—A boy, Tristen answered. He guided me to Cefwyn: should I leave him loose and unwarded? He’s an open threshold. Now he’s ours.

—Yours. Yours, young lord. I have nothing to do with him!

Paisi had led Tristen straight as an arrow from the town gates to Cefwyn’s doorstep, the night he had arrived. Wizardry went for weak points, and Paisi’s hunger was that; it went for movable points, and there was none more unstable than a boy with no bed at night; it went for persons with a glimmer of the gift and no knowledge how to use it. And if there was malice afoot in the gray space at large, seeking any approach, any weakness in his Place in the world, he had just mortared in that stone with strong wards. He had meant what he said to Paisi: if hostile force attempted this boy who had so basic and early a connection to his presence here, he would know that threshold had been crossed. But the boy was himself harmless as the old women Uwen named.

—Harmless! Emuin echoed his thought. Harmless now. Bring back the magic indeed.

—Is there truth in it, sir? Can you see? I can’t. Who are these grandmothers?

—The truth, gods, the truth! The cursed truth is the magic’s worn thin and raising it is work, young lord, wearying work, until a draught of your presence pours down, and a wizard who ought to know better finds it headier and headier wine, gods save me. Gods save us all.

The Guelen Guard, who had lost their prisoner to higher orders, stood frowning, meanwhile, and all the distressing exchange was in an eyeblink, leaving him staring at Emuin and Emuin conspicuously evading his eyes.

“The boy is a thief,” the Guelen officer said, “and will steal from Your Grace, if he goes free.”

“He will go free… in my service.” Tristen had no idea what the boy had stolen or whether they had gotten it back. The wagons bound for the border had been laden with all manner of things, supplies, soldiers’ belongings, tents and fittings as well as grain for horses. Paisi, however, would not have made off with a grain sack. Likely it was something smaller. “Whatever he stole,” Tristen said, “have the owner come to Uwen, and I will pay it.”

“Your Grace,” the sergeant said, “it was a man’s kit, an’ we ain’t ever found it.”

“Then Paisi will tell where he hid it.” He saw no profit in long debate with the officer, and pursued his way doggedly toward the lower west hall, having learned to disentangle himself from the importunate: solve a matter and move on, disentangling his guard and those with him at the same time, and leaving firm orders behind him.

But even so he felt himself constrained and hemmed about.

“What in the gods’ good name possessed you to ride out today?” Emuin asked. Not: why have we left a supper upstairs? That he took in stride. But riding out with Crissand… that was in question.

“Crissand asked,” he said simply. “Have you marked it, sir, he has the gift?”

“As does that boy. This is Amefel. Half the province has the gift in some measure!”

“Not to that measure.”

“No. That’s true.”

“I’ve done what I see to do. I ask, sir, this time I ask very strongly, that you advise me.”

“And still, I say I will not—”

“I knowwhat you will not, sir! But consider… the harm is out across the river. It isacross the river, is it not?”

“It seems to be.”

“Yet it was a great storm out there!” He needed exercise no discretion in front of Lusin and Uwen, who had been there, but he kept his voice low with great effort, lest it echo to the guards elsewhere, who surely could hear that they argued, if not whatthey argued. “Crissand urged me go, Auld Syes met me, Cevulirn had been on his way long before I took the notion to ride out. I say I felt disturbance in the west and you say not in the west. So where shall I look for it, sir? And what shall I do about it when I do find it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. Nor do I care to, young lord. I’ve told you that.”

“And yet came with me back to Amefel.”

“Someone needed to.”

“And having arrived here, you do nothing, all for fear of involving yourself in Mauryl’s spells. And what if Mauryl wishedyou to advise me?”

“I know he did, young lord! That’s the bloody point! He had the cursed gall to leave you and me equally ignorant of his purposes and you ignorant of yourpurposes, and wherein am I to substitute mine? If mine were adequate, why am I not ruling Ynefel at this hour? No, no, and no! I am not Mauryl’s successor, and I am most certainly not your master! Rail on him, that he failed to advise you! But on we? Why, I do as he did! I leave you ignorant as a new-whelped pup and trust the unwinding of his spell to inform you of your reasons or his intent… so where am I at fault more than he, pray?”

Now they were well beyond what the guards should witness, even Lusin and Syllan, and some consciousness of witnesses and the echoing halls seemed to return to Emuin, and he moderated his voice. “Forgive me. But think on statecraft and moderate behavior, young lord. I’ve every suspicion the knowledge of that art is in you, and does Unfold at need. You arethe lord of Amefel. Conduct yourself so! Hold audience for your people and don’t complain of me that I fail to advise you, when you will not act on the simple advice I have given you! And what do I tell you? Establish a court! Settle in one place and let entreaty come to you, not the other way about, none of this haring about the countryside looking for trouble! We are not yet at that need, that we must find troubles out by some country shrine.”

“I mentioned no shrine.”‘

There was a moment of silence then, and Emuin did not meet his eyes.

“You knew. You expected her,” Tristen said accusingly, “and never told me.”.

“Say I’m not surprised at her,” Emuin confessed, “since she precedes trouble, and trouble we shall have by spring, young lord, so she might as well have the winter’s start on it. I say act on the advice I do give and then we will proceed to the advice you complain I do notgive.”

“And establish this court, sir?”

“That, for a beginning.”

“And spend my days settling the design for carved doors, and debating with craftsmen? Hard enough to see to the things I need to.”

“Better that than raising storms in the countryside. Stay out of mischief! Provoke nothing before its time.”

“Provoke what, sir? And in what time?” It was the very question he pursued, whether Emuin knew there was something on the horizon, or whether he was equally baffled and casting about for hints of what opposed them. “Storms may always come from the west, but Ynefel lies that way, too, and whether the tower is vacant or not concerns me. I have felt it vacant. I’ve thought that it was. Do you know?”

“Yes, it is vacant! I am certain of its vacancy, as I am certain there is no active shrine at Levey, and no hallow nor shadow beneath the oak that fell, not tonight, whatever may have been true at dawn this morning. But I’ll be most grateful, young lord, if you and yours could refrain from poking and prying under every stone in the province. Follow the advice I do give, and don’t rush into other things and then run to me for advice, as if I should have foreseen everything! I don’t. I can’t. I won’t. So there! I’m out of need for supper this evening, and far from polite converse. Entertain your guest. I’ll go back to my tower, by your leave, my good and gracious lord, and let you younger hearts plan the downfall of Tasmôrden. I’m weary.”

“You’ve not had all your supper. And your advice would be welcome. Come upstairs with me and have the rest of your supper. Please, sir.”

Another lengthy silence, Emuin seeming distracted and weary. “You don’t hear me, do you? Nothing’s come to you? Crissandlured you out there. Crissandbrought you to this shrine. And who is Crissand? Whatis Crissand?”