Fortress in the Eye of Time

CHAPTER 34

He held out his arms patiently as Uwen assisted him into his armor, still by lamplight, with great care for the fittings. He stepped one after the other into the boots that belonged to the armor, and Tassand buckled them snugly at the holes that were marked. Uwen belted his weapons about him, sword and dagger, and slipped the small boot knife into the sheath that held it.

There was only the lightest of breakfasts, a crust of bread, a swallow of wine, which took no fire-making, and put no stress on the body. So Uwen said. And he knew Uwen was right.

Maurylʼs Book—his Book, held no comfort at all in the sense that he understood now what Hasufin had understood all along and that he knew what Hasufin wanted.

Most of all he knew what Hasufin wanted to do, which was to unmake Maurylʼs work: him, for a beginning, but, oh, more than that.

Hasufin wanted Galasien back, for a second part.

Hasufin wanted substance enough to use what was in that Book, for a third. Those desires were enough to account for all that was and might be. But that was not all Hasufin wanted. Beyond that — he could also imagine. That was what put him out of the notion of breakfast, and made him certain that, whatever defense the armor was, Hasufin would be determined to turn every weapon on the field toward him — for Hasufin, he was sure, cared very little about Aséyneddin, only to maneuver to his own advantage. All, all that would be out there was nothing other than what Hasufin willed, substantial so long as Men were willing or able to contend; and in so many places.

He even guessed what had brushed past him that night while he slept on the Road in Marna, and why he had dreaded it so. It was, in a strange sense — himself.

But this time he must go toward that sensible fear from which he had once fled — and what there was to meet, he must meet, and go wherever he must.

He was glad that Uwen saw nothing of what he saw. He would not wish that understanding on him for any price, not on Idrys, or Cevulirn or Umanon; nor on Pelumer, in whatever nightmare the Lanfarnesse forces might be struggling next the woods.

And not on Sovrag, who, if things went well, might yet arrive to strike at the Elwynim from the river, but he much doubted it: the Olmernmen had Marna to traverse to reach this far past Emwy, if they would go by water, and Marna of all places would not aid them.

But now with all the fear, came an impatience for this meeting. Something in him longed in a human way for encounter with Ninévrisëʼs enemies, to feel the wicked certainty of himself he had felt before, with the sword in his hand, and such certainty what had to come next. Nowhere else and at no other time did he have that.

And for no reason, tears flooded his eyes and spilled. He wiped them unconsciously.

“Mʼlord?”

Uwen thought he wept for dread. But he wept for Maurylʼs gentleness, which only he had seen; he wept for Cefwynʼs, for Uwenʼs kindness, which he did not have — not in their terms. He knew what he could do. He knew what he had done, and knew that he could not, by the nature of what Hasufin had loosed in the land, wholly win.

If there was disaster about to fall on those he loved, it was of his attraction, and he—

He had one thing to do. Beyond it — he could not see anything for himself, but he wanted it: he could no longer temporize with it, or delay it, or understand any more than he did, and he could not bear the increasing burden of his own household his own following — men who looked to him for reason and right, men who wanted to pour out their devotion on him, never knowing him as he was, not seeing into his heart, and not knowing — not knowing he enjoyed that dreadful time when the sword flew in his hand like a living thing and he had no questions.

“Well, I done what I can,” Uwen said, testing the motion of his arm. Uwen looked him in the face. “Mʼlord, take care of yourself today.”

“Take care for yourself,” Tristen said. “Promise to care for yourself, that is what you can do for me. You will know the time, Uwen, and you must take no shame in turning back: I know this is the most difficult order I could give you; but do not follow me too far.”

“Ainʼt retreating before I get there, mʼlord.”

Uwen had made up his mind not to listen. With curious abstraction, then, Tristen reached back into that place of white dreams and snared something of that blinding, peaceful light. It took form in his hand, bluish-white, and he passed it to the other hand, tossing it back and forth, back and forth, a little illusion that whitened the floor and the canvas.

That was, he thought, illusion enough to frighten any Man, the simultaneity of Here and There which men did not ordinarily see.

For a moment the faint letters on the sword blazed bright.

He let the illusion go.

“Gods,” Uwen said.

“Uwen, believe me that I am capable of going where you dare not. Where you must not.”

“Iʼd still try, mʼlord.”

“I know you would. I ask you not to. You could endanger me. I would have to defend both of us.”

“Then I ask ye to come back, mʼlord. Ye swear to me yeʼre cominʼ back or Iʼll swear Iʼm goinʼ behind ye, and I donʼt break my given word.”

Yesterday he would have had no hesitation to swear what Uwen asked. But now every binding of him to one realm or the other seemed full of dangers. The small illusion he had wielded to scare Uwen was no weapon potent against a wizard who had the skill of Shaping — and thereby of unShaping.

“Uwen, — no. I shall not swear that. I swear I shall try. But there may be frightening things, Uwen. There may be reasons you should retreat — believe them when you see them.”

“Horses is waiting, mʼlord,” Uwen said. “I heard ʼem come up.”

So Uwen chose to look past illusion as well — in his own way, the Edge that moved between.

“Uwen. I swear — I swear that you may call me, and also send me away. That power I give you, and I know that I have no safer guardian.”

It took a great deal to make Uwen show fear. Now he did. “I ainʼt no priest, mʼlord.”

“Youʼre a good man. You understand right and wrong so easily. I donʼt. Mauryl always said I was a fool.”

“Of course ye understand,” Uwen said with an uncertain laugh. “And yeʼre the least like a fool that I know, mʼlord.”

