—Boy? be beard. Boy? Where are you?

But it was instantly clear to him that be was mistaken—Emuin was not near. Emuin was somewhere—by a brook. Under a gray and shadowy willow. Emuin was sitting down and washing his face in water be could not see.

—Emuin, I thought it was you. I’m sorry.

—Boy, what’s happening? Emuin was at once concerned. Emuin was getting to his feet, batting at insubstantial willow-fronds—his boot was in one band, his book falling from his lap. Tristen! Who’s there? Be careful, I say!

One man in the courtyard sat a white horse and was clad all in red and gold—that man leapt off his mount right at the steps, startling him, drawing his attention back to the courtyard.

But before the lord had gone a step, the white horse reared up, and the man turned about and seized both reins and stableboy, separating one from the other and swearing with such invention as even the soldiers failed to match.

It was amazing confusion; Tristen stood staring as Uwen and his other two guards reached him. Master Haman came from the stableyard to reason with the angry lord in red. Haman took personal charge of the beautiful horse, and the lord, graceless and angry, turned and stamped back to the steps, his fair face scowling.

Tristen backed a step and meant to give the man ample room—but the lord stopped on the steps and looked up directly at him with such surprise and anger that Tristen froze where he stood.

“What in hell are you?” the lord asked him. “What manner of sorry joke is this?”

He lost his tongue, facing such rage as had just stormed through the stableyard and frightened even master Haman.

“M’lord,” Uwen prompted him in a low voice and from behind, “this is His Highness Prince Efanor, Prince Cefwyn’s younger brother.”

“My lord Prince,” Tristen began: if this was Cefwyn’s brother, he was willing to like this man well for Cefwyn’s sake.

But Efanor backed up and set a hand on his sword. “Who are you, I say?”

“Tristen, sir. I assure you—”

“Your Highness,” Uwen began, edging past on the steps, offering an empty and an open hand. “If it please Your Highness, —”

“Emuin’s foundling.” Efanor had eased his posture, but the hand stayed on the hilt and the haughty look and the frown remained. “I would have thought you somewhat younger, by the reports that reached us. Ynefel’s cursed badge I do not find amusing, sir. Whose idea? Whose permission?”

Tristen stood completely confused.

“Your Highness,” Uwen said. “Your Highness, your pardon, he don’t readily understand.”

“But I do understand,” Tristen said, out of fear for Uwen’s safety.

“Nothing at all is Uwen’s fault. Cefwyn gave me permission for whatever I do, sir.”

“Do not,” a voice rang out from overhead, higher up the steps. “Do not vent your spleen on him, brother. I am here. Welcome to you.”

Cefwyn came down beside him. “Tristen, go inside.”

“Stay,” said Efanor, a brittle and biting voice, like and unlike Cefwyn’s, as they two were like and unlike in other particulars. “The man—if it is at all a man—intrigues me. So do these warlike preparations. On whom are we marching? And when? Am I asked to join? Or is this solely a local matter?”

“Ynefel having fallen,” Cefwyn said, “the stability of the province is threatened. These are simply precautions.”

“Precautions,” Efanor said, sweeping a hand at the crowded stables.

“No proper room for my horse. Camps about the town, threatening productive orchards and good pastures. You have no patent to raise armies, brother. And this—” He swept the hand toward Tristen. “Amid your army-making, this peculiar precaution. —Is the Sihhé star your new banner—or are you still using the old one?”

“Oh, come, shall we discuss policy in the stableyard? Discourse with the stableboys below? I should have reckoned you would be instant on the road once Heryn’s rumors found you. You must not have paused day or night. And how fares our royal father?”

“As quickly. Ahead of me, in fact, with Guelen forces in his command, good brother. Which may or may not please you to hear.”

“What, Father’s coming here?”

“Does it give you pause?”

“In unsettled conditions, it does, yes, brother. Whence this peculiar notion? Where inspired? Surely not Emuin’s advice.”

“A message of your Amefin host—that said the King might well inquire of the situation on the Lenfialim. That there was serious incursion which you were not able or disposed to contain, at Emwy.”

“At Emwy.” Cefwyn was puzzled; and Tristen also thought that that was not the truth. “At Emwy.”

“Is this not the truth?”

“Where is he?”

“I would gather, farther down the road than I, since he purposed to ride straight through. And, laggard I, I determined to take my leisure and find out the situation here. I had thought you on the border like a good commander.”

“He will come here first.”

“No, I think he purposed to go right on to Emwy itself, and see for himself how things stand.”

“Damn his suspicious nature! He must not go there! Efanor, on my oath, I cannot guarantee my own safety there, let alone his.”

“And should he lodge here? Rebellion in Amefel, Mauryl dead, villages plundered, general lack of order, imminent dissolution of—”

“Heryn? Heryn sent this word? And he believed Heryn Aswydd and not me?”

“Aye, Heryn Aswydd. The lawful Duke of Amefel. Say Heryn had complaint of you, and Father would see, before coming here. You know our father. —And I, good brother that I am, I thought at least to shake clerkly matters into order here, and cover at least your minor sins, such as I found ...”

But Cefwyn was looking elsewhere, as if he heard not a word. “Oh, gods,” Cefwyn breathed. “O blessed gods. The old road. To Emwy.

Man. Man!” he shouted, seizing on the sergeant of the guard who had followed him. “Arrest Heryn Aswydd, his cousins, and his sisters. See to it! Now!”

“Whence comes this?” Efanor demanded. “Blessed gods, Cefwyn—”

Cefwyn started down the steps, caught Efanor’s arm, brushing past Tristen. “How far ahead of you? How far, Efanor?”

“I’ve no notion I should tell you. I expected you to be out on the border. I don’t know what I see here!”

“I live on the border, brother! This is the border! There are no safe places here! What do you think I do here? Heryn Aswydd has asked Father to come to find me at Emwy, on the old road to the border, do you comprehend me in the least, brother? Yes, there’s trouble there. Sheep-stealing and stone-throwing, most recently. But maybe the building of bridges.., my reports are yet to come in. How far ahead, damn you?”

“I lingered in An’s-ford. I have no idea. —Cefwyn, in the name of the gods, what’s toward? Why should I trust you?”

“Then stay here!” Cefwyn snapped, and cast about desperately.

“Guardsman, find Idrys. He’s off about the lower hall somewhere. If you can’t find him, —send an officer! —Master Haman! Saddle light horses, the fastest, for myself and twenty of my personal guard. Now!”

“Fresh horses!” Efanor shouted suddenly at his men and the stableyard. “We’re for the road again!” He overtook Cefwyn and the two of them went side by side down the steps as Tristen stood aside in confusion. “I’11 trust you, Cefwyn! But if you lead me out there and make me look the fool in front of Father—”

“Nine heads over the south gate witness what’s happening in this province. Heryn lied, lied to cast suspicion on me and draw Father out to the border. Damn the man, I’ll explain on the road, brother. There’s no time. None! —Tristen, —”

“I’ll go with you,” Tristen began.

“No!” Cefwyn said angrily. “Uwen, take him out of here and keep him close, damn you!”

“Stay,” said Efanor. “No, you’ll not keep your sins at home! I’d have Father see this guest that bides at the heart of this mystery. Let our father judge what you’ve raised here before he rides into your keeping.