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Then the door opened, and Ninévrisë came in, wearing the blue of Elwynor, with the Tower in gold for a blazon, like a lord's, on her bodice, and the black-and-white Checker for a scarf about one shoulder. He had never seen it, had no idea by what magic the women's court had created such Elwynim splendor… Dame Margolis, perhaps, who arrived close behind her.
There
was the likely one, the one who would have stayed up nights to accomplish it; and, nothing of what that array meant was wasted on him, nor would the meaning miss its mark in hall.

She
was the authority over Elwynor, damn Ryssand and his peace fortress of dragons.html

offers from a traitor. She had few jewels. But she shone in his sight, and he came toward her in the silence of the chamber and took her hands. He knew he ought to say something clever and formal and endearing, but he had no words. He simply held her hands and gazed into the gray-violet of her eyes, and said, in a whisper almost hope-less in the silence:

"Efanor carried me a report… are you well, are you able? I'll not risk your health." He kissed her hand, all propriety allowed. " love you. I love you. I love you."

She carried his hand to her lips, bestowed a kiss of her own, unprecedented in his court as the petticoat; but it was tender and fervent and made him for a moment think of things far different than statecraft. He could not take the time, could not deal with her in the way he wished even with loyal servants present. The lords were waiting, the kingdom was waiting… but, damn custom, he said to himself… he was the king, damn it all.

"Out!" he said. "Annas, give me a moment. All of you, all of you but Her Grace, out. Dame Margolis, with Annas, if you please."

There were two senior pages, Annas, Margolis, all sensible people, all in his gratitude for their immediate and unquestioning departure.

He need not even look away from Ninévrisë's face, need not let go her hands. He kissed her, long and soundly, and held her tightly against him, and whispered against the flower fragrance of her hair,

"Gods, half my meditations were on you, how you fared, how you thought of me, what difficulty you might have…"

"It was a clever thing to do," she said against his neck. "It was clever and wise and gave them all time to stew and bubble."

"And for good men to obey, leaving me the blackguards and the laggards. But Artisane's loose, and I feared for you, gods! I was afraid. And when Efanor said you were ill and the maids were let loose to talk—"

"I fear I betrayed myself. I didn't intend it."

"The anxiousness of the war? Might it be that? A bad bowl of stew?"

"Don't name food to me. No dishes. Even yet."

He held her hands clasped together, made her look at him. "It's likely?"

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"It might be fear. It might be. But I've dreamed… I've dreamed since our wedding night, I've thought… I've hoped… I've feared… all these things at once. My son… and if my dreams are true, it
is
a son… has no inheritance, no place, no people…"

"My son has Ylesuin. And yours has Elwynor."

"He doesn't."

"He
will
." He feared wizard-sight. He wanted not to hear it, wished nothing foredoomed or foreboding between them. "I'll reign into my old age and he'll be a bored prince as I was, with both kingdoms in one bloodline, and
peace
for his reign."

So he said, but he saw fear in Ninévrisë's eyes, a fate she believed and kept inside her, secret, with her son.

Her son
. His son. His love. His life.

It took all his courage to face that silence and wait for her to speak.

"If he's born," she said in a trembling voice, "all else is possible."

"He will be born. You'll take care. You'll use the good sense you had in Amefel, and keep yourself safe. It's you I love. It's you I can see and have in my hands, and for the gods' good love, don't give our enemies a shot at you. I don't understand wizards, and prophecies, and what's foredoomed and what isn't. I only know what I have to do and that's keep my promise to you. I'll give you your kingdom. And we'll build a great ship, the sort that sails on the sea, and we'll anchor her in the Lenúalim and we'll make her our palace…"

"With silken sails," she said faintly, resting her head again against his shoulder, and gave a great sigh. "That we never unfurl."

"Red ones or blue?"

She laughed, and lifted her head, all the bright faith in her eyes.

"The left red, the right blue."

"Oh," he said, "we must be facing upstream."

"We should be used to a contrary current by then."

Her face was pale, her skin all but translucent, like light glowing through it. She looked fragile, and immensely strong, all at once. And if an ordinary man could have a vision, he had one then, and knew that all their plans were like the ship, the fancy of their hearts, with fortress of dragons.html

nothing certain, nothing but a prophecy of a King To Come that hovered over all their lives… and two sons, now, yet to be born, and not under one roof.