“But I swear I donʼt understand such things. I havenʼt lived in this world long enough to be wise. So I trust you with my going and coming. Call me only if you truly want me. Then I shall know at least one man wishes me alive. Then I might come back to the world. But think twice before you call me.”

“Now yeʼre being foolish. And His Majesty would never send ye away.”

“Cefwyn has no knowledge what I might do. Nor does he have pure reasons. Yours I trust. Do not beg off, Uwen. I give you the calling of me. You cannot refuse. And if you should die, Uwen, — there would be no one to call me, would there? So you mustnʼt die.”

“Mʼlord, — ” Uwen opened and shut his mouth. “That were a clever, wicked trick.”

“Cefwyn taught me,” he said, and gathered up his Book and walked outside. The horses had indeed arrived, wearing their war-gear, Dys and Cass in black caparison that made them part of the dark.

“Mʼlord,” said Aswys, their trainer.

“Iʼm ready,” he said, and tossed the Book into the heart of the fire.

“My lord!” Uwen exclaimed.

The pages glowed along the edges and began to turn brown, the ink still showing. And that, too, began to go.

“He shall not have it,” he said, “neither Book nor mirror.” He went to Dys, who was working at the bit and fretting in dangerous boredom. Dysʼ face was masked in the metal chamfron, and nothing showed but the gloss of his eye, scarcely a hint of his nose. Tristen patted him under the neck, put his gauntlets on, and waited until he saw Cefwyn come out of his tent, with Idrys. They had Kanwy waiting; and Idrysʼ heavy horse, Kandyn. Cefwyn rose to the saddle, and Tristen took the reins from Aswys, then, and was not too proud to use the mounting-block as Cefwyn had, not wishing to have the girth skewing. He cleared the high cantle and settled, moving his leg to let Aswys recheck the girth, while Uwen got up on Cass.

Tassand brought his helm and other servants handed up his shield, while Lusin, who used a mace by preference, would ride in the second line and carry the lance for him, in their lack of mounted aides, as Syllan would carry Uwenʼs. One of the boys they had acquired came bringing Uwen his gauntlets, with worship on his face — and ducked back in awed haste when Cass took a casual snap at him.

Dys usually whipped his tail about. Today it was braided and tucked for safety, and Dys moved with a flexing and rattle of the bards that protected his neck, the straps of the armor passing through the caparison. The white Star and Tower blazoned central on his black shield and barred on Uwenʼs, floated in the dark, while, beyond them, Cefwynʼs Dragon banner writhed and rippled against the firelight. Further away, the Wheel and the White Horse shone out of the dark, as Umanon and Cevulirn appeared.

Ninévrisë came out of her tent, wearing her fatherʼs mail shirt and with her fatherʼs sword belted on; after her came her ladies, her standard-bearer, and the two Amefin lords who guarded them. “Come back safely,” she said, and sent her standard-bearer to his horse.

Then she said to Cefwyn, “I would rather be on the hill. I would rather be closer.”

“If it comes this far,” Cefwyn said, “as it may, you do not fight, mʼlady. You ride. My brother has excellent qualities — among them a walled town. The whole northern army will rally to him if the war goes that far.”

“You do not pass me on like a gauntlet! I shall marry you, mʼlord, or ride after you!”

“The gods,” Cefwyn said, “see us all safe, mʼlady.” He turned Kanwy, then, and established an easy pace down the aisle toward the edge of the camp.

“Be well,” Ninévrisë called to them as they passed. “Gods keep you! My lord of Ynefel, be safe!”

The standard-bearers, ahorse, caught up the standards, and the order established itself as the Guelen heavy horse and the Amefin fell into line, creaking of saddles, a slow, quiet thump of hooves on the trampled ground of the aisle, more and more of them as they passed their own sentries, and reached the Emwy road.

The dawn was beginning in the east; and in the west…

Even by night, that shadow was on the horizon; Tristen could see it without looking toward it in the gray world. He rode side by side with Cefwyn, westward, with only the standard-bearers in front.

With open road and a cool night, Dys wanted to move; but they had the Amefin foot to follow them — and not so far, in terms of the horses, before they should look for the Elwynim force that had crossed the bridge and rolled over Tasienʼs defense.

“Aséyneddin will stay to the road,” he said to Cefwyn, when Cefwyn was about to send scouts out. “They have reason to fear Althalen — and even for Hasufinʼs urging, I doubt he will risk Caswyddianʼs fate. Or if he does — he will not fall on the camp without Ninévrisë knowing. Send no men by that ruin.”

“Dare I trust all our lives on your advice? She has no defense. Should she have no warning?”

“The camp is very well defended. The scouts you send into the ruin will not come back, mʼlord. They will die if you send them. I beg you, donʼt. They have no defense. We were safe. They wonʼt be. The sentries are enough. Her father will protect her.”

Cefwyn drew a deep breath, started to argue, then shook his head, and sent the scouts only to the fore, down the road. Idrys was not pleased with it. But Cefwyn did as he asked.

The next was a long ride, Dys and Kanwy walking along quietly, but Kandyn and Umanonʼs horse took such exception to each other that Umanon drew off well to the side of the road.

Cass had no such animosities: he and Idrysʼ horse alike were stablemates of Kanwy and Dys, and trained together. He was amiable, of his kind; but Dys, young, in his first campaign, made a constant demand for attention: he snapped and pulled at the reins, seeking to move ahead of Kanwy, which Tristen did not allow, or to the side, where he could annoy Cass. Tristen kept ahead of his intentions and refused to let him work himself into exhaustion: Dys, very much of a mind with him, seemed to sense the reason he was born was coming closer and closer, as yet unmet, untried. Dys wanted this day, too, not knowing entirely what he wanted, and keeping Dys in check kept his hands busy and his fears from having precedence: in that regard Tristen was glad of Dysʼ antics, and only half-heard the converse of the other lords.

