“Your lord is banished. There is no lord of Bryn.”

All breath in the hall seemed stifled.

“And what then brings Your Grace?” the thane asked.

“Lord Cevulirn is right: the longer Elwynor fights, the more likely some force will take advantage of Tasmôrden’s danger… when the king comes. You’ve not asked me why I dismissed your lord.”

Modeyneth’s face became guarded and still. “It’s in your right and your gift to do so, Your Grace, and so with us all.”

“You have yet to call me your lord. AmI that?”

The hush deepened, if it were possible, and lasted a moment longer. “For my people’s sake you are my lord, and within your right.”

“Will you swear to me, sir?” This across the bread and cups of ale, the remnant of an excellent stew which the thane’s young wife had provided. “Lord Cuthan hasn’t released you, but I release you from your oath, and as of a fortnight ago you’ve had no lord. Will you swear to me, sir, or cross the river to join Lord Cuthan? I’ll give you safe passage if that suits you.”

“These people can’t cross, with their land and their livestock. This landcan’t cross.”

“Lord Cuthan might cross here to take it back.”

There was another space of silence.

“Your Grace is asking me for my oath against my lord.”

“Yes, sir, for your oath, and your loyalty to me and to whomever I grant the lordship of Bryn. Lord Cuthan betrayed Meiden and held knowledge from him which cost his life and a good many other lives, besides other crimes. Therefore I exiled your lord, and therefore I took back the title and honor. If you still are Cuthan’s man, I give you leave to take whatever goods and men you wish and join Cuthan across the river, to share his fortunes, whatever they may be. He is my enemy, and he became the council’s enemy, and Meiden bled for it.”

That the thane hesitated long spoke well for his honesty. He rested his elbows on the scarred wood of the table and clasped his hands before his mouth, his eyes bright and steady, if troubled. “I marched behind you at Lewenbrook.”

“I know.”

“That the king in Guelessar sent you is on the one hand not astonishing. But it is unexpected, if Your Grace will forgive my saying so. It bodes better than Parsynan.”

“Him I sent away. He was a thief, not alone of the jewelry we found. That Cuthan worked against him I find no fault at all. But that Cuthan conspired with Tasmôrden and betrayed Meiden to the king’s soldiers, I do not forgive, and will not forgive. Nor will the other earls he failed to advise that the king’s men were coming forgive him, either.””

“Did he do such a thing?”

“That, yes. And more.”

“So I’ve heard, too,” Cevulirn said, “from young Meiden, and others of the earls.”

All this the young thane heard with a sorrowful face, and a thoughtful one, and at that last, he nodded. “Then you’ll have my oath to whatever lord you appoint. I do swear it and will swear, and will obey the lord you set over us. How may I serve my lord duke?”

“Build a wall, between the two hills beyond this village, and be ready to hold it if trouble comes. Let those hills be your walls.”

Modeyneth leaned back from the table with a wary look. “The king’s law forbids Amefin to fortify, except at Henas’amef.”

“The king hasn’t told me so,” Tristen said, “and I say you should build a wall, and this is the lord of Bryn’s charge.”

“But the lord of Bryn is across the river, Your Grace.”

“Is he? I think not. Youare the lord of Bryn, sir. You are my choice.”

“I?” The thane now earl bumped an ale cup and all but overset it. “Gods save.”

“The earls in Henas’amef recommend you. So I make you earl of Bryn, and I wish to have all the arms you can find in good order, fit, if war comes to Amefel. As I hope won’t happen, if you build the wall I ask for and build it quickly. I am in great earnest, sir.”

“My lord.” The thane’s own name was Drusenan; and now Earl Drusenan, and this rustic place had become an earl’s estate. A woman who might be Drusenan’s wife had heard and come to his side, drying her hands on her apron; and the new-made earl was still pale and trembling. “What shall I say to this?”

“Say that Tasmôrden will not pass,” Tristen said. “That this road will be protected. That all the lands of Bryn will have justice and good advice.”

“My lord, they will.”

“Then you’ll have done all I ask,” Tristen said, and the new earl set his wife beside him, the woman’s face with a hectic flush and her hands making knots of her apron. She was a lady with work-reddened hands and sweat on her brow, and by the laces of her midriff, swelling with child. Tristen had learned such signs. So the new earl would have an heir to defend. Drusenan, being young, would be earl for years if he lived so long as summer, and that was the question for all this district… for the bridge down the road was a likely place where Tasmôrden’s forces might try to drive straight for Henas’amef by the shortest route.

“Gods save you and your house,” Cevulirn said, the sort of thing Men said to one another, but Tristen had learned he could not utter it… being, Cefwyn had always said, a bad liar… so he simply ducked his head and let Cevulirn pay courtesies in a land that was not his.

Meanwhile the lord’s men had caught up the enthusiasm and brimmed over with it; and in very short time the word slipped out of the small hall on serving boys’ feet… hasting, doubtless, to pass through the village.

No doubt at all, when men turned up at the door, with ale broken out and every house in the village having turned out in the snowy yard. Out of nowhere in particular a piper came to the hall, and the new earl turned out the dogs and cleared back the tables, making a small space in which the determined might dance.

It was a commotion about the event which Tristen had not foreseen, though he said to himself it was foolish not to have realized how quickly word would spread and how excitedly Men would receive it. The dancing imperiled the best pots and a persistent dog, both of which the new earl’s lady hastened out of the way… and the ale flowed free with noise and commotion until the mid of the night, or so it seemed to saddle-weary men with a long ride tomorrow.

But none of the Ivanim was drunk, nor were the Guelens, not nearly so much as the villagers… for, as Cevulirn had said under the cover of the noise, “I trust our host, but I don’t knowour host. That says all.”

The drunkenness, however, grew noisy and inept among the villagers, and continued in the yard, after the new lady of Bryn chased out the celebrants in favor of pallets for the soldiers and a bed for their noble visitors.

“We’ve ample place for ourselves,” young Bryn said. “Take our hospitality and our bed in the upstairs, and welcome, very welcome.”

For his part, Tristen, and, he was sure, Cevulirn, would have far rather spread a pallet near the men he knew and trusted. But how was it possible to refuse when the couple, having received such an honor from him, was so set upon offering their best? And when this was the man to whom he had entrusted the sleep of an entire district of Amefel, should he not cast himself on his decision and trust the man?

“Thank you,” Tristen said, and the lady without a word rose and began to lead the way.

A word, a single word, passed between Cevulirn and his lieutenant: wariness still, on Cevulirn’s part, and Tristen bent his attention to the gray space on the instant.

Nothing. Nothing but the sense of Men in the vicinity, some dulled and sleep-beguiled, others not, and anxious… but how should Men not be, when their peace was so disturbed? He trod the worn wooden stairs up to the loft, with the new lady of Bryn in the lead, and Cevulirn went behind him.

The hall offered a floor for men to sleep on, and so the men would, but a sort of bedchamber was snugged in as a half loft above, wooden-floored, and lit and warmed by the light of the fire in the hall downstairs. It was a sensible and comfortable arrangement, assuring warmth and even a certain dim light, which was not the case in most rooms in the Zeide.