Prince Kragen permitted himself a bleak smile. ‘As you wish, my lord Tor.’ With a look toward Terisa and Geraden, he asked, ‘Will you mount and join us?’
Trying not to hurry – trying not to look like people who desperately wanted an alliance – Terisa and Geraden found their horses, swung themselves up, and rode to the Tor’s side.
Without discernible anxiety, Castellan Norge withdrew his escort; he retreated a short distance down the road and immediately sorted his men into a defensive shield around the Congery and its wagons. At his orders, what remained of the mounted guard emerged from Orison, fanning out into a formation ready either to commence battle or to resume marching. Then Norge followed the men on foot, while Master Barsonage told the other Masters what had happened and prepared them for the possibility that they might have to defend themselves.
At the same time, Terisa and Geraden – with Ribuld trailing after them as if he thought no one would notice him – rode beside the Tor and Prince Kragen toward the tent where they had talked with the Prince and Elega less than two days ago.
As they moved, Geraden tried discreetly to wipe some of the mud off his clothing.
Terisa was distantly surprised to discover that her own clothes weren’t especially dirty. The mud in the intersection had been frozen hard. And somehow she had escaped all that blood – even the gnarled creatures had died without marking her.
In the open area surrounded by luxurious living tents, the riders dismounted. Refusing the Prince’s offer of help, the Tor got down by himself; but he had to hold his breath and hug his gut until his face turned black in order to do it. Gasping thinly, with his legs wedged to keep him upright, he murmured as an explanation, ‘My lord Prince, I hope the Alend Monarch does not require his guests to be in good health. The blow I received from the High King’s Monomach troubles me’ – his face twisted – ‘considerably.’
‘My lord Tor,’ replied the Prince evenly, ‘the Alend Monarch will require only that you be seated comfortably, that you enjoy a flagon of wine’ – Kragen bowed his guests toward the most sumptuous of the tents – ‘and that you consent to see him without light.’
Allowing Terisa, Geraden, and the Tor no opportunity for questions, Prince Kragen approached the tentflaps and told the soldiers on duty to announce him.
Terisa and Geraden glanced at each other; but the Tor ignored both of them. Struggling as if he were up to his thighs in mire, he followed Kragen into the tent.
‘Oh, well,’ Geraden whispered. He had recovered his sense of humor. ‘If we aren’t allowed any light, at least I don’t have to worry about appearing before the Alend Monarch looking like a pig wallow.’
Terisa wanted to smile for him, but she was too busy trying to control her sense that the defenders of Mordant urgently needed some good to come of this meeting with the Alend Monarch.
They entered the tent behind the Tor.
Ribuld tried to go with them. Kragen’s soldiers stopped him.
As on the occasion of their previous visit, the foretent was illuminated only by braziers which had been set for warmth: apparently, Margonal suffered from an old man’s sensitivity to cold. Now, however, Prince Kragen summoned no lamps to augment the glowing embers. In the gloom, slightly tinged with red, the chairs and furnishings were hard to see – imprecise; vaguely suggestive. Tent poles loomed out of the dark like obstacles.
A moment passed before Terisa realized that she and Geraden, the Tor and Prince Kragen weren’t alone. Two soldiers held the tentflaps tightly closed. Servants waited around the walls.
And the dark shape of a man sat in a chair across the expanse of the foretent.
‘My lord Tor.’ The voice issuing from the dark shape was old and thin. ‘I like courtesy, but I will dispense with it today, so that your march will not be delayed. Yet I must take time to give you my thanks for not bringing the hundred men I offered to permit. Even if I meant you ill – which I do not – your decision made you safe with me. A man of Mordant must be valorous to trust the honor of an Alend.’
‘My lord Monarch,’ replied the Tor, ‘I also like courtesy. It would please me to give you the formal salutations and gratitude which custom and humility suggest. Unfortunately, I have been injured. I confess that I am hardly able to stand. Forgive me, my lord – I must sit.’
Prince Kragen had moved to stand beside his father. From that position, he made a sharp gesture. At once, a servant hurried forward with a broad stool for the Tor.