But he knew from what he did hear that, behind them, at all the speed they could safely manage, the Amefin troops were marching behind the Amefin Eagle, footsoldiers fewer in numbers than they had planned and lacking the support of archers they had planned to have, both by reason of Pelumerʼs absence. And they could not go more quickly than they did for the sake of the Amefin.

The sun was well into the sky, all the same, a gray sky, when they came near that series of ridges that preceded the turn toward Emwy-Arys.

Then in the distance a saddled horse turned up, grazing beside the road, no one in evidence. It looked up as they came, still chewing its mouthful of grass.

“One of ours,” Idrys said. “Pelannyʼs horse.”

Of the rider, one of their Guelen scouts, there was no sign.

“Dead or taken,” Uwen said quietly. The horse, its master fallen, had run for its pastures, but running out its first fear, had stopped, and would wander home, Tristen thought, perhaps over days. One of their outriders, light-armed, rode over and caught the horse, freed it of the reins that might entangle it, and sent it on to their rear.

Past the next ridge, the wind picked up out of the west, into the horsesʼ faces. The woods came into view, lying across that small series of hills that he so well remembered. That was the woods where he had met Auld Syes. The woods of the fountain. And the Shadow was there, plain to his eyes.

“That,” Tristen said with a chill. “That place. Thatʼs where.”

“A place fit for ambush,” Idrys said. “Iʼd thought of it. If we donʼt go overland, weʼre bound to go through it. Thatʼs what they plan. And overland is a maze, forest and hills. I rode through it.”

There was discussion back and forth. Umanon and Cevulirn moved their horses closer. No one wanted to venture that green shadow without sending scouts. Some argued to go overland, toward Emwy, but Idrys said no, it was too rugged and made for ambush by lesser forces.

“Of which they may have several,” Cefwyn said. “Earl Aséyneddin is well served by the Sâendel.”

“Bandits,” Umanon said. “Bandits and thieves.”

“Well-armed ones,” Idrys said.

But, Tristen thought, fighting Dysʼ attempt to move forward — but there was no sense in debate. There was no question, none, that it was hostile. It was fatal, if they sent a man into that. It was a risk to venture that gray place, but look he did, and it was eerie to know it vacant, very, very vacant. They had now to go forward. The lords debated other ways, but they had no choice but fight or go back to Althalen, where they were far safer for a camp under attack.

And something masked itself in that gray vacancy — as it masked something else in that distant woods. Something in the gray place was both shadow — and gray like mist, moving about where it would. Mauryl had not stopped it. Emuin had not. It was insubstance. It manifested as the wind.

That which waited in the woods — was substance, and thick beneath the leaves.

“Tristen?” he heard Cefwyn ask. But it was not a voice in the gray place, it was here, and Cefwynʼs voice held concern. “Tristen, do you hear me?”

Something shadowy leapt at him in his distraction. Not a small something. Something that wanted to hold him, seize him, weaponless, and carry him off to Ynefel. He jumped back from it, heart pounding against his ribs, and in the world of substance, Dys kicked and pulled to be free.

All trespass into illusion had peril now. The Shadow had advanced this close, and that said to him that they would find their enemies in this world closer, too: Aséyneddin was there.

“Itʼs another of his fits,” said Uwen.

“No,” Tristen said, trying to shut out what was still trying to take him, holding to this place, the solid mass of horse under him. He kept his eyes open, burning the light of the worldʼs sky and the shadow-shapes of hills and woods into his vision. Cefwyn and Uwen and Idrys were close at hand. They willed no harm to him.

The other thing would unmake him — if it could not use him against those he least wanted to harm. Against all Maurylʼs work in the world. It wanted that undone, the barriers to its will all removed.

“Tristen.”

“No, my lord, forgive me.” It was hard to speak against the weight that crushed him, and he must hold Dys, for the horse felt the tension trembling in his legs and in his hands, and was fighting him continuously to move. Do not leave us, Cefwyn had begged him. Do not leave us. And he tried not to. He did try to keep his wits about him in this world.

“Aséyneddin is there, mʼlord King. In the woods. I have no doubt.”

A shiver came over him then. He slipped into that risky place, and felt thunder in the air, like storm.

He twitched as he escaped there to here in a shock that rang through the world, but the two lords by him had never felt it: they talked on of strategy and ambush while he felt ambush in the very roots of the hills. He felt the Shadows all stir beneath the leaves of Marna Wood, but the lords talked of whether his warning meant mortal enemies, and whether they could draw attack out to them and not risk the woods.

“If they stay in that woods,” Idrys said, “they risk having it fired around them. Your grandfather would not have stuck at it.”

“These are my ladyʼs people,” Cefwyn said, rejecting that. “Not all of them may even be here by choice. We carry her banner with our own, master crow. No fire.”

“They are rebels,” Idrys said.

“No fire, master crow. Iʼll not make war after that fashion.”

“Against wizardry, mʼlord? What will our enemy stick at? Weʼll not venture in there. Weʼll have them out, if they are there.”

“They are there,” Cefwyn said.

“Tristen is here,” Idrys said. “That indeed is our certainty, mʼlord King. And I do believe his warnings. Itʼs the advice I doubt. This haste to go blind into that.”

