—At Ynefel, you mean, sir.

—At Ynefel, Emuin said. He felt Emuin’s fingers move, and tighten. I shall hold fast. I have done what I can. I fear what you are. But I shall not cripple you by asking anything or by restraining you. Do what you were Summoned and Shaped to do.

—You fear what I am, sir,... Do you know what I am? Can you at least answer that? Can you warn me what I might do wrong?

—No, Emuin said. I don’t think I can. I can’t think of those things. I can’t foresee ....

I cannot begin to foresee the things you invent to do, Mauryl said.

Rain in puddles. Rain on the parapets. Flash of lightning. Can you not think of consequences, Tristen? And he had said ... I try.

—You have never admitted the enemy to your heart, Emuin said. You have never compromised with him. Never do it. Never do it, boy. Now go away. Don’t bother me. I have enough to do.

He was in the room again. His foot had gone to sleep. Emuin rested, no worse, no better than he had been. He thought he had heard Mauryl’s voice. Or that he touched what Mauryl was. Or had been.

He rose quietly. The brothers bowed to him in their dutiful way. He bowed to them, and felt the amulet beneath his shirt, the circle that Cefwyn had given him, that Emuin had given Cefwyn. It never showed in the other world. He was only conscious of it now because it had been Emuin’s, and was a wish for protection.

But he was Emuin’s protection. He had become Cefwyn’s.

I cannot begin to foresee, Mauryl had said, the things you invent to do.

Think of consequences, Tristen.

The next day likewise dawned with frosting breath and a slick spot in the courtyard where one of the servants slipped and fetched himself a crack on the head that master Haman had to attend, since the lord physician had left in angry disgrace—in attendance on Lord Sulriggan, the rumor was, who had left for his capital, and good riddance, most said.

Cefwyn called a war council for noon, in his apartments. Tristen was hesitant, but Idrys said he should be there, so he came. So did Efanor.

And Ninévrisé and Lord Captain Kerdin, and Lord Commander Gwywyn, but none of the Amefin lords, many of whom were at harvest, and no one from Sovrag’s men, who were all over on the river, Cefwyn said, in opening, but they were sending messages by way of the daily couriers from several points, and that he had sent dispatches to the villages and the lords of Amefel.

The dining board bore a stack of small maps, which Idrys said had just arrived last night, which recorded every large rock, every hillock, everything Ninévrisé’s few men had explored in the area of Lewen plain, north and west of Emwy’s ruin. Lord Tasien had sent a message to Ninévrisé by way of the Guelen messengers: Lord Tasien said that he had met with rivermen from Lord Sovrag, who had brought supplies downriver, and who had reported a quiet shore: that was the same as Sovrag’s messages had said.

Lord Tasien had also reported in his letter to Ninévrisé that they had made a wall and trench camp that was well begun, with the help of the Amefin peasants who had come up with the wagons. Tasien reported his men under canvas, digging their fortification, and awaiting word from inside Elwynor, and said they had seen no sign of hostile forces on this side of the river.

Efanor shook his head only slightly, perhaps in amazement that they were receiving such a report from the Earl of Cassissan—less charitably estimated, in personal disbelief that Lord Tasien’s word could be relied upon. But Efanor said nothing, only remarked later and very mildly, for Efanor, that it was very odd, very odd to have a woman in a council of war, but that the Elwynim were very efficient, and seemed to be experienced men—which made Tristen ask himself where the Elwynim had been fighting; but he kept that question to himself.

Efanor in general was on very good behavior. Gwywyn was very proper and made no allusion at all to the doings the night of the fire. He only seemed apprehensive, and increasingly relieved as the meeting went on and his counsel was taken with equal weight with others’.

“There’s a lot that’s ashamed of themselves,” Uwen said when he spoke of the meeting later. “What I hear, that night all that business got started there was a gathering over in the Quinaltine, praying and the like, and the lord physician having a tantrum and saying His Majesty was going to die. I think,” Uwen had added, “that the Prince thought His Majesty might have died, on account of the lord physician being sent out.

I don’t doubt the lord physician was a lot of the cause there. And there was priests out talking to the staff, saying that the King was bewitched.

Which I’d put to nothing, m’lord, but I don’t like much that gathers around that priest.”

Then Uwen added another thing that troubled him. “I’m Guelen,”

Uwen said. “And I seen just a touch too much of Quinalt priests and their politicking. Ain’t nothing to do with praying. They don’t like wizards.”

“Why?” Tristen asked.

“On account of the Quinalt says the gods laid down the world the way things are, and wizards meddled with it. They don’t like ’em. Meanin’ they killt no few. I’d be just a little careful, m’lord, and stay clear of ’em.”

It seemed to him Idrys had warned him much the same. So he told Idrys in private that evening what Uwen had said. And Idrys nodded and said, “His Majesty’s Guard is well aware of the priest, Lord Warden.

Believe me.” Then, unusual for Idrys, Idrys had stopped him for a second word. “It was very well done, Lord Ynefel, that night.”  “Catching Orien, sir?”

“Among other things. I must tell you my mind that evening was on one of Lord Heryn’s partisans. Sorcerous action does not naturally occur to me as a cause.”

“I don’t think anyone used sorcery against Emuin, sir. I think they had to keep Emuin from seeing them.”  “Seeing them.”

“So to speak, sir. Wizardry might make someone fall on the steps, but I don’t think Orien could have done it. And certainly sorcery wouldn’t break someone’s skull.”

“Certainly,” Idrys echoed him, and Idrys’ lean, mustached face was both earnest and troubled. “I fear wizardry encompasses few certainties with me, Lord Warden. What is the likelihood Emuin will be on his feet and with us come the full of the moon?”

“I fear it’s very little likely, sir. I think he’s helping Cefwyn most.”

“You are not to say that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So the Aswydd lady had someone attack Emuin.”

“As I think someone moved Orien to do it. Mauryl said it was easy to make things do what they want.”

Idrys was silent a moment. “Is wizardry a consideration, then?”

“Hasufin’s, yes, sir.”

“Hasufin Heltain?”

“I don’t know all his name, sir, but he made a bird fly at my window.

It killed itself. And in the lower hall, in the banner hall—the lines were almost gone, that protect this place. Emuin brought them back.”

It was deliberate, that confidence, a test he made of Idrys and how far Idrys did see; and Idrys did not exclaim in exasperation or walk away. Idrys only gazed at him steadily. “So has Orien Aswydd flown at the glass, —has she not? What do you recommend we do with her?”

Idrys turned back his test, he thought, whether he had the resolve Idrys thought a lord needed. Cefwyn had not condemned her. Cefwyn had not gotten to that matter. Or Cefwyn shrank from it.

He did. It was one thing on the field. It was another in reasoned thought—to kill. And a lord, he thought, ought to be able to do such things—as Owl had to eat mice.

“Come, sir,” Idrys said. “Do I trouble you? I had thought you unmoved by the lady’s charms.”

“At least,” Tristen said, and found his hands shaking, “she should not die as Heryn did.” He nerved himself to say that Idrys was right, and that Orien should die, but then he thought of the lord Regent, who was also a wizard. “But where she is buried, where she dies, she will be like Hasufin. She might ally with him. She would be bound to this place. I think that would be dangerous.”