Free Fortress of Dragons by C. J. Cherryh

truth.
    â€œI doubt your eyes deceived you, then,” he said, “since I dismissed him, with a handful of others, for crimes here. The others, I sent to Cefwyn. He and his sergeant slipped away rather than answer my summons to accounting.”
    â€œGods bless the Holy Quinalt, then! They shouted that, you know, while they burned down a Teranthine shrine, and murdered old women! I don’t know what they were looking for besides the wine and the treasury, but they weren’t shy about their cause.”
    â€œNo,” he said, “clearly not. I’m sorry for your nurse and I’m sorry for the nuns. And I know Cefwyn didn’t send them.”
    â€œYou know nothing . You said yourself, you sent these murderers to him! He sent them back again, to Anwyfar!”
    â€œNot Captain Essan. He and his sergeant took shelter in the Quinaltine, so I understand.”
    â€œOh, so it was the Patriarch himself who sent them to burn Teranthine nuns!”
    â€œI doubt it, and you doubt it, lady. And if you’ll give me answers, I can send to Cefwyn. I know he’ll find these men. Can you tell me any reason for what they did? Were they looking for you? Were they angry with the nuns?”
    â€œLook to yourself, Tristen of Ynefel! Look to yourself! Yes, it was us they wanted, and do you think common soldiers imagined this? Do you think the drunkards and ne’er-do-wells of the garrison traveled all the way to Anwyfar to raid the wine cellars in the nunnery and assault old women? It was hate for us, and these were soldiers! Someone sent them! Someone put the idea in their heads, and it was the hate they bear all of us who have wizard-gift—it was fear of my sister and me! So look to yourself, Tristen of Ynefel. If they hate us, a hundred times more they hate you, and now you shelter us!”
    â€œThat may be true,” he said. “But Henas’amef is stronger than Anwyfar.”
    â€œA great deal stronger. And have they come for you? Is that the cause of the army outside these walls? There were Ivanim we spoke to last night. I saw Sovrag’s pirates.”
    â€œYou did see Olmernmen,” he said, letting her shafts rain about him, none landing, for she knew nothing, and struck none home. “And Ivanim. But none of these have to do with the nuns and Essan’s men.”
    â€œThe rumor reached us,” Orien said haughtily, with her hands on her sister’s shoulders, “even in our rustic exile, it reached us—that Cefwyn has married the Lord Regent’s daughter and intends war against Elwynor this spring. And is that what we see outside the walls? Will you wage his war for him? Tristen, the innocent? Tristen, the wizard, Tristen, Mauryl’s heir, the defender of the king? Does the Marhanen not wield his own sword, these days?—Or does he wield magic, through you? And is that what came down on us at Anwyfar?”
    It was a fair question, however unkindly put.
    â€œWhat he calls on me to do, I’ll do. And I’ve wished nothing against you.”
    Barbs had flown. Now Orien seemed to pause for thought, and heaved a sigh and walked a few paces from Tarien’s side. “And do you wish anything against us?”
    â€œNot for yourselves. Not except as you wish harm here, or to Cefwyn.”
    â€œHave we sanctuary here?”
    Sanctuary was a Word. It meant safety no matter what, justice and all other considerations notwithstanding. It was a strong Word, and Unfolded with magical force.
    â€œDo you wish harm to Cefwyn?”
    â€œAm I required to wish him well?”
    â€œNo. Nor would I ask it, nor would he. And I don’t offer sanctuary, but if you deserve safety, I promise you’ll be safe in this room.” A coldness wafted to him out of the gray place, fraught with time, and change. “No more can I do.”
    â€œWhat? You have limits?” Scorn edged her voice. “Or do you set them for