But it is not a fear I wish to rehearse before the Amefin lords—”

“Whom I would not have admitted to counsel, let me tell you.”

“Brother, I know these men, that some are in dire fear of being tied to Heryn’s sins, and others hated Heryn bitterly for reasons of their own and thought until today that he had had unquestioned Marhanen support. As perhaps Father did find him useful, Father not well knowing the inner workings of Amefel—but, to be quite pragmatic about Heryn Aswydd, I have been in this province long enough to have known too much about his excesses in office and to have received at least tentative approaches from the lords most desperate of those excesses, so that I no longer needed him. Therefore his head will adorn the gate.’

“And in your manipulations you drew Father into this—”

“Do not you dare say that to me!” Cefwyn brought his hand down on the maps, hard. “Father chose to believe Heryn instead of me. Ask Father’s councilors if they could dissuade him, or whether they fed the fires. Ask them! I do not ask where you stood.”

Tristen clenched his hands together, wishing he knew what to say to prevent a fight. But after a moment Cefwyn said, more quietly,

“I do not ask, brother. I take your presence here as exactly what you said, coming here to make things look better than you feared they were.

But I do not think you looked to find me in Henas’amef.”  “I did not,” Efanor said, also quietly.

“To what an extent we have left our childish trust. We swore, you and I—we swore not to let Grandfather divide us.”

“I keep that oath,” Efanor said. “I do not know if you do, brother.”

“I shall. Nor shall I believe the lies men tell. Heryn finally realized that small change in his affairs, tonight. I fear that Father did trust him. But I would not. Tristen. Tristen, my friend. What do you need of me?”

He was confused in the flow of Words, Words that made great sense in the instant he heard them, and faded the next, but that advised him that far more had passed than he knew, and that nothing in these chambers was so clear or unequivocal as matters had seemed on the battlefield.

How alike these two lords were, he thought, Efanor and Cefwyn, alike in features, alike in stature, in small turns of expression—but for Efanor’s smooth chin and the crown on Cefwyn’s brow.

“I came to say,” he began, and his thoughts were still chasing the matter of Heryn and the fire, and the hanged men, and Heryn beheaded because he was noble. And the Marhanens. “I came to say, sir, I fear-fear—”

“Be at ease,” Cefwyn said.

He could not but look at Efanor, who he knew disapproved him. At Idrys, who frowned. And, distractedly, last at Cefwyn.

“I saw Ynefel,” he began. “I saw Mauryl’s enemy reaching out of it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw it, sir.”

“You were nowhere near Ynefel. You dreamed, you mean.”

“I dreamed awake, sir. And I think the harm never left Ynefel when Mauryl—died. Mauryl said I should go, I think, to keep me from it. It’s not a good thing, to let his enemy stay there. His enemy is reaching out into Elwynor. Even here. My window rattled, more than once, and it did that in Ynefel. He did it.”

“The man’s mad,” Efanor said in disgust.

“No, now,” Cefwyn said. “Tristen. Go on. He, you say. This danger.

What should we do about it?”

“You ought to have shutters, sir. Mauryl closed them every night.”

“Shutters,” Efanor said. “Of course. Shutters will save us. Good gods, brother!”

“Be still, Efanor. You are no help to his good sense. —Tristen. What about the windows? Are we speaking of magic, here? Is it something Mauryl did?”

Efanor made it hard to remember things in order. Idrys was staringhim, listening to everything he said and ready to find fault with what hecould scarcely explain in words. He tried to gather his points in order.

“Mauryl’s enemy, m’lord King. He came to Ynefel, usually with ~, He rattled the shuttersat night. Now the windows rattle here.”

“Wind does that!” Efanor said, and Cefwyn: “Hush, brother.”

“Mauryl said—Mauryl said that holes in the roof were no matter. there are lines on the earth Men make when they build, and so long as youtake care of them, the enemy can’t get in. You ought to close all the windowswhen the Shadows go across the courtyard. You should have shuttersm’lord, and close them. Everyone in the town should. Doors and windowslet a spirit in. It can’t cross at other places.”

“And it seeks to come indoors.”

“I don’t think it has, here. People are careless in town—but I don’tthink it’s powerful here, yet. I think it could become powerful, if peoplestarted listening to it. I think Heryn was listening to it. I think that someone in Elwynor might be.”

“Is this a god, this creature?” Idrys asked. “Or what?”

“It was a man. I think it’s a ghost. A haunt. Emuin calls it Hasufin. I’m not certain that’s its name.”

“Hasufin,” Cefwyn said.

“Gods forfend,” Efanor said, and he no longer sounded scornful. “I said there would no good come of this place. It’s the whole cursed province. But past the holy shrines, no ill will come.”

“It wants a Place, sir, that’s what I know. But it’s not just staying there.

I’m afraid it’s not. I don’t know if it has help to go outside Ynefel, or even if it wants to. If you’d give me soldiers, sir, I’d go find out.”

“No,” Cefwyn said. “no such thing. I’ve sent for Emuin. I expect him soon. He’ll deal with whatever it is.”

“I don’t think so. Emuin can’t deal with it by himself. I think Mauryl did. But he was so old. He wasn’t strong enough. I think—” He was trembling, and folded his hands under his arms to hide it. “I think that’s what I was brought here to do. But I can’t read the Book, and I don’t know how.”

“Gods bless,” Efanor muttered.

“I would go,” Tristen said. “I would go back to Ynefel. If you would give me soldiers. I would go there and find out what the trouble is.”

“Well offered, Tristen, but what would they do?”

“I don’t know, sir. But I would try to send it away.”

“Try you would. But it’s not a task for soldiers.”

“A task for priests,” Efanor said.

“No, sir,” Tristen said. “Soldiers are more apt than priests. I do think they are.”

“Against unholy magic?”

“Against whatever this is, sir.”

“Tristen,” Cefwyn said, “I fear no men would follow you. You ask far too much of them.”

“Uwen said so. But I think—sometimes—I shouldn’t have left there. I think—if I were what Mauryl wished me to be—I should have known what to do.”

“Believe Uwen in this. Leave it to experienced men.”

“To priests,” Efanor said.

“I don’t find any strength in them, sir. They seem more afraid than helpful. I’ve seen this thing. I saw it in the courtyard.”  “Here?”

“No, sir, at Ynefel. It was a man made of dust. And it fell down into leaves.”

There was long silence. “Sihhé,” Efanor muttered finally. “And here we are, brother. The old ills, the magic, the wizardry, are all returned with him. What next?”

“Tristen,” Cefwyn said, “you will not work against me. Whatever you do, you will not work against me or against the realm of Ylesuin.”  “No, sir, I would not.”

“You saw nothing of my father’s death, by fact, hearing, rumor, or conjury before it happened. You would have told me if you had any warning at all.”

“No, lord King. I never saw it. I would have told you.”

“Nor have you plotted with Heryn.”

“No, sir. I would not. I would have stopped him if I could.”

Cefwyn had seemed to believe him all along. He thought that Cefwyn wanted him to say all these things for Efanor’s sake.

“Heryn named two names,” Cefwyn said. “Those when pressed may name others. In the meanwhile—in the meanwhile—we can hope the Elwynim will not dare another move, since none has come by now. I say we go to bed, brother. And, Tristen, I say you leave matters to Emuin. He will come. And you can ask him what to do.” Cefwyn stood, favoring his injured leg, and embraced him. “I never thanked you. I do that now, from the heart. Go back to your bed and have better dreams. We’ll talk on this again when Emuin comes.”