“He is not blind,” Cefwyn said.

Came a rush of air just above their heads. A shadow swooped over them. The horses snorted and threw their heads in startlement. But Tristen knew it with a leap of his heart.

“Owl!” he called to the wide sky. “Owl, where are you?”

“Gods!” Uwen gasped, and men about them swore.

“Devils,” some said.

But Tristen lifted his hand to the sky and Owl settled on his fist, bated his great blunt wings a moment and flew again, a Shadow indeed, by broad daylight.

“Gods save us,” Cefwyn said, and Idrys muttered in his hearing. “Gods save us indeed, my lord King, but — this is our ally.”

“Well he were our ally,” Cefwyn said. “It harmed you none at all. Did it? Did it, master crow? Did it, any of us?”

“Follow Owl!” Tristen said, for Owlʼs path was clear to him, as Owlʼs warning was clear as a blaze across the sky: as, discovered in its ambush, a darkness of men and horses began to stream out of that line of woods ahead of them. It spread out, moving first to fill the road, and then to spread out wings beyond it, like some vast creature taking to flight.

“Aséyneddin has sprung his trap!” Umanon shouted out. “Attend the flanks, Your Majesty! Heʼll want the hills!”

Likewise they needed room to spread wide — needed the flat and the hills on either side in front of that stretch of woods, and they did not yet, by reason of the trees, know how many that army was.

Kanwy struggled to be loosed. Dys pulled at the bit. All about, there was a shifting in their own ranks as a wind out of the west ripped at the standards. The standard-bearers, Cefwynʼs, his, Ninévrisëʼs, all three in the center, and Umanon and Cevulirn on either hand, were advancing; but the hills had taken on an unnatural quality in the pearl-skyed noon, distinct in their edges, seeming cut from velvet, the trees still breathing with secrets.

“My lord!” Tristen said, reining Dys back with difficulty. “They are already in the hills, my lord — theyʼre there, left and right of us, where we must pass!”

Cefwyn did not question. “Cevulirn!” he said, and waved the lord of the Ivanim and his light horse toward the hills on their left. “Umanon!” Him he sent to the right flank; and dispatched a messenger to the Amefin lords at their backs. “Follow my banner,” his word to the Amefin was; and to messengers dispatched on the heels of Umanon and Cevulirn: “Sweep them east, away from the woods! We shall break their center! Do not let them close behind us!”

Dys was pulling at the rein, breathing noisily and chafing at the bit, and given rein — but of a sudden Elwynim light horse were pouring off the hills toward them and sweeping in to try to envelop them, downhill against Umanon and Cevulirn on either hand. The heavy center, still coming out of the woods, lay beyond those two rapid-moving wings that attempted to fold in on them.

They were in danger of the same swift envelopment they had broken around Cefwynʼs father. Dys was working at the bit, shaking his neck so the barding rattled, traveling sideways, nudging Cass, who likewise worked to be free.

“Lances!” Cefwyn called out, and the trumpets blew. “Lances!”

They were going. None of it he had ever done, save only with Uwen, in the practice field by Henasʼamef — but like a Word, it had been with him then and it had always been with him. He ducked his head to brush his visor down, settled his reins in his shield-hand and looked up within the narrow frame of that visor as he reached out for his lance. It arrived in his hand, Lusin coming up at his side, horse bumping horse and falling back again. He took a solid grip, tucked the length of ash-wood high for a hard ride as he brought the shield up. Dys was pulling at the reins, a warfare occupying all his attention else.

Cevulirnʼs men and then Umanonʼs engaged with the Elwynim wings, two almost simultaneous hammer blows. “Ride for their heart!” Cefwyn was saying to the standard-bearers and the riders that would pass the word. “Let them see the standards! Break their line and go around them again! Unit standards — keep spread, in the godsʼ name! Pass through them, behind, and around! In the good godsʼ name!”

Cefwyn loosed Kanwy. Tristen let the reins fall, settling all his grip on the shield and all his mastery of Dys on his knees—

Dys broke into his run — like chasing rabbits through the meadow, like chasing the leaves and the wind down the road, with Uwen by him, likewise shielded, likewise helmed, likewise with lance braced. A thunder was growing in the earth, the strike of hundreds of plate-sized hooves, whuffs of breath entering a vast unison, like a blacksmithʼs bellows. There was nothing in the world but that moving vision of shielded line and forest that the visor-slit held.

— Sihhë prince, said the Wind, above that rolling thunder. Remember the Galasieni. How many of these foolish Men will you kill? Turn back now. Your friends will be alive. You can win them that. You can save them all. Didnʼt you learn, the last time? I know the outcome of this. But you donʼt, — do you?

The Shadow grew above the woods, above the opposing line, that was a forest of lances. Something throbbed in the air, faint and far in the dark West, like the beat of a great heart to his ears. Or perhaps it was still the horses gathering speed. On either hand came a clash of metal, as if a cartload of pots were being shaken, on the hillsides. But the thunder throbbed and beat like his heart in his ears.

Owl flew past his vision and flew on past the banners, that were dimming in the shadow.

Let them see the banners, Cefwyn had said. And Men could not see them in the dark — Men would lose their way on the field, and grow confused.

Tristen pulled white light out of that gray place and sent it around himself, around Uwen and Cefwyn and Idrys. It spread to the standard-bearers, and snaked up the poles and spread about the edges of the standards and across their surface, white and red and gold blazing bright against the dimmed world.