Danger to his life had never struck terror into him: fear, but never terror, not even on Lewen field, to this degree. There had been a shadow on that day as dark as night, and memories of memories that never would surface, not for a sane man: he had thought it all in the past, and his life become tame wrangling with his barons; but now he was as good as on that field again, this time having given his heart outside himself, this time with so much to lose, and so much to gain.

"We'd better call Annas and Margolis back," he said. "We have to go make Ryssand miserable. Are you well?"

"A little giddy. No more kisses. I won't have my wits in there."

"Truly. Are you well?"

"Oh, I shan't miss this. I won't. You have a sword. Give me a dagger to wear. If we go to war, I won't be ranked with Artisane and Bonden-on-Wyk."

"There's my love." He gave up her hands, went to the door, having left himself no servants, and called in Annas and Margolis and the pages, catching a glimpse of courtiers prowling like wolves among the columns beyond, a hungry and angry lot of wolves, who until lately had been well fed and complacent in their individual haunts.

The Dragon was about to flex his claws, and the Tower had set her defenses and armed for confrontation.

CHAPTER 12

Captain Anwyll was
back
in Hen-as'amef, on his way to Guelessar, and a company of Ivanim and Lanfarnesse rangers were at the camp on riverside, reporting through Anwyll that they had met no intruders on their way, nor had report of them from Modeyneth. The snow was melting, but not yet to mire, no great impediment to travel, and the men came off the road not into town, where, Uwen said, they might fortress of dragons.html

disgrace themselves in the taverns, but out in the tents the Ivanim had left, half the Ivanim camp, where they found a comfort far surpassing that on the border, all the same: ale kegs set out, and steaming kettles the taverns provided. It was holiday for them, and a merry one.

The Guelens, too, were packing up, to yield their permanent barracks to the Amefin who had been housed in the hastily made second barracks, in less comfort; and there was both cheer and regret there: certain of the men had liaisons, even children, in town, and there were tears and the possibility of desertions.

So Uwen reported.

"Tell them," Tristen said, "I'll speak to Cefwyn for any that choose to come back, after the summer, and I think he'll grant it; but they owe their company their service now."

"That's more 'n fair," Uwen said, and went to tell the men.

And for the officers, Anwyll who had spent hard weeks in camp and for the Guelen captain who had gotten his rank because all higher had deserted, it seemed right to Tristen to have them into hall for a good supper and the honor they were due… a sword or a good mail shirt, Uwen said, was a soldier's gift, and Cossun the armorer had brought the best of both, a ducal gift.

So they met in hall… the usual fine fare, for Cook never disappointed them, and the lords were glad to come to the gatherings: and Anwyll and the Guelen captain both sat high at the tables, and stood for all to honor.

"Thank you," Tristen said, presenting Anwyll his gift, a fine sword with a red leather sheath and a goldwork cap, and the silvered mail.

"Your Grace," Anwyll said, and gave him a soldier's salute, blushing as he did.

So with the Guelen captain, a plain man, who had never looked for a captaincy, and while Anwyll was a man of some connections, this man was not, and took his sword and fine armor with stammering gratitude.

"An' for the men," the captain said, "a word to Your Grace, that they've stood guard here and seen duke and duchess and viceroy, and say that Your Grace has done… that Your Grace 'as done the best of

'em all."

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That brought a little cheer from the Amefin, and there followed a presentation then from Uwen, which was a box for each, and in those boxes, tenscore and more holy medallions the Teranthine father had blessed, "For the men," Uwen said, "luck and the gods' blessin', which the reverend father himself will give out, an' bless every man as served here."

The assembly applauded, from every table, and the captains and their aides took their formal leave in great and heartfelt cheerfulness, Tristen was glad to see… he well knew now how great a harm unhappy men could work. He had finally made good his promise to Cefwyn to march the Guelenmen home. He had had to do it all at once, with the uncertainty on that border, but the tents and all merely changed hands, and the gear the Guelens owned was all their armor and their horses. The Dragons had packed up in a day and ridden out on the next, and made as good speed toward Henas'amef as men might who had the comforts of town to lure them.

