Fortress of Dragons by C. J. Cherryh Page B

one substance, set and sure and warded against the queasiness just next to this hall, that one place of slippage and weakness in the wards which he could not continue to ignore. “I’ve thought of our choices. I’ve asked myself whether it’s wise to be good, or good to be wise and, aside from all I can think of, or all I can do, the truth is that the Aswydds built this place. Their wizardry is in these stones. It makes them part of the defenses of the Zeide and Henas’amef. Emuin can tell you so.”
    â€œWoven into its defenses like ribs in a basket,” Emuin said in the attention that came to him. “The stay and support of it, and every chink and weakness in it, they know in their bones. Wisest was what Cefwyn did, sending them to Anwyfar. They were as safe there as it was possible for them to be, given it was nuns watching them and not an armed guard or a half a dozen wizards. Now someone’s made a move to free them, and they’ve come here not only because they had to come here rather than Guelemara, but because they know the same as I their protections are here. They’re bound to Henas’ amef. That’s one point, and never forget it. The second: Ryssand may have burned down a Teranthine shrine, but if Ryssand, not only Ryssand was in on it. The man’s too canny to do something like this openly, or recklessly. He has concealment he believes will hold, or he has overwhelming reason to do something so rash.”
    â€œWhat reason, then?” Umanon asked.
    Tristen tried to answer, and in Emuin’s silence he could only shake his head, eyes widely focused, taking in all the room at once, on all levels, as the gray winds tugged and pulled at his attention. “A wizard doesn’t even need to be alive,” he said, determined to be honest with his hearers as Emuin had never been honest with him.
    But once he had said it he felt fear coursing through his hearers. He felt the courage of some, the apprehension of most. Hasufin was his fear; it had now to be theirs, and every man who had stood at Lewenbrook knew what he meant: that a wizard need not be alive. Hasufin Heltain had not been alive when he had cost so many lives, when the dark had rolled down on the field like a living wave, and no man among them forgot that hour.
    In that general dismay Emuin came to the center of the steps and stood with arms folded in his sleeves, waiting, waiting, silently commanding the assembly’s attention.
    â€œHis Grace is telling you difficult things,” Emuin said when quiet came and every eye was on him. “He means to say that the Aswydd sisters aren’t strong enough to have released themselves from the bindings I set on them—yes, I! But if they move with currents already moving they might well have done it themselves, and without the knowledge or help of our enemy. But be assured there are such currents. There are currents in waters that have been moving for some time, and now these two have cast themselves and Cefwyn’s son into that flow, if not with their attempt to free themselves—which hasn’t, in fact, gained them their freedom—then certainly early last summer, when they worked petty hedge-witchery to get a child.”
    â€œSaying what?” old Prushan asked. “What does your honor mean? That there’s some other wizard? The wizard from last summer?”
    â€œDo you mean this is all foredoomed?” Umanon asked uneasily.
    Emuin held up a finger. “Not foredoomed as to outcome.” The hand flourished, vanished again into tucked sleeves, to reappear with a silver ball, that again vanished. “Say that a wizardous river is in spring flood, and the shore’s become damned uncertain. The Aswydds and the usurper are deep in the waters. Hear the lord of Amefel. Hear him! He’s the only swimmer in the lot.”
    Tristen cast Emuin an uneasy look of his own in the murmur of the assembly, not wishing to