— Ah, the Wind said. The Dragon with the Sihhë Star — there was once a sight, when the Marhanen and the Sihhë king went to war. And here we are again. The voice filled his ears. Dust, coming past the visor, stung his eyes to tears, and he could not reach them to clear them. He could only blink. Where is vengeance for Elfwyn, Sihhë prince? Mauryl never called you to save the Marhanen. Mauryl never called you, my prince, to kiss the hand of traitors. They should tremble at the sight of you!

Closer and closer. He saw the shields of opposing riders — saw, through the gloom, the forest of lances lower, and lowered his own against them.

— Sihhë king, the Wind wailed, you are of the west. I shall serve you, as Mauryl should have served you. Stay, do you want them? I shall make these creatures of yours lords of the earth. I shall make each of them a king, and they will live a thousand years. I can do that for you. Only keep riding. Keep doing as you are! You are doing my bidding, in all you do and have ever done. Youʼre mine, now. Maurylʼs lost you. Keep coming! — Keep coming…

The light had dimmed so they scarcely showed the shields ahead of them — but the banners were still there, still shining.

“Tristen!” he heard Cefwyn shout at him, and he caught breath into a body grown stiff in a cold instant, sense into wits gone wandering in the wail of the wind.

“Its name is Hasufin!” he shouted, stripping it of all mystery. “It is a liar, Cefwyn! It is still telling me lies!”

“The banner of the King of Elwynor!” Cefwyn exclaimed suddenly, and indeed there was the glimmer of a shadowy white Star on a black field waving against the center of the lines. “That banner does not belong to them!” Cefwyn cried. “There is Aséyneddin! Let us go and take it from him!”

— Aséyneddin, the Wind said, would welcome his true King, the Sihhë king he and his fathers before him have awaited. This man would fall on his knees at your feet. I can assure that will happen. Be that King. You can stop this. No one need die.

Then do so! he thought of saying; but he recalled the lord Regentʼs warning never to begin to listen, and never to begin to answer.

— I do not want to fight you, the Wind said, I do not, my mistaught lord of the Sihhë. So I shall not. Come to me when youʼre done with him. — Iʼll wait.

Aséyneddinʼs banner too blazed with a pale, unnatural glimmering in the dark, Illusion of light, no more, no less than he could do: that was Hasufinʼs working in the world.

But at the same moment a new presence impinged on his awareness, distant, desperate, and mortal, against which Hasufin strove — a distraction to him it was possible to feel as he felt the outlines of Hasufinʼs power unfurl within the woods, a trap for any Man who rode too far.

Pelumer, he thought. It was Pelumer, fighting for escape, in the edge of Marna.

An enemy shield was coming toward him, a Griffin blazing white. He centered his lance. A howl went up from the oncoming ranks of the Elwynim, metal lit by the illusory glamor he had sent over them. Dysʼ hindquarters bunched and drove with all his force. Uwen was on his left. Cefwyn was on his right as a lance raked off his shield and line met line with a thunder-crack and a shock that went up his arm.

His lance bent and exploded in splinters, a lance grated off his shield, and the riderless horse passed him as he cast the stump aside. He shielded off a blow from the following rank and ripped his sword from its leather bindings.

Guelen blades, Guelen maces hammered about him as lighter horses and lighter-armed riders and foot now struck behind the heavy cavalry, Elwynim riders that had not carried through attempted retreat and became involved in a dark mass of their own Elwynim infantry bristling with weapons and trying to defend against the Guelen horse.

He sent Dys into the midst of footsoldiers, drew the light of illusion about him and all the riders near him, harmless show — but it terrified men before him, and ranks broke.

Riders followed him…he was aware of it as he knew the whereabouts of Lanfarnesse so far lost and of the Amefin troops entering the fray behind them. Dys trampled men trying to bring pikes to bear, and never stopped, his breath coming hard, his huge shod hooves making nothing of living or dead, brush or uneven ground. Tristen laid about him with the sword, cut down men as he found them, making a path, sending Dys this way and that, to right or to left of oncoming enemies and threatening steel. His sword burned with white fire as it swung. Dys shone as if a white light were on them. The silver wrap glittered on the sword and left ghosts before his eyes.

Then they reached an astonishing vacancy in the noontime dark, confronting nothing but forest: they had come through the Elwynimʼs lines, and he reined Dys about to ride at the faces of men trying to flee — Aséyneddinʼs center had split in two, and riderless horses were bolting through the confusion, trampling light-armed men running for the woods in an unthinkable hammering of swords and axes. The wall of Amefin foot gnawed its way forward and heavy horse continued to wear at the outsides of Aséyneddinʼs split forces.

Wind skirled against their flank, blasting up dust. The banners of the Dragon were gouts of bright blood across a fatally bunched knot of black and white Elwynim standards, with the banner of Aséyneddin in the midst of it.

But a shadow swept over all of it as he watched, with nightmarish swiftness darkening the ground and the air itself. Cefwynʼs men and the surrounded enemy alike were in danger, and the approach of the Shadow to that place was like a nightmare he was doomed to watch and not reach, across a screen of terrified enemies whose very defeat and panic made them a barrier to his advance.

He laid about him with the sword, blind to all but that patch of threatened red within his visor. Cefwyn could not by any human means realize what menaced him — it might seem the passage of a cloud in the sky, salt sweat in the eyes, a blurring of vision in exertion. It was nothing Cefwyn could see, or understand.

But it was there, in this world and the other, an unnatural twilight that roused chill winds to lash at cloaks and the manes of horses. Tristen heard it taunting him. Men at last realizing their impending danger looked up, distracted from the battle. A few lifted swords or lances to challenge the cold and the dark, and the threatened Elwynim themselves looked up, afraid. The battle between Men began to dissolve in a stinging cloud of dust, the very air suddenly aboil with pieces of leaves, twigs, grass, bits of cloth, whole branches, flying banners.