So too, in their departure, Tristen chose his moment to make other changes.

"Lusin Bowyn's-son will be lieutenant under Uwen," he said to the assembled leaders and nobles and soldiery, "and I set him in charge of the house guard; Syllan Syllan's-son has charge over the fortress and its walls, Aran Gryysaryn over the town defenses, and Tawwys Cyll's-son over the supplies to the camps. My chief of household, Tassand Dabrynan, will be my chancellor, with all the offices of the Zeide under him." None of these offices had existed since Orien's few days as duchess, and he could think of no one more apt.

"My night guard will serve as bodyguard, and men from the Amefin guard will take their place."

Emuin had a sense about ceremonies, and had deftly arranged things so that everyone had his honor and necessary duties found names to describe them. It was not a mistake, Tristen thought, that he had come out from Guelessar with fewer men than he might: he found others here, among the Amefin, overall found less of confusion in his court now, as he sent the Guelenfolk home, than had existed under the garrison before he came.

As important, he kept faith with Cefwyn, and entrusted Anwyll with a message that said simply,
We will soon have a camp settled on
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Tasmôrden's side of the river, from that we will prevent any force
moving to the south or west
.

He had added:
Anwyll has carried out his orders in very hard
weather, and so have all his men. I have also sent the Guelens, who
are not the men who have done the harm in Amefel. Certain men of
the Guelens have wished to settle in Henas'amef and I ask out of our
friendship for their release when they have done their duty this
summer so they may return to families here
.

Then, from the heart:
In all these matters I hope I do well and hold
out hope we may see each other this spring. The lords of the south
wish you well and so do the lords of Amefel send all their good will.

So do Emuin and all the house
.

It was a message of more sentiment than substance. Anwyll knew the details which he would tell Cefwyn, when they met, details worth days of questions. He sent the message Aeself had given him, too, with Anwyll, who was a harder, sharper-eyed young captain than had gone out to the river: it was a risk, he thought, but he trusted Anwyll would by no means hand over to Ryssand or Ryssand's men the things entrusted to him; his honor had suffered enough in his moment of doubt when Parsynan had set the Guelens on helpless prisoners, and never would he be as easily confused as he had been that night.

He could have no better messenger than Anwyll, for being able to come directly to the Lord Commander. A lowly sergeant like Gedd the enemy might hound: but a captain over a province… he doubted even Ryssand would dare.

And in a handful of days there would be no Guelen force within the south for the first time since the rising against the Sihhë. Cevulirn's men were there, under Cevulirn's able lieutenant, while Cevulirn himself continued in the camp at Henas'amef, the man of grays, the lord who could obtain the consent of the others so deftly they never seemed to consider refusal. Under Cevulirn, the town had suf-fered no disasters in his absence; under Cevulirn, the camp ran smoothly, and Cevulirn's presence touched his along with Emuin's and Crissand's, a quiet assurance of things well in order, from the hall, to the barracks, to the town streets and the camp outside the walls. From Crissand he had an awareness of the lords of the town, men Crissand knew well, and knew that they were content—Crissand was an uneasy point of unrealized distress, to have sent his lord on a long, fortress of dragons.html

cold ride; but that was Crissand's nature, to wish to be faultless.

Cevulirn was an easier presence, seeding less worry, less of everything. Where Crissand was the burning sun of bright day, casting light and examining everything, Cevulirn was the remote moon, changing and the same, content to leave a few shadows so long as the major things moved along as they ought.

Tristen did not think he would ever change either or them, or wish to.

He sipped lukewarm wine and his thoughts raced in a hun-dred directions as he considered the prospects of the changing weather, heard the well-wishes of the various ealdormen of the town directed toward the new officers of the court and the province, con-sidered the resources he knew were setting to work with the replace-ment of the Dragons at the riverside… the Ivanim were no great hands at building, but the rangers of Lanfarnesse were skilled at many crafts, and the Olmernmen vowed to bend their considerable skills with ropes and tackle to move the deckings into place—without oxen, so they claimed, which seemed to him half-magical.