse and on that field.
“My lord,” Ninévrisé said, delaying on the steps, in her ascent to the floor above. “My lord?”
The air was cold on his face. Ninévrisé was concerned, as if he should not be trusted to carry himself down the hall. Ninévrisé —whose plans-whose life and welfare—relied on him, as everyone’s did.
“Climbing steps,” he said, out of breath. “Not the easiest.”
“You changed what you said you would do,” Ninévrisé said. It might accuse him. It might be a question. It was uncertain. He took it in the most charitable light.
“I believe Tristen,” he said, leaning on the stick. “I have not entirely changed what I plan. We will still deal with the whole riverside. But if Tristen is certain enough to insist—I believe him. He knows things.” It sounded foolish. He did not know how to explain.
“I think he does know,” Ninévrisé said, and added, in a quiet, diffident voice: “And he is truly your friend. I see that. I have no doubt o you, now.”
Upon which saying, she was up the stairs in a quick patter of steps with her guards hurrying to catch up.
He was staring. He knew that his own guards were waiting, Idrys among them witnessing his drift of thought, and he bit his lip and limped off the stairs and on toward his own door.
And toward his ill-assorted guard, the disposition of whom had entered his mind this morning, but he had not wanted to give warning of his intentions.
Now he stopped and looked at the two in question, the Ivanim Erion Netha and the Olmern lad, Denyn Kei’s-son. “You were given to my service,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve paid for your trespass. I’ve given your lords orders to prepare for war. Ivanor is bound for a brief sojourn at home and Olmern has its boats to see to. If you will rejoin your lords, go and do so. Or remain in my service and take the field with the Dragon Guard or the Prince’s Guard, at your will. I give pardon. It is without condition. Commission I also grant.”
And he passed into his apartment, walked to his own fireside.., not alone, never quite alone; he heard Idrys behind him.
I have loosed everything, he thought. I have let go all the power I gathered. Gods hope they think of no excuses and I get them back, or I am no King, and this kingdom will fall.
He looked around into Idrys’ disapproving frown.
“What, Idrys? Speechless? Have I finally amazed you?”
“Leaving yourself only a few Guelen, the Olmernmen and the Amefin to guard you? I find nothing left against which to warn my lord King.
You have done it all.”
That angered him, so that for a moment he did not speak. Then reason came back to him and he nodded. “As you say. But occasionally I do as pleases me, Idrys.”
“I am well aware.”
“It is good, is it not—for a king to be generous.., while he has a good man to watch the recipients of his generosity?”
“You have given me many causes to watch, my lord King, and in too many places for your safety or the realm’s?’
“I shall mend my ways hereafter. Will you leave me? You may, without prejudice. I could well use your talents in the capital.”
“My lord.” Idrys shook his head, with contrition in his dark eyes.
“Leave you in this—I will not. Did I not swear?”
“I need you. Gods help me, you are my other nature, Idrys. What would you advise me, granted I am committed to war and have done what I have done—for very good reasons?”
“That you be very thorough in your dealing with your enemies, lord, domestic and foreign. That if you pursue this war, you leave no half measures to haunt you, however prettily your bride asks. That you beware of your brother’s priest and beware most of Orien Aswydd and her sister.”
“And Sovrag?”
“Cannot safely negotiate Marna now. He will take orders.”
“Pelumer?”
“Has never committed himself to a quarrel; smiles on all; fights for none; in the wars against the Sihhé his father sat snug in Lanfarnesse and fought by withholding forces from a Sihhé ally. Pelumer has a poor memory, m’lord.”
“I did mark that.”
“Otherwise, take it that Lanfarnesse is loyal as a rock is solid, —and, like a rock, will prefer to sit. Lanfarnesse rangers are another matter.
They are not for battle in the field: Pelumer objects very wisely there, and did you ask him to lend you those men even to venture Marna, you might obtain a fair number of them. But Pelumer says this time he will commit archers in a pitched battle. I have found no reason to doubt his given word, m’lord King, and they will be well drilled.”
“You confess there is one honest man in council? You confess that Tristen is telling the truth?”
“As he knows it,” Idrys said, as if the irony of that were wasted on him. Likely it was not. Cefwyn waved a dismissal, sank wearily into a chair.
He had left himself nothing but war, from the time he had accepted the lady Regent’s hand.
The Elwynim lords and their men were saddling up in the stableyard, the afternoon of Cefwyn’s charge to them, and there were horses waiting for Cevulirn at the west door. Sovrag was off to the river, he said, to see to his boats; he had left at noon with two ox-carts loaded with cordage and pitch and another with seasoned wood. The lords of the south were all breaking camp and leaving with the same suddenness with which they had arrived, and Uwen said if one didn’t want to wait forever while master Peygan the armorer took care of the other business that His Majesty had set underway, it was a very good idea to get master Peygan started as soon as possible, the proper outfitting of a young lord for war taking a fair long time.
Uwen had known Peygan for years: Peygan had come from the capital with Cefwyn and had taken over an armory in disarray—so Uwen said on their walk across the yard. “The place was full of rats what ate the leathers, and the old armorer was drunk by day and night, with accounts all in a muddle, gods, ye’d be amazed.”
“What happened to him?” Tristen said.
“Oh, he took out the day we arrived and nobody’s seen ’im since. The old fellow wouldn’t complain, that’s what I guess. That rascal Heryn was making of them books what he liked, and the old armorer knew he should have taken the business to the King, but he drank, instead, being afraid to report the state things was in. The armorers, ye may know, m’lord, is all Crown men, master and ’prentices, alike, so’s ye ain’t dealin’ with anyone of Heryn’s lot, here.” “They belong to the King?”