Кэролайн Черри - Fortress in the Eye of Time

He had one thing to do. Beyond it — he could not see anything for himself, but he wanted it: he could no longer temporize with it, or delay it, or understand any more than he did, and he could not bear the increasing burden of his own household his own following — men who looked to him for reason and right, men who wanted to pour out their devotion on him, never knowing him as he was, not seeing into his heart, and not knowing — not knowing he enjoyed that dreadful time when the sword flew in his hand like a living thing and he had no questions.

“Well, I done what I can,” Uwen said, testing the motion of his arm. Uwen looked him in the face. “Mʼlord, take care of yourself today.”

“Take care for yourself,” Tristen said. “Promise to care for yourself, that is what you can do for me. You will know the time, Uwen, and you must take no shame in turning back: I know this is the most difficult order I could give you; but do not follow me too far.”

“Ainʼt retreating before I get there, mʼlord.”

Uwen had made up his mind not to listen. With curious abstraction, then, Tristen reached back into that place of white dreams and snared something of that blinding, peaceful light. It took form in his hand, bluish-white, and he passed it to the other hand, tossing it back and forth, back and forth, a little illusion that whitened the floor and the canvas.

That was, he thought, illusion enough to frighten any Man, the simultaneity of Here and There which men did not ordinarily see.

For a moment the faint letters on the sword blazed bright.

He let the illusion go.

“Gods,” Uwen said.

“Uwen, believe me that I am capable of going where you dare not. Where you must not.”

“Iʼd still try, mʼlord.”

“I know you would. I ask you not to. You could endanger me. I would have to defend both of us.”

“Then I ask ye to come back , mʼlord. Ye swear to me yeʼre cominʼ back or Iʼll swear Iʼm goinʼ behind ye, and I donʼt break my given word.”

Yesterday he would have had no hesitation to swear what Uwen asked. But now every binding of him to one realm or the other seemed full of dangers. The small illusion he had wielded to scare Uwen was no weapon potent against a wizard who had the skill of Shaping — and thereby of unShaping.

“Uwen, — no. I shall not swear that. I swear I shall try. But there may be frightening things, Uwen. There may be reasons you should retreat — believe them when you see them.”

“Horses is waiting, mʼlord,” Uwen said. “I heard ʼem come up.”

So Uwen chose to look past illusion as well — in his own way, the Edge that moved between.

“Uwen. I swear — I swear that you may call me, and also send me away. That power I give you, and I know that I have no safer guardian.”

It took a great deal to make Uwen show fear. Now he did. “I ainʼt no priest, mʼlord.”

“Youʼre a good man. You understand right and wrong so easily. I donʼt. Mauryl always said I was a fool.”

“Of course ye understand,” Uwen said with an uncertain laugh. “And yeʼre the least like a fool that I know, mʼlord.”

“But I swear I donʼt understand such things. I havenʼt lived in this world long enough to be wise. So I trust you with my going and coming. Call me only if you truly want me. Then I shall know at least one man wishes me alive. Then I might come back to the world. But think twice before you call me.”

“Now yeʼre being foolish. And His Majesty would never send ye away.”

“Cefwyn has no knowledge what I might do. Nor does he have pure reasons. Yours I trust. Do not beg off, Uwen. I give you the calling of me. You cannot refuse. And if you should die, Uwen, — there would be no one to call me, would there? So you mustnʼt die.”

“Mʼlord, — ” Uwen opened and shut his mouth. “That were a clever, wicked trick.”

“Cefwyn taught me,” he said, and gathered up his Book and walked outside. The horses had indeed arrived, wearing their war-gear, Dys and Cass in black caparison that made them part of the dark.

“Mʼlord,” said Aswys, their trainer.

“Iʼm ready,” he said, and tossed the Book into the heart of the fire.

“My lord!” Uwen exclaimed.

The pages glowed along the edges and began to turn brown, the ink still showing. And that, too, began to go.

“He shall not have it,” he said, “neither Book nor mirror.” He went to Dys, who was working at the bit and fretting in dangerous boredom. Dysʼ face was masked in the metal chamfron, and nothing showed but the gloss of his eye, scarcely a hint of his nose. Tristen patted him under the neck, put his gauntlets on, and waited until he saw Cefwyn come out of his tent, with Idrys. They had Kanwy waiting; and Idrysʼ heavy horse, Kandyn. Cefwyn rose to the saddle, and Tristen took the reins from Aswys, then, and was not too proud to use the mounting-block as Cefwyn had, not wishing to have the girth skewing. He cleared the high cantle and settled, moving his leg to let Aswys recheck the girth, while Uwen got up on Cass.

Tassand brought his helm and other servants handed up his shield, while Lusin, who used a mace by preference, would ride in the second line and carry the lance for him, in their lack of mounted aides, as Syllan would carry Uwenʼs. One of the boys they had acquired came bringing Uwen his gauntlets, with worship on his face — and ducked back in awed haste when Cass took a casual snap at him.

Dys usually whipped his tail about. Today it was braided and tucked for safety, and Dys moved with a flexing and rattle of the bards that protected his neck, the straps of the armor passing through the caparison. The white Star and Tower blazoned central on his black shield and barred on Uwenʼs, floated in the dark, while, beyond them, Cefwynʼs Dragon banner writhed and rippled against the firelight. Further away, the Wheel and the White Horse shone out of the dark, as Umanon and Cevulirn appeared.

Ninévrisë came out of her tent, wearing her fatherʼs mail shirt and with her fatherʼs sword belted on; after her came her ladies, her standard-bearer, and the two Amefin lords who guarded them. “Come back safely,” she said, and sent her standard-bearer to his horse.

Then she said to Cefwyn, “I would rather be on the hill. I would rather be closer.”

“If it comes this far,” Cefwyn said, “as it may, you do not fight, mʼlady. You ride. My brother has excellent qualities — among them a walled town. The whole northern army will rally to him if the war goes that far.”

“You do not pass me on like a gauntlet! I shall marry you , mʼlord, or ride after you!”

“The gods,” Cefwyn said, “see us all safe, mʼlady.” He turned Kanwy, then, and established an easy pace down the aisle toward the edge of the camp.

“Be well,” Ninévrisë called to them as they passed. “Gods keep you! My lord of Ynefel, be safe!”

The standard-bearers, ahorse, caught up the standards, and the order established itself as the Guelen heavy horse and the Amefin fell into line, creaking of saddles, a slow, quiet thump of hooves on the trampled ground of the aisle, more and more of them as they passed their own sentries, and reached the Emwy road.

The dawn was beginning in the east; and in the west…

Even by night, that shadow was on the horizon; Tristen could see it without looking toward it in the gray world. He rode side by side with Cefwyn, westward, with only the standard-bearers in front.

With open road and a cool night, Dys wanted to move; but they had the Amefin foot to follow them — and not so far, in terms of the horses, before they should look for the Elwynim force that had crossed the bridge and rolled over Tasienʼs defense.