— Hasufin! he shouted at the Wind. Here I am! Let them be! If you have no hostages — you cannot hope to govern me! I am listening to you! I shall listen so long as you can hold my attention! Talk to me, Hasufin! I am here!

Came the hollow rush of winds and the thin shriek of men and horses caught in its path as that blurring in the world turned toward him. Some Men stood to fight, and it rolled over them. Some Men fled, and it rolled over them the same.

In the shadow now was a white light behind which were only the trees of the forest and the black shapes of the fallen. In its path were still living Men — Cefwynʼs men; and to turn it from Cefwyn he could only taunt it, call it ahead, to roll over men he knew, men who had laughed with him, shared their provisions with him. Brogi was one, trying valiantly to reach his King. Kerdin Qwyllʼs-son was another, and his man with him.

— Come ahead! he called to the Wind, making himself heartless. Dys shivered under him and tried to turn from the blast as he had turned from no mortal enemy, but Tristen pressed him with heels and knees, making him face it, drawing the presence down on him — for now he could feel it — as willingly, as unresistingly, as he drew the light to his hands.

From behind him his own black banner flashed past him and to the fore of him. Andas Andasʼ-son was riding for the very heart of the Shadow, the Sihhë banner braced in his left hand, sword in his right. But he could not reach it. The black standard skewed back and aside on a blast of the wind, all but carrying Andasʼ-son from the saddle, and Andasʼ-son fought to hold it. His horse went down. The Shadow hesitated above him, and Andasʼ-son, rising, struck with his sword at empty air.

— Keep coming! Tristen shouted at it, taunted it, pleaded with it. Coward! Come to me!

Andasʼ-son, his horse and all went into a glare of white as if the world had torn like fabric and white nothingness shone through, pervisible, through a rip grown wider and closer. Numbing cold howled out of it as it grew. Horses reared up at the edge of it and fled in panic, trampling the dying and the dead as they escaped. Men left afoot cast down shields and weapons and ran until it passed over them and they lay dead.

“Mʼlord!” Uwen cried close behind him, and knowing Uwen was in its path, Tristenʼs heart went cold — for he was staring now directly into the rippling light-through-water burning at the very center of the rift. He was deafened by the roar of the winds. Dys, refusing to go, came up on his hind legs.

He gripped his sword and for the first time truly used the spurs, sending Dys forward as Dys himself seemed then to take his madness and go with a will, into the burning heart of the light.

It was like passing through water. Things beyond that limit were distorted, but in perfect clarity within the compass of it, he saw the bodies of men and horses lying on the ground. Debris of the forest buffeted him, flying in the wind, but he clung to the silver-wrapped sword, and the light, no illusion here, blazed from the silver until his glove smoked. The letters on the blade shone with white light: Truth, and Illusion.

Around him were ragged shapes that whirled like torn rags, that shrieked with terrified voices, and whipped away on the winds. He and Dys were the only creatures alive within the compass of the light.

Then — then the wind stopped. Then a silence. A stillness. A hush, as if hearing failed. A loneliness, a white light, with no other living creatures.

— Why, there you are, the Shadow said to him in that quiet, and the tones embraced, caressed, as the wind slid around him and beneath Dys, caressing and gentle. There you are, my prince. And here I am. Take my allegiance. I give it. I ask nothing else of you. I can show you your heartʼs desire. Ask me any favor and I am yours.

Time stopped, and slipped sidelong. All the world seemed extended about him, and he struggled out of that burning light into grayness again, clinging to the illusion that was himself, on the truth that was a field near Emwy.

But that place fell away from him in dizzy depth. He was elsewhere.

Came a distant sibilance like the whispering of leaves before a storm. Ynefel loomed up through a veil of mist and he stood on a promontory facing it, though he knew the fortress stood alone.

Came a rumbling in the earth, and the rock under him began to crumble in a rushing of winds and water. He had a sword — but it was useless against his enemy in this place.

Came a wind through woods, as, on the white stones of the Road, he saw himself asleep among the trees, against a stream-bank. And the Book was there.

— Tristen of Ynefel. Came a whisper through the dark and came a light through the leaves. Tristen, I do not in any fashion oppose you. I never did. Leave this intention against me, and go through the light. Be with Mauryl. You can find him again. You have that power.

He remembered leaves in the courtyard, leaves that whirled and rose up with the dust of the ground into the shape of a man. He remembered that Time was one time, and that Place was one place.

He sat, still on Dys, in the paved courtyard. He saw a young man sitting on the step, trying to read a Book. He saw Maurylʼs face looking down from the wall, the youth all unseeing of his danger. And the Book was there, on the young manʼs knees, perilously within Hasufinʼs reach.

Rapidly the shadow of the walls joined the shadow of the tower, and grew long across the courtyard stones. It touched the walls, complete across the courtyard, now, and he knew that on any ordinary day he should be inside and off the parapets and out of the courtyard…

But he was thinking as that young man. The enemy was waiting for him. And for the Book the young man held.

— Take it up, the Wind said to him. Or shall I?

The wind suddenly picked up, skirled up the dead leaves from a corner of the wall, and those leaves rose higher and higher, dancing down the paving stones toward the tower — toward the youth, who shivered, with the Book folded in his hands, his hands between his knees as the wind danced back again. The faces set in the walls looked down in apprehension, in desperation, saying, with a voice as great as the winds, Look up, look up, young fool, and run!

