“So why should all the land this side of Assurnbrook be called north when it clearly lies due east?”

“Because in the old days, when the Sihhë ruled, one dared not say Men.”

That was a curious notion. It was also more talk on that score than he had had of Emuin since the day Emuin had shown him the travels of the sun. He had a sip of tea and rested his elbow on the scarred table. “And how would that be?”

“Because the Sihhë ruled, and by north, one quietly meant the lands above the Amynys, and thatmeant all that was the freehold of Men. All the provinces the Marhanen held… so when one spoke of the northdoing a thing, it generally and far more quietly meant the Marhanen dukesdid a thing. This was before they became reigning kings, of course. And rather than ever say, the provinces where Men ruled, as opposed to Sihhë, it was the fashion to say, the northern provinces. They were a restless lot, fomenting rebellions. The north did this. The north did that. You’re quite right, of course. But there were the lands loyal to the Sihhë, at Althalen; and there were the lands to the south. All the lands. The Sihhë ruled to the sea, young lord.”

Blue water. An endless water, sometimes blue, sometimes gray or green.

White headlands and low marsh.

He caught himself, bumped the teacup with his elbow—was dizzy for a moment. A Word had come to him. He knew the sea. In this world, the sky thundered and flashed with light, and in the other the waves thundered, and crashed against a shore.

“Guelenfolk came out of Nelefreïssan, a long time ago,” Emuin said, and helped himself to the ham that had come up in the basket, twice over for good measure. “And probably so did the Elwynim, part and parcel with the Guelenmen and even the other sorts of Men, the Chomaggari and the Casmyndanim on the coast, truth be told, but never whisper thatsuspicion in the Quinalt’s hearing, good gods, no, the Chomaggari are twice-damned heathen dogs and the folk of Nelefreíssan are of course distinct even from Guelenmen, who have the gods-given right to have the capital in Guelemara. So Guelessar is ever so much more Guelen than the Nelefreimen… if you ask a man from Guelessar. Ask a Nelefreiman, and he’ll tell you the opposite. But to both the whole coastland is damned. ”

“Do the Teranthines think so?”

“Oh, aye, that the Chomaggari are damned, so any man that raids a Teranthine shrine as the hillmen are wont to do is clearly damned, quite heartily and justly so in my opinion, too. But the Teranthines are rather sure—and I agree with them—that in the very long ago most of Men in the whole world were living up in Nelefreíssan and Isin. Now, this becomes important for you to know, now that you ask. This was at the same time when the Galasieni were lording it in the south and up and down the Lenúalim. Then Mauryl comes into the tale.”

“Was it long ago?”

“Very. Nine hundred years at least. And Mauryl’s magic brought down Galasien, conjuring the Sihhë to do it for him… or he brought the five Sihhë-lords down from the north, as you please, which I think is the truer telling…” Emuin cast him a sidelong glance, head ducked, under a fringe of wind-stirred, grizzled hair, a close, questioning look. “Would youknow how that was, lad?”

“No, sir,” Tristen said uncomfortably, hoping that he never did know. He heard tales of nine hundred years and of centuries of Sihhë rule and hoped that the ancient wars never fully Unfolded to him. “I truly do not.”

“Well, well, but be that as it may, the Galasieni vanished, or whatever befell, Ynefel became as strange as it is, so strange even the Sihhë left it and built Althalen instead. The Guelenfolk and their Ryssandish kin came pouring down from the north like bandits—hence the real root of their identifying themselves all as northern now, if you take my guess, long after they have ceased to be northerly at all; hence the more northerly, the purer Quinaltine. We southerners, we of Amefel—”

“Are youof Amefel?” He was not sure he had ever heard Emuin admit it.

“As near as I am of any place. Aye, say I am of Amefel. And in the Guelen thinking, the pure Guelen thinking, we who are both Men and out of Amefel or anywhere to the south of there are fallen from Guelenish purity. If you want the deepest secret, the one for which the Guelenfolk despise the south, we mingled with the Sihhë and, gods save us all, the lowly Chomaggari.”

“But are not the Elwynim northerly and more north than anyone?”

“But mingled their blood most of all. Yes. Hence may they be damned, inthe Quinalt’s thinking—or that is the house the Quinalt scholars have built themselves into, a house without a door in it, if you ask me. A highly inconvenient house, since you came: they have said very many things they have now to unsay or damn their own king. And thatwould not be good.”

“Damn Cefwyn?” He was appalled.

“Some did wish Efanor to be king. —Is it only your men outside, men you know? Are you sure of them?”

“Yes,” Tristen said, wondering what Emuin might intend to say on this chancy night. Harm seemed to tremble in the air. He found himself afraid for no reason, or perhaps for every reason. “Uwen is there. And Lusin and his men.”

“Good. Good. What are they about out there?” This as a voice outside became a little louder and fell off sharply.

“Ale,” Tristen said, and reminded him: “They have the keg.”

“I’d not have strangers’ ears to the door while I ask you: how did the business this morning go? Are you still damned, or perhaps sanctified and blessed now, perchance? I see that Quinalt trinket of yours. I burnwith curiosity. ”

Would Emuin now say nothing more of the Quinalt damning Cefwyn? Cefwyn had threatened the Quinalt. Were they equally matched? Was there potency to a Quinalt curse? But he had quite forgotten the relic Efanor had given him. He put a hand on his chest, where it rested. It was chill, but very little more chill than his hands, in the gusts from the open window. He hoped it meant no harm, and that it brought none with it.

“Things went well this morning, sir, at least that there was no trouble. Efanor had given me this, if you will.”

“No manifestations. Good”—lightning lit the window and thunder cracked—“ gods!” master Emuin finished, holding his own hand to his heart. “‘ Thatwas a crack, was it not?”

“It sounded as if it hit the roof.” It had shaken the thoughts loose from his head. The rain was blowing, spattering drops clear to the table, and onto parchments where much of the ink was poor and ran. Tristen got up quickly and shut the window the old man insisted on keeping open and dropped the window latch—chilled, when he came back, his clothes wet, the autumn wind having blasted them to his body. “I wonder you keep the window open, sir.”

“I prefer it.”

“If you wish—” He offered with his hand toward the window.

“No, no, one soaking’s enough.”

“Mauryl feared an open window, very much so. He warded every window. I shut mine tight. I open them to nothing after dark. In all respect, sir—”

“At Ynefel I should ward everything in sight. But we have the Quinalt to protect us.”

“You jest, sir.”

“Extremely.”

“Why do you?”

“What?”

“Keep the window open?”

“I invite evil. Ifit should be abroad, I wish to know about it. I’ll not have it slipping about, prying here and there. Let it come here. Let it try me. I’m old, and ill-tempered.”

It was a reckless idea. But the great shadow, the darkest one, Hasufin, was gone. And it made a sort of sense, that if there was any other weaker shadow prying about, or sending out inquiries into Guelemara, then it might be drawn here, to wizardry and an open window, rather than below, to ordinary folk, where it might work far more mischief in an unwary populace before anyone noticed. Wizardry working ill likely would come in small ways, at first, at the most unguarded hearts. At least Hasufin’s malice had started that way… the prompting of ill thoughts, ill deeds, fear, suspicion. It had grown stronger. Ultimately it had killed a king.