“What, shame to be taken to my service? I think not.”

“He was the innocent party, my lord Prince.”

“I judge both guilty. And I give you clear notice now, my lords, in all love and confidence in your good will, if there is further fighting in this town or in this hall, I shall see the surviving participants personally, and deal with them by the King’s justice. These two, Olmernman and Ivanim, I make an example of my mercy. If they serve me well, they will find me a generous lord; if they do not, I have already made judgment of the survivor, and it is severe indeed, Your Grace, be it your man, be it Loren’s.

I am completely impartial as to which. I will not have weapons drawn or blood shed in this hall or anywhere within this gathering of forces.”

There was silence in the hall.

“Do you challenge my claim on their persons?”

Cevulirn made a bow. “No, Your Highness.”

“Olmern?”

“Aye,” said Sovrag. “You may have the lad, m’lord Prince, and welcome to him. He’s a good boy.” Sovrag frowned at Cevulirn. “But if there be any provocation of my men—from His Grace, there—”

“I am determined,” Cefwyn said, raising his voice, “that there be peace in this hall. I trust you hear me. Shall I have it proclaimed by the herald, whose voice is louder?”

“Beware, lest we all have Guelen guards,” Heryn said.

“Dear Lord Heryn,” said Cefwyn, leaning back on his throne and giving Heryn a sidelong glance. “I rely on the honor of our guests, who are all honorable and proven honorable in good service to the Crown; but such is the love I bear you, Heryn Aswydd, that I shall continue to lend you Guelen guards. Indeed—such is the prevalence of assassins in your domain,” he added, looking around at the others, “that I advise you all to sleep with guarded doors. Mauryl Gestaurien is dead. Doubtless that sad rumor had reached you. There have been now ten attempts on my life, of which the south gate is witness, save the last, where we lost good men in my stead, and yet Lord Heryn swears the district under his control—ah, what else of gossip have I forgot? Armed bandits in the countryside, of which there now are fewer. Perhaps you have had such difficulties, my lords. If so I earnestly pray you advise me.”

“We passed a village at the border south,” said Pelumer, “Trys Ceyl was the name of it—Trys Ceyl and Trys Drun—and the folk in that area begged us stay, grace of a good neighbor, so of that grace and my knowledge ye’d approve, m’lord Prince, a handful of my men did stay there.

We’ve had our troubles the last two years on the forest marches: brigandage, livestock stolen, skulkers about the haystacks. Our rangers report no substance we can pursue on any large scale. Movements in the woods, shepherds startled, lost goats. But two of the village folk at Trys Ceyl seem to have disappeared without trace, they say there, man and son, and I thought it worth leaving five men to see.”

“Well done, and I hope they find nothing so grave as we did by Emwy.

Aught else observed by any of you?”

“Naught but quiet on Lenfialim’s south,” said Sovrag. “Upriver ... I wouldn’t say. It’s eerie and quiet at Ynefel and all through that wood, and we sailed past it by broad day and set no foot on that shore. Ynefel’s always chancy, and things come unhinged lately. A lot odd’s come to us by rumor.”

“Odd things among the Elwynim?”

“I heard, leastwise third-hand, aye, m’lord Prince, troubles and outlawry pourin’ out of the fringes of Marna. Which of course we don’t directly see, lord Prince, respecting as we do Mauryl’s dividing of the river. Except you call us north, of course.”

He chose not to challenge that. Or to say what his spies knew of Sovrag’s occasional goings and comings. “And by bridges to the south?”

“Bridges, aye, well—I don’t know. We sailed that stretch out of Marna at night, but I’d swear there wasn’t decks on ’em. Looked open to the sky, to me, and showin’ stars through, lord Prince.”

He looked at the frowning lord beside and behind Sovrag, whose lands were also on the river and bordering both Amefel and Olmern to the south. “Imor?”

I “In the south,” said Umanon with a sour glance at Sovrag, “our only troubles are local, and, unlike some, we never fare north. We have had misgivings of Olmern’s adventures, however limited, and I do not hesitate to say so.”

“Much of our trouble, too, is local,” said Heryn unasked. “Good my lords, look to your own rights and do as pleases you, but, as for me, I do nothing until the King responds to my inquiries. You should know this assemblage is without the King’s knowledge or sanction.”

“But lawful.” Cefwyn held up a finger.

“But lawful,” Heryn admitted. “As in the matter of the Ivanim and the

Olmernman, what my lord Prince wills becomes lawful.”

There was deathly silence in the hall. Heryn awaited some reaction to his brazen defiance. The barons and the Amefin lords alike waited to see what would result. Cefwyn let the silence go on. And on.

And suddenly in the outer hall was the tread of guards. Cefwyn leaned back then, a smile on his face, for the timing, thanks to Heryn, was far better than his precise order could have arranged. Heads began to turn.

It was Idrys, and Uwen, and following them, startlingly pale-skinned in black doublet and short black cloak, Tristen, escorted by the red-cloaked Guelen guard.

And the arms that Tristen wore on his shoulder for this oath-giving were arms unseen in the court of Ylesuin for more than two generations, the silver Tower of Ynefel in chief, above the eight-pointed Sihhé Star.

A page carried in and unfurled a banner, black and argent, bearing the same. A murmur of consternation erupted as Amefin townfolk and lords of Ylesuin together realized what banner they were seeing. The chamberlain pounded for order. Heryn had moved a step down from his entitled stance on the dais, and more slowly Cefwyn arose, walked down to the last step and held out his hand for Tristen.

Look neither left nor right, he had personally warned Tristen, and Tristen’s pale eyes were locked now on his as a drowning man’s on a sole promise of safety.

Their hands met, and Tristen, as he had been told, went to one knee on the step and pressed Cefwyn’s hand to his lips.

“What manner of sham is this?” Heryn cried aloud. “This man is a

.wandering idiot, a halfwit known to everyone in Henas’amef!”

Cefwyn closed his hand on Tristen’s and drew him to his feet, prepared to turn and deal with Heryn, but to his astonishment Tristen himself turned, fixed Heryn with a cold and clear-eyed stare, and swept it then on all the other lords.

A silence fell strangely in the hall, so that suddenly the chamberlain’s staff rang loud in the silence.

“Tristen Lord Warden of Ynefel and Lord High Marshal of Althalen,”

Cefwyn said into the silence. “Confirmed in those honors by me, to the lordships thereof and to all rights and inheritances in those lands to which he is as Mauryl Gestaurien’s heir entitled.”

“No!” Heryn shouted above the instant tumult. “My lords, this wretch came to the gates babbling Mauryl’s name, and upon that sole evidence this whole invention is made! He is no son or heir of Mauryl Gestaurien! And he is no kindred of Elfwyn Sihhé, only some peasant halfwit who may or may not have been Mauryl’s servant—hence his gentleman’s speech! We all know that Mauryl had neither wife nor heir, legitimate or otherwise, unnatural that he was,—if in fact the old hermit at Ynefel was Mauryl Gestaurien. If, if, if, and upon those ifs this perhaps-servant of the man who was perhaps Gestaurien who was perhaps of Ynefel and perhaps the same Mauryl who was the ally of the Amefin is confirmed to equality with us, whose service to the Marhanen house is long and honorable. I protest it bitterly, my lord Prince! I do more than vehemently protest—I refuse to recognize this travesty on the honorable dead of this province, until I see more proof!”