The youth looked up then at the walls above his head — and recoiled from off the step. Maurylʼs face loomed above him, stone like the others, wide-mouthed and angry.

The youth stumbled off the middle step, fell on the bottom one and picked himself up, staring at the face — retreated farther and farther across the stones, carrying the Book as he fled.

Came a strangely human sound, that began like the wind and ended in the choked sobs of someone in grief, but distant, as if cast up and echoed from some deep. It might have been in the real world. It might have been the youth making that sound. It might have been himself.

— Tristen, the Wind said to him, Ynefel is your proper place, this is your home, Sihhë soul, and I am your own kind — well, let us be honest: at least more hospitable than Men. The world outside offers nothing worth the having — not for the likes of us. Be reasonable. Save this young man the bother — and the grief. Would you look ahead? Ahead might persuade you.

— I am not your kind, Tristen returned angrily — and yet the niggling doubt was there, the doubt that wondered — But what else am I? And what shall I be?

— A weapon. Thatʼs all. Thatʼs all you ever were, my prince. Mauryl used you. Men use you, — and unwisely, at that. You always had questions. Ask me. Iʼll answer. — Or change things. With the Book, if you take it up, you can do that. You can be anywhere youʼve ever been. Only the future changes. Would you free Mauryl? You can. Iʼm certain I donʼt care, if heʼll mend his manners. But you can change that. Iʼm sure you can.

He saw light…light as he had seen at the beginning of everything. The other side of that light was Maurylʼs fireside. He could step right through the firelight. He would be there, that first of the safest nights, most kindly nights of his life, welcomed by Maurylʼs voice and warmed by Maurylʼs cloak.

He would be there. Mauryl would be alive again, Summoning him out of the fire.

He could think of the library, the warm colors of faded tapestry, the many wooden balconies and the scaffolding. He could think of Maurylʼs wrinkled face and white beard.

He could think of Mauryl at his ciphering, the tip of the quill working and the dry scratch of Maurylʼs pen on parchment, as real as if he stood there at Maurylʼs shoulder. He could step through. He could stand in the study. He could be at that very moment Mauryl Called him. He saw the firelight like a curtain before him. He could all but hear Maurylʼs voice. It was that moment. He could have it all again.

Forever.

— You see? said the Wind. Seemings are all alterable. Restore what was? You are of the West, not the East. Never fear what you were. Glory in it. Look to the dawn of reason. Look to the dawn of our kind. Your name—

“My name,” he shouted at it,—

—“is Tristen, Tristen, Tristen!”

Wings — he was certain it was Owl — clove the air in front of him. And he—he moved them all through Time, following Owl, chasing Owl back to where Owl belonged.

He heard his horseʼs hoofbeats. He felt Dys striding under him. He saw Owl flying ahead of him, black against the heart of that white luminance in the very moment it came down on him. There was no feeling-out, no conative attack this time. The Wind enveloped him with cold and sound.

— Barrakkêth! it wailed. Barrakkêth, Kingbreaker, listen to me, only listen — I know you now! Deathmaker, you are far too great to be Maurylʼs toy — listen to me!

He fought to hold the sword, but he gripped its mortal weight, swung it into the heart of the light — the sword met insubstance, clove it, echoing, shrieking into dark as the silver burned and seared his hand.

The cold poured over him as Dys and Owl and he lost each other then. He spun through dark, nowhere, formless and cold. He had no will to move, to think, even to dream, nor wanted any.

“Mʼlord. Tristen, lad. Tristen!”

A horse gave a snort. He was aware of dark huge feet near his head. Of something trailing across his face, a horseʼs breath in his eyes. Of the world from an unaccustomed angle.

Of silence.

“Mʼlord.” Another snort. A thump and clatter of armor nearing him. He saw a shadow, felt the touch of a hand on his face, a hand that burned his cheek, it was so very warm.

Then strong arms seized him and tried to lift him. “Mʼlord, help me here. Come on, ye said yeʼll heed me. Come on. Come back to me, mʼlord. Donʼt lie to me.”

It was Uwenʼs distant voice, Uwen wanted help for something, and, obliged to try, he drew a deep breath and tried to do what Uwen wanted, which required listening, and moving, and hurting.

He saw Uwenʼs face, grimed and bloody, with trails of moisture down his cheeks, shadowed against a pearl gray sky. The air about them was so quiet, so very, very quiet he could hear Dys and Cass as they moved.

He could hear the wind in the leaves. The world…had such a wealth of textures, of colors, sights, shapes, sounds, substance…it all came pouring in, and the breath hurt his chest as he tried to drink it all.

“Oh, mʼlord,” Uwen said. “I was sure ye was dead. I looked and I looked.” He stripped the wreckage of the shield from his left arm; he moved the fingers of his right hand and realized that he still held his sword. The blade was scored and bright along one edge as if some fire had burned it away. The silver circlet was fused to the quillons and the hilt, the leather wrappings hung loose and silver writing was burned bright along its center. He tried to loose his fingers and much of the gauntlet came away as if rotten with age. The skin there peeled away, leaving new, raw flesh.

He struggled to rise, with the other hand using the sword to lean on, and Uwen took it from him and helped him to stand.

All the field was leveled where they stood. There were only bodies of men and horses, and themselves.

“We won,” Uwen said. “Gods know how, — we won, mʼlord. Umanon and Cevulirn took the hills and kept the ambush off our backs. Then the Amefin foot come in, Lanfarnesse showed up late, and the ladyʼs coming with the baggage. It was you we couldnʼt find.”

