Heryn’s arrest I abide until I see the truth. But Mauryl’s witchling goes with us, brother, or I swear to you I’ll advise Father to avoid your hospitality until he has the truth from you—as he is already disposed to demand.”

“Brother, I’ve no time for this!”

“I warn you, this man goes with us or my men arrest him where we stand and take him all the same! It’s King’s law he’s broken, with or without your complicity!”

Cefwyn glared, distraught, then turned to shout orders at others of the guards that stood at the gates.

“Bring him!” Cefwyn shouted over his shoulder, which Tristen thought meant himself.

“My lord, m’lord,” Uwen muttered, staying him with a hand. “Beg off from this. I’ll go with ’em and speak to questions. There’s great danger, d’ ye not see? You should go back. Cefwyn could keep you back if you plead ill. He’ll not let ’em arrest ye. Ye’ve every reason to be ill, m’lord, and Efanor hain’t th’ viceroy here.”

“I wish to go,” Tristen said, and went down into the yard as he was.

“I want Gery, Uwen. Is she able to go?”

“Aye, m’lord. I think so. I’ll tell ’em.” Uwen sounded not in the least pleased, and that was painful—but so was it painful to stay pent up: he understood arrest, and had had his fill of it at the Zeide gate, his first night. He heard Uwen shouting orders to the stableboys, amid all the other clatter and shouting about the horses being taken into stable, horses being brought out, forty-four in all, horse gear being called for—it was a flood of motion and color, with the kitchen staff and the house guard and finally the Amefin noblefolk and even a straggle of boys from the town, who should not have gotten past the open fortress gates, coming to see what was the clamor.

But after they had gotten the horses from the stable saddled, and just as Uwen and no few others were coming back from the armory, all but running and still buckling buckles and tightening laces, the grooms led red Gery in from the pens and flung her saddle-pad on. Gery stood flicking her ears and staring about at the noise and clatter. Tristen soothed Gery with his hands and let the grooms saddle her. Meanwhile they had found the banner-bearers and Cefwyn’s own pages had come running down with Cefwyn’s riding cloak and his gloves, while Cefwyn had come back from the armory with a shield, a helmet, and a pair of light-armored leather breeches like the gear Efanor and his men wore. The Guelen guard were fitting out in like gear, men continuing to fit straps, settle gear on horses, while grooms sweated and tightened girths.

In all it was very little time until the escort formed up. A page brought Cefwyn a packet of some kind, a sword and his gauntlets.

Uwen had put on his plain leather and metal, with the Marhanen Dragon still blazoned on leather at his shoulder. Uwen had a sword.

Tristen had none. But now the troop was mounting up, the banners were up, the standard-bearers were moving to the fore, where he understood he should be. Tristen climbed up on Gery’s back as all around him men were mounting up.

“Idrys,” Cefwyn said. “Where is Idrys?”

“They have not found him,” someone said.

“Damn. —Boy!” Cefwyn shouted at a page. “Boy, you stay—inform Idrys when you find him. Have him tell Cevulirn, and bring a hundred light horse up to Emwy crossing. Inform the rest of the lords, in whatever order you find them. Bid them stay alert, and be careful—this is important, boy!—be careful of men riding without a banner! There may be Elwynim across the river, but they may equally well be King’s men, spying.”

Cefwyn pulled his horse about and rode for the gates to lead as much of the Guelen guard as there were at his command, the twenty or so men he had ordered. Six men of Cevulirn’s White Horse blazon fell in with them, and Efanor came with his two squads all on remounts and borrowed horses, twenty or more. By now the head of the column was beginning to go out of the gate, sorting itself into order, for there was no room in the courtyard for a file of half a hundred men to spread out. There was no passing room at the gate, either, but Tristen rode after Cefwyn as closely as he could, and Uwen tagged him close behind.

Cefwyn was afraid. And on Efanor’s word Cefwyn rode for Emwy, where they all knew there was danger, and in a great hurry, with very few of the men who had gathered here. Worse, by Tristen’s estimation, Cefwyn rode with Efanor’s men.

Men lied. He had seen that in his brief life. Lie was a Word, as Treason was a Word, involving lies told to kings.

And someone had surely lied. Heryn Aswydd, beyond a doubt. But-by all he knew—Brother and Father should mean Love, but Cefwyn had not spoken at all well of his relatives, and it seemed to be the truth: he did not see love or trust in great evidence between Cefwyn and his kin.

Chapter 21  

Curse his father’s damnable suspicion, Cefwyn thought: and jerked back Danvy’s reins as Efanor’s borrowed mount shied into him in the streets of Henas’amef, missing a potter’s shelves and a startled dog. Efanor was in no good humor, the high-spirited black Efanor had picked out of the remounts was sideways as much forward, and Efanor, the great horseman Efanor, picked this creature on show, not on common sense, all because Efanor had to cut a princely figure on a cross-country run—damn him, he was going to fight the beast all the way.

Stubborn pride. Stubborn temper. Play every piece against the other. It ran in the family. His father came out here without telling Efanor why, with no trust in planning with any adviser. Haste in execution, with no one, not even his allies advised: Inereddrin had a reputation for finding information his enemies thought he could never find; and for moving swiftly, for moving ruthlessly, and for striking before a traitor or an enemy looked to see him-    It was legend and it had succeeded as a tactic, in a long life fraught with petty rebellions and uneasy borders on every hand. But to have Efanor aware of their father’s suspicion, and not the son accused; to have their father move so strongly on an Amefin lord’s word—and against him, after he had sat a year on this cursed, hostile, witch-ridden frontier of the realm, dealing with Heryn Aswydd’s tax records, and have their father believe Heryn Aswydd instead of him?

That stung. That fairly stung, and he knew not whether it was filial duty, personal alarm or heartfelt outrage that sent him out in his father’s own kind of unheralded haste, the other lords unconsulted and unadvised, save Cevulirn, who had the light horse that might avail something quickly enough.

But what did he say to the others? Pardon, my lords, but my father calls me to task for summoning you to do my father’s business?

Pardon, my lords, but my father the King believes a man whose father before him cheated his own people?

Pardon, my lords, my father believes all men cheat, and if they cheat in ways he knows about he trusts them more?

Is all this because I have called Heryn’s account due, which my father has tolerated for years?

Gods, was that my mistake, Father? Have I stumbled on something you allowed, all to keep the Amefin cowed under a thief and his usurers?

The horses hit a traveling stride as they made the road outside and went along the walls past Cevulirn’s camp, sending up a cloud of dust in this dry spell that gritted in the teeth even of the foremost. Men of the White Horse, encamped near the gate, turned out to stare.

“Tell the captains,” Cefwyn bade the Ivanim with them, calling them forward, “tell them all you know, bid them saddle a hundred horses against your lord’s arrival, and follow as you can. This may be a chase for no reason, but it may not.”

“Aye, m’lord Prince,” the sergeant said, who rode briefly alongside him, and dropped away again, to bear messages where they needed to go.