Fortress in the Eye of Time by C. J. Cherryh Page A

gods have mercy, take yourself and your questions to the pigeons. They have better answers.”
    â€œThe pigeons?”
    â€œAsk them, I say. They’re patient. I’m not, young gadfly. Buzz elsewhere.”
    Another wave of the fingers. Tristen knew he would gain nothing more, then, and started away.
    But he remembered his copywork and put it safely on the shelf, far from Mauryl’s flood of parchments, which drowned the table in cipherings, with the orrery weighting the middlemost pile.
    He hastened up the stairs, then, rubbing at the ink stains on his fingers, searching for wet spots that might find their way to his clothing or, unnoticed, to his chin, which stillitched. He supposed he could ask Mauryl to make it stop, but Mauryl was busy, and besides, Mauryl’s work felt stranger than the itch, which went away of its own accord when he was busy.
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    â€” Mauryl , said the Wind, and rattled at the tower shutters , rattle, bang, and thump-thump-thump.
    Mauryl hardly glanced at the sealed shutters this time. It had been a shorter respite than he expected, and a far more surly Wind. There was no laughter about it now at all .
    â€” Gestaurien, let me in. Let me in now. We can reason about this foolishness of yours .
    It was worried, then. Mauryl drank it in and, still sitting, reached for his staff, where it leaned against the wall .
    â€” You know you can ruin yourself. This is entirely uncalled-for, entirely unnecessary .
    It tried another window. But that was simply habit, Mauryl thought, and thought nothing else, resisted nothing, like grass in a gale .
    â€” He’s asleep , the Wind murmured through the crack in the shutter nearest. I passed up and down his window. Do you truly think there’s any hope for you in this young fool? He knows nothing. I’ve drunk from his dreams, I have, Mauryl. You wish me to believe him formidable? I think not. I do think not. Not deep, not deep waters at all, this boy. He’s all so innocent .
    â€” Sweet innocence , Mauryl said. But out of your reach. Long out of your reach, poor dead shadow. Poor shattered soul .
    â€” You’ve given me a weapon, you know. That’s all he is . A shutter went bump-bump, and Mauryl looked up sharply, feeling the ward loosen, seeing the latch jump. If you had had the stomach to join me, Gestaurien, we might have raised the Sihhë kings to power they never dreamed of. The new lords would never have risen, and you and I would not be haggling over this rotting fortress .
    It was more self-possessed than before, more reasoning. That was not good .
    â€” Mauryl Gestaurien? Are you worried?
    â€” No. Simply not hurried. Patience I have in abundance. I shan’t enumerate your failings, or tell you what they are. Let them be mysteries to you, like the counsel that I gave .
    â€” Your mystery went walking on the wall. I saw him there. Such a little push it would take, if I wanted to .
    â€” If you had a body, isn’t that the pity, Hasufin? You’d do this, you’d do that. You’re a breath of air, a meandering malaise, a flatulence. Go bother some priest .
    â€” What was his name, Gestaurien?
    The spell-flinging startled him and disturbed his heart, but he turned it with a thump of his staff, rose and thumped the staff against the shutter. Go away, thou breath of wind. Go, go, even the pigeons are weary of you .
    Softly the wind blew now, prowling, trying this and that window, for a long time .
    Far longer than on any night previous .
    And the stars…the stars were moving toward ominous congruency .

CHAPTER 4
    A fter a dry spell, the rain built in the north and rolled up in a great, towering fortress of cloud, flickering in its belly with lightnings. Tristen saw it from the wall, and knew immediately that it was a dark and dangerous kind of storm, no sun-and-puddles shower.
    He said as much to Mauryl, who said, gruffly, So stay indoors,—and went back to his scribing and