“Is Cefwyn safe?”

“Aye, mʼlord.” Uwen lifted the hand that held his sword. “See, His Majestyʼs banner, bright as day, there by the center.”

Tristen let go his breath, stumbled as he tried to walk toward that place shining in sunlight — the gray clouds were over them, but it was brilliant color, that banner, brilliant, hard-edged and truer than the world had ever seemed. A piece of his armor had come loose, and rattled against his leg, another against his arm.

“Donʼt you try,” Uwen said, pulling at him as he tried to walk. “Easy, mʼlord. Easy. Ye darenʼt walk this field, mʼlord. Let me get you up on your horse. I can do it.”

He nodded numbly, and let Uwen turn him toward Dys, who, exhausted, gave little difficulty about being caught. Uwen made a stirrup of his hands and gave him a lift enough to drag himself to the saddle. Then Uwen managed to climb onto Cass with a grunt and a groan, and landed across the saddle until he could sort himself into it: Tristen waited, and Dys started to move, on his own, as Cass did, slowly.

Around them, from that vantage, the field showed littered with dead — until it reached the place where he had lain; and after that the ground was almost clear.

“It stopped?” he asked Uwen. “The Wind stopped here?”

“Aye, mʼlord, the instant it veered off and took you, it stopped. Just one great shriek and it were gone, taking some of its own wiʼ it. And some of ours, gods help ʼem. Andas is gone. Soʼs Lusin. I thought you was gone for good, mʼlord. I thought I was goinʼ. I thought that thing was coming right over us. But Cass was off like a fool, and I come back again and searched, and I guess I just mistook the ground, ʼcause there ye was, this time, plain as plain, and Dys-lad standing over ye, having a bite of grass.”

He looked up at the pallid, clouded, ordinary sky.

“What were that thing, mʼlord?”

He shook his head slowly. For what it was, he had no Word, nor would Uwen. He turned Dys toward the place where Cefwynʼs red banner flew, and saw that Ninévrisëʼs had just joined it.

The land along the forest-edge and across the hills had become a place of horror, riven armor and flesh tangled in clots and heaps, wherever the fighting had been thick. Someone moaned and cried for water, another for help they were not able, themselves, to give. Men moved among them in the distance, bringing both, he hoped.

They came on a little knoll, a tree, and a dead horse. One man sat with another in his arms. They wore the red of the Guelenfolk.

Erion and Denyn. The Ivanim, wounded himself, held the boy, rocking to and fro, and looked up at them as they stopped.

“Come with us,” Tristen said gently. “We shall take you to the King.”

“I will go there soon,” Erion said faintly and bent his head against the boyʼs, with nothing more to say.

Tristen lingered, wishing there were magic to work, a miracle he dared do; but there was none: the boy was dead — and he would not.

He rode on with Uwen. He saw the Heron banner of Lanfarnesse and the Amefin Eagle planted on the nearer hill, the White Horse and the Wheel on the slope of the farther. They rode to the tattered red banner of the Marhanen Dragon, and the knot of weary men gathered about it.

They rode up among the Guelenfolk. He saw the faces of those about Cefwyn turn toward him. He saw hands laid on weapons. He thought that they did not know him, and lifted his free hand to show it empty…he saw Cefwynʼs face, that was likewise stricken with fear.

“Cefwyn,” he said, and dismounted.

Idrys was there, and caught at Cefwynʼs arm when Cefwyn moved toward him, but Cefwyn shook him off and came and took his hand as if he feared he would break.

“I lost my shield,” Tristen said, only then feeling his heart come back to him. “—And my helm. I donʼt know where, my lord.”

“Gods.” Cefwyn embraced him with a grate of metal. He shuddered and held to Cefwynʼs arms when he let go. “You fool,” Cefwyn said gently. “You great fool — heʼs gone. Aséyneddin is dead, his whole damned army has fled the field, or surrendered under mʼladyʼs banner! Come. Come. The rest of us are coming in. Pelumer is found…lost himself in the woods, to his great disgust…”

“It is no fault of his.”

“Holy gods, — Wizards. No, I knew it. Ninévrisëʼs had word of Sovrag; his cousin was wiped out, lost, and Sovrag couldnʼt pass upriver. A blackness hung over the river, and the boats lost themselves while it lasted…even so, theyʼve taken down the Emwy bridge. The rebels that did escape us wonʼt cross. — Gods, are you all right, Tristen?”

He flexed his hand, wiped at his eyes. “Iʼm very well.”

He walked away then. Uwen led Dys and Cass behind him.

He had no idea where to go, now. He thought he would sleep a while. True sleep had been very long absent from him.

— Emuin, he said, but he had no answer — a sense of presence, but nothing close. Possibly Emuin was asleep himself.

“Where are ye goinʼ, mʼlord?” Uwen asked. “Sounds as if theyʼll be bringinʼ the wagons in, if ye please. Weʼll have canvas ʼtwixt us and the weather. Sheʼs clouded up, looking like rain tonight.”

He looked at the sky, at common, gray-bottomed clouds. He looked about him at the woods. Owl had gone, Shadow that he was, into the trees, where he was more comfortable. But he knew where Owl was. Owl had gone to the river, where the small creatures had not been startled into hiding. Owl would wait for night. That was the kind of creature Owl was, as kings were kings and lords were lords and the likes of Uwen Lewenʼs-son would always stay faithful.

He saw no shadow in the sky. None on the horizon. He did not know how to answer Uwenʼs question, but he thought that he would sit down on the rocks near the road, and wait, and see what the world of Men was about to be.