Groaning involuntarily, the Tor lowered his weight to the seat.
‘You are injured, my lord Tor,’ said the Alend Monarch, ‘and yet you propose a hard march of three days in order to confront High King Festten and his new cabal of Imagers. Is that wise?’
Behind the age in Margonal’s voice, Terisa heard another quality. Perhaps because the gloom in the tent gave every shape and tone an ominous cast, she thought that the Alend Monarch sounded haunted; harried by doubt.
He had invited – no, summoned – her and Geraden and the Tor here in order to test them in some way. Because he was afraid.
‘My lord Monarch’ – the Tor seemed to lift his voice by main strength off the floor of his belly – ‘I am sincerely unsure that it is wise. King Joyse would never permit me to do such a thing in his place, if he were here to forbid it. But he is not here, and so I determine the nature of my own service to my King.
‘The question is not one of wisdom, my lord. It is one of necessity. I go to fight the High King and his Imagers simply because they must be opposed.’
For a moment, no one spoke. Abruptly, Prince Kragen made another gesture. As if a ritual had been correctly completed, servants now came forward with chairs for Terisa and Geraden. Silently, they were urged to seat themselves.
Then a tray was brought around; it held four wine goblets, one each for Terisa, Geraden, and the Tor, one for the Alend Monarch himself. Margonal drank briefly before inviting his guests to do the same.
Prince Kragen abstained as if he were only a servant in his father’s presence.
Terisa peered at the Alend Monarch until her temples throbbed, but she couldn’t make out any details of his face or posture or clothes. Maybe the braziers weren’t intended to warm him after all. He sat as far away from them as possible.
Why did he insist on darkness? What was he hiding – strength or frailty?
‘So,’ he said without preamble. ‘I have heard rumors of violence and Imagery from the intersection.’ Strangely, his suddenness didn’t convey decision. Speaking quickly only made the note of anxiety in his voice more obvious. ‘What transpired there this morning, my lord Tor?’
‘An unexpected and hopeful thing, my lord Monarch.’ For reasons of his own, the Tor made no effort to project optimism. ‘Master Eremis translated vileness against us – and the lady Terisa of Morgan defeated him. Some men were lost defending her,’ the old lord added. ‘Prince Kragen gallantly aided her, and so some of the men lost were yours, my lord. Yet the attack was turned against our enemies. Across the miles, Master Eremis’ mirror was broken.’
The Alend Monarch seemed to be fond of long silences. Eventually, he asked Terisa, ‘How was that possible, my lady?’
With difficulty, she forced herself to sound steady. ‘I guess I have a talent for flat glass, my lord. If I can see the mirror’s Image – see it in my mind – I can make it change.’ She spread her hands as if to show the blood on them. ‘When I saw the Image Eremis was using, I made it go blank.
‘Some of his creatures were caught in translation. I think the stress broke the mirror.’
‘An unprecedented display of power,’ remarked the Monarch, this time without pausing. ‘And you, Master Geraden? Do you also have a talent which this Eremis cannot equal?’
Prince Kragen stood at his father’s side without moving, without offering Terisa or Geraden or the Tor any help.
Slowly, Geraden replied, ‘My lord Monarch, I can do roughly the same thing with normal mirrors – make them change thei
r Images. But I haven’t tried it across distance. I suspect my talent doesn’t go that far. I think I have to have the glass in front of me to work with it.’
Again, the Alend Monarch lapsed into silence.
To ease the strain on her vision, Terisa turned her head away, glanced around the tent. Except in the immediate proximity of the braziers, the light was only enough to let her see the servants and soldiers as concentrations of gloom. Like Prince Kragen, they all stood against the walls, waiting for their sovereign’s commands—
No. Almost directly behind her, in a corner she couldn’t scrutinize without craning her neck ostentatiously – a corner as dark as the spot where Margonal sat – she glimpsed another seated figure. This audience had at least one spectator who was permitted to sit in the Alend Monarch’s presence.
‘My lord Tor.’ Margonal seemed to be making an effort to key his voice to a firmer pitch. ‘We are old enemies – although to my recollection most of your personal warfare has been waged against Cadwal rather than Alend. You know enough of my history to understand my caution where King Joyse is concerned.
