—Where is the lord Regent? he asked, and there came to him, echoing like the axe blows off the walls, the answer: Dead, dead, dead.

“Wizard!” Voices came through the dark. “He killed him! He bewitched him!”

Then one shouted,

“Send Cefwyn’s man with the lord Regent!”

“Hold!” someone cried then, and silence fell.

It was the man called Tasien, with two other lords.

“He killed the Regent!” a man said. “Ye didn’t see ’is eyes, m’lord. He was sittin’ and sittin’ and starin’ like to turn a man to stone. He’s cursed him. Kill ’im before he kills us all!”

“The lord Regent is scant moments dead,” Tasien said. “For the gods’ good grace, do your lady the courtesy of awaiting her orders.”

“Wrapped in Marhanen arms,” one of the lords said. “A wizard, besides, and have we not suffered enough from wizards? Strike off his head! This is no king of ours. It’s a Marhanen trick!”

It was clearly his head in question, and he knew he must do something desperate if it came to that, but Tasien—Tasien, who did not like him—said, “Wait for the lady’s word. Keep this man safe, I say, or answer to me.”

Tasien and two other men went away toward the tent, and left him in the care of the others in the starlight. He only knew individuals by the edges of their clothing and their gear. They had no faces to him. They spoke to him in quieter, more respectful terms: “Lord,” they called him, and said, “You sit there, lord wizard,” directing him to sit again on a section of the old wall, under their watch.

He saw no gain in arguing with them. He had had experience of guards who had orders, and he avoided looking at them—nor did he venture into the gray place: he only remained subtly aware of it.

But the Shadows had gotten their comeuppance, that was one of Uwen’s words: he felt that the old man was safe in some unassailable way, and had crossed a threshold of some Line invisible to him and unreachable. The old man had not lost. And perhaps, he thought, this time with a tingle of his skin and an inrush of breath, perhaps Mauryl had not.

Perhaps he had come where he had to be, and perhaps he had not failed, either. He no more knew where to go from here, and how to persuade the Regent’s men—nor dared he think that the Shadows of Althalen were powerless to do harm to him or to Mauryl’s intentions.

Hasufin marshaled and commanded the Shadows in this place—but it seemed to be the Regent’s purpose to contest him. The old man had been fighting Mauryl’s fight for years. And waiting for him. His King, the old man had called him. What was he to do with that? Clearly these men had no such notion.

More, there were dangers attached to this place, both in the gray place, and in the world of substance. Uwen he was certain was looking for him, and in the dark, and with their distress over the loss of the lord Regent, the archers might not restrain themselves for an ordinary-looking soldier and a band of Cefwyn’s guard. The lady might prevent disaster, if she would listen, but she was refusing to see what the old man had seen—she had been refusing steadfastly, trying to hold him in life and to keep him with her, and, wrong though that had been, it was not as wrong as other things she might decide to do. Removing the lord Regent from this Place, if he understood what the lord Regent had tried to tell him, would free Hasufin to act as he pleased and work whatever harm he pleased without whatever hindrance the lord Regent might have been to him. These men must not listen to Hasufin. She must not.

Cefwyn’s Ninévrisé. That was the other matter. Somehow and suddenly there were too many Kings.

He had ridden out to listen to the world and not the clamor of voices. He had ridden out hoping to understand answers—but another world opened under his feet, and purposes he had never guessed turned out to involve him.

I shall not harm Cefwyn, he had sworn to himself. I shall not harm

Uwen.

And even that simple, desperate promise came back to him tangled and changed.

Bridges, for certain: with decking in one case hidden near them on the Elwynim side of the river, and with new timbers stained dark and with smith-work cleverly concealed along the stone oak the old bridges, making a bed ready to receive decking. That meant the bridges which looked stripped of surface and unusable could become a highroad into Amefel within hours of the engineers setting to work, and which of several bridgeheads the Elwynim might use could be settled in strategy at the very last hour it was possible for them to move troops into position.

It settled the question of Elwynim preparation for war in Cefwyn’s mind. It did not say where they might strike—perhaps, which the Olmernmen had not had time to investigate, not into Amefel at all, but to the north. The Elwynim had the flexibility to do anything, to challenge Ylesuin at its weakest point, or to feint and strike in several attacks.

Grim news. Arys-Emwy’s bridge was definitely involved, and others, and very suspect was another bridgehead lying within the haunted bounds of Marna Wood, of which neither Olmernmen nor Elwynim were as cautious as other venturers—where, in fact, Olmernmen had lately had Mauryl’s leave to be: it had been no surprise to him, certainly, Sovrag’s admission of trade with Ynefel, and he would not be surprised at all to find Elwynim rangers and engineers venturing into Marna. If there were, it cast still a darker hint of Elwynor’s allies in their actions-and on Tristen’s flight. Cefwyn did not want to think ill in that regard-but the thought was there: he could not help it.

The extent and advanced progress of the matter advised him that he had been complacent in assuming his spies were loyal and well-paid enough; and in assuming they were receiving valid information. More-the concealment and the extent of the preparations indicated affairs some months in organization under a firm hand, at a time when he had been receiving marriage-offers and taking them as possibly sincere.

Fool, a small voice was saying to him, and urging that in some way he might have managed this province more wisely—that, if he had, his father might then not have died, though gods knew his father had not done wisely, either.

“We should have men up there and break those stoneworks down,” was Efanor’s conclusion, and Cefwyn did not agree, on several accounts; but he said only, “That is certainly one thing we might do,” to avoid starting a public argument with Efanor before the wounds of the last unfortunately well-witnessed dispute had healed, and before his own thoughts were in order. Wine was involved. One could obtain consent of the lords on a matter not requiring debate under such conditions. He did not want to discuss this news until there were clear heads and straighter thinking.

But perhaps he should not even have hinted of contrary thoughts.

Efanor went glum and stared at him, and spoke quietly with the priest.

Clearly Efanor’s pride was still getting before his reason—one certainly saw who stood high in Efanor’s personal council, and it truly threatened to annoy him.

Cefwyn let the page refill his cup again, and ordered Sovrag’s two scouts set at table and served with the rest: it had been a far trip for two exhausted travelers, and plague take the skittish Amefin diners lowermost at the tables, who were far enough in their cups to be fearful of piracy—at the tables, did they think? Two weary rivermen were going to make off with the Aswydds’ gold dinner-plates?

They served enough ale and wine to make the company merry—except Efanor and his priest. The Olmern scouts fell asleep not quite in the gravy, and Sovrag sent men to carry the lads away, while the lordly Imorim were discussing gods-knew-what with Sulriggan. Cefwyn had yet one more cup, and vowed to himself he would go to bed forthwith, on half of it. Efanor was withdrawing, with his priest, doubtless to godly and sober contemplation.