‘Where is he?’
‘My lord Monarch?’ asked the Tor as if he didn’t understand the question – or hadn’t expected it to be stated so bluntly.
‘King Joyse.’ The Monarch’s enunciation hinted at anger and fear. ‘Where is he?’
The Tor lifted his goblet, took what was for him a modest swig. ‘My lord, I do not know.’
Stillness spread out around him. No one moved – and yet Terisa had the impression that every Alend in the tent had gone stiff. Margonal’s posture filled the dim air with warnings.
As if the pressure of the silence had become too much for him, the Tor said huskily, ‘Please believe me, my lord Monarch. He disappeared without consultation, without explanation. If I knew where he is – or why he has gone there – it is unlikely that I would be before you now. I would prefer to await his return, so that he could preside over our saving or destruction as he saw fit. This war is his doing and his duty, my lord, not mine.’
‘Yet surely you speculate,’ snapped the Alend Monarch promptly. ‘You must have some conception of his actions, some guess as to his purpose.’
Carefully, the Tor replied, ‘Does it matter, my lord Monarch? We must do what we do, regardless of his whereabouts – or his reasons.’
‘It matters to me.’ Margonal’s voice conveyed the impression that he was sweating profusely. ‘While I have held my Seat in Scarab, he has twice overturned the order of the world, once for peace and prosperity, for an end to bloodshed and the depredations of Imagery, and once for the ruin of everything he has created. He has power, that man, the power to plunge all our lives into chaos as surely as he once raised us to peace.
‘Where is he?’
Terisa looked at Geraden. She could see him a little better than anyone else; the red tinge on his features made him appear fervid, a little mad – and a little hopeless.
The Tor sighed painfully. ‘My lord, my only guess is that he has gone somehow in search of Queen Madin.’
Terisa thought that the Alend Monarch was going to fall silent again. Almost at once, however, he retorted, ‘And Queen Madin has been abducted by Alends – or by men who appeared to be Alends. What will he do, my lord Tor, when he has rescued her?’ Despite its thinness, his voice gathered passion. ‘I do not doubt that he will rescue her. That man fails at nothing. And when he has restored her to safety, what will he do?’
As if he were in the presence of an ambush, the Tor answered, ‘My lord Monarch, I only guess at where King Joyse has gone. Years have passed since I felt able to predict his actions.’
The Alend Monarch shifted suddenly, straightened himself in his chair. ‘You have not studied him as I have, my lord Tor. I know what he will do. He will fall on me like the hammer of doom!’
Shocked, Terisa peered into the gloom, tried to penetrate it to read Margonal’s face. But she could see nothing useful.
‘My lord Monarch,’ Geraden ventured cautiously, ‘those men weren’t Alends. Master Eremis admitted as much to the lady Terisa. King Joyse vanished before we could tell him everything we knew. That’s a problem. But surely he’ll find out the truth for himself. Surely when he’s questioned’ – tortured? – ‘those men, he’ll realize why she was taken. To disrupt his plans for Mordant’s defense. And drive a wedge between us, so we don’t join forces.
‘When he comes back – Surely it isn’t inevitable that he’ll attack you.’
‘Master Geraden.’ Slowly, Margonal’s voice lost its vehemence. ‘I am the Alend Monarch, responsible for all my lands and all my people – as well as for a rather unruly union with the Alend Lieges. In my place, would you be prepared to risk your entire kingdom on the naked hope that an apparent madman will recognize the truth – and respect it?’
The Monarch appeared to be shaking his head. To the Tor, he said, ‘You wish an alliance. But if I unite my force with yours, I will lose most of my ability to defend myself and my realm. Against King Joyse. And against the possibility that High King Festten will strike behind you when you have left Orison.
‘What you wish is impossible.’
Now it was the Tor’s turn to be quiet for a long time. When he spoke, he sounded disappointed, even sad – but also untouched, as if nothing the Alend Monarch could do would weaken his determination.
‘Then there is no more to be said, my lord. I thank you for the courtesy of this audience. With your permission, we will resume our march.’
The Tor made a move to rise from his seat.
‘Why?’ the Alend Monarch demanded suddenly, almost desperately. ‘Can you deny that King Joyse appears to have gone mad? Can you deny that his purposes and policies have brought you to the verge of destruction? Why do you still serve him?’
For a moment, Terisa thought she sensed a fiery retort rushing up in the old lord, a subterranean blast. When his answer came, it surprised her with its gentleness. He might have been speaking to an old friend.
‘My lord, Master Eremis and his Imagery have cost me my eldest son. In time, the High King will cost me all my family. Such men must be opposed.’
Prince Kragen didn’t change his stance at all. None of the servants or soldiers moved. The figure seated behind Terisa made no sound. Geraden seemed to be holding his breath.
With a rustle of rich fabric, the Alend Monarch slumped back in his chair.
Thinly, he murmured, ‘You are blessed with several sons, my lord Tor. I have but one. And by no act of mine can I assure his accession to my Seat. I must be careful of my risks.’
Then his tone sharpened. ‘My lord, we would be safe in Orison. At worst, we would be safer than we are now. It is your fixed in tention to march against Esmerel. What is to prevent us from taking possession of Orison as soon as you are gone?’
Apparently, the Tor had come prepared for that question. ‘Adept Havelock,’ he replied without hesitation – a bolder bluff than Terisa had expected from him. ‘Artagel and two thousand guards. And several thousand men and women who would rather lose their lives than be taken by Alend.’
‘I see,’ breathed the Alend Monarch as if he were sinking to the floor.
Through the dimness, Terisa barely saw him reach out and touch Prince Kragen’s arm.
The Prince made a commanding gesture. At once, servants hurried forward to hold the chairs so that the Tor, Terisa, and Geraden could stand.
The audience was over.
The Tor braced a heavy hand on Geraden’s shoulder and started toward the tentflaps.
Terisa turned the other way so that she could take a closer look at the person sitting behind her.
The flare of light as the tentflaps were opened confused her vision momentarily, made her squint, filled the corners of the tent with darkness. Before the soldier at the exit ushered her outward, however, she saw the mute figure in the chair clearly enough to recognize her.
The lady Elega.
At the last mome
nt, Elega met Terisa’s gaze deliberately and smiled.
Then Terisa found herself blinking in the cold sunshine outside the tent. The Tor and Geraden were already moving toward the horses.
Prince Kragen didn’t emerge from his father’s presence to accompany them.
Ribuld brought her nag and offered to help her mount. Apparently, no one had troubled him while he waited with the horses. For no clear reason, the fact that he also was smiling disturbed her. When had the scarred veteran learned to enjoy being alone and unprotected in an enemy camp?
She wanted to tell Geraden and the Tor about Elega – especially Geraden, who might be able to imagine what the lady’s silent presence in the Alend Monarch’s tent meant. Obviously, however, she had to contain herself until she and her companions had rejoined Orison’s army.
The forces under Castellan Norge’s command readied themselves to move again. Horsemen corrected their formations; guards on foot strode doggedly out of the castle by the dozens, the hundreds. Terisa’s news perplexed and fascinated Geraden; but the Tor and Norge and even Master Barsonage didn’t seem particularly interested in it. It changed nothing: they had still lost their last hope of an alliance with Alend. At the Tor’s side, Castellan Norge gave the order which set the army in motion, then led it toward the intersection – toward the road which branched south in the direction of the Tor’s Care.
Before the Tor and Norge, with Terisa and Geraden, Master Barsonage and the Congery behind them, reached the intersection, they began to receive reports which made them hesitate.
On the far side of Orison, the Alends had started to roll back the perimeter of their siege. Mounted soldiers took to their horses; foot soldiers formed squads.
Like King Joyse’s guard, the Alend troops were moving.
Men spat obscenities and curses into the cold wind. Trying to match his Castellan’s calm, the Tor asked, ‘What do you suppose this means, Norge?’
Impenetrably phlegmatic, Norge shrugged. ‘The Prince doesn’t want to keep Orison cut off. Not anymore. What’s left?