A Man Rides Through

  The chaos of getting supper ready seemed to approach a climax as an inner door burst open and a squall of children blew into the room. They were all about Ruesha’s size and age – too many of them too close together in age to belong to any one family. Or any three families. They were all buck naked, full of glee, and glistening with water. And they were followed by Geraden, dripping copiously. He had a couple of towels in his hands, but they were too wet to be much use.

  “Come back here, you little monsters!” he roared. “I’m going to towel you until your heads fall off!”

  Squealing with delight, small, naked bodies scattered in all directions.

  Terisa hadn’t seen Geraden for most of the day. She looked at him eagerly, and saw at once that he was still clenched and dour, knotted inside himself. Perhaps for the sake of the children, however, he had pushed his hardness into the background. Or perhaps they elicited that response from him involuntarily: perhaps it was something they did for him, rather than he for them.

  It was enough. She could wait for more until they had a better opportunity together. Giving him her best smile, whether he noticed it or not, she relaxed and let the clamor continue to grow on her, like a milling and vociferous form of contentment.

  Quiss, Tholden, and the servants snatched up wet children indiscriminately; soon all of Geraden’s victims were caught in adult arms. Stifling a laugh, Quiss said to one of the serving women, “Your boys are responsible for this.”

  “I beg your pardon,” the woman protested in tart amusement. “I’m sure Ruesha is the cause. She’s the most notorious truant in Houseldon. Ask anyone.”

  “They’re all monsters!” growled Geraden. “They’re all going to suffer horribly when I get my hands on them!” Doing his best wild gorilla imitation, he began stalking children.

  With the help of three or four servants, he succeeded in herding his fugitives from torture and cleanliness out of the room.

  If he hadn’t been so busy – and if she hadn’t been so comfortably settled with her tankard of ale – Terisa would have gone after him. She felt an unaccountable desire to kiss him far more seriously than she had kissed Minick.

  He came back after a while to join his family – and half a dozen men who arrived in the meantime – for supper. These men were the leaders of teams which had been organized to perform various functions during the defense of Houseldon. As soon as the meal was over, and the table had been cleared, the talk turned to the subject that seemed to be uppermost in everyone’s mind, except Terisa’s: what kind of attack was coming, and when, and how to meet it.

  Geraden described a few of the uses of Imagery which Master Eremis had already made against Mordant; and the men quickly lost whatever self-confidence they had brought with them to the Domne’s house. Finally, one of them asked almost timidly, “Is there anything you can do?”

  He shook his head. “Not until I get a chance to make a mirror.”

  “But how can such things be fought?” another man inquired. “What can we do?”

  “We’re already doing it,” the Domne said flatly, as if he were sure. “Everything that can be done. We’re doing it.”

  Without looking at her, Geraden added, “Just hope the lady Terisa is wrong. Just hope he gives us a little time. Today we got ready. Tomorrow I’ll fire up a furnace and start mixing sand.”

  To her own surprise as much as anyone else’s, Terisa got up and left the room.

  She didn’t want to hear it, that was all: she just didn’t want to hear it. She was too recently come from Orison – from the Castellan’s distrust and Eremis’ cunning and Gilbur’s violence. She hadn’t had any sleep except for the short rest which had come over her unexpectedly in the grass below the Closed Fist. And the sense of peace inside her was fragile; it would collapse if she let herself get caught up in the anxiety of Houseldon’s defenders, if she let herself get caught up in her own concern for Geraden. Sleep, that was what she needed, not all this talk. In the morning, she would be readier – maybe braver.

  Nodding to the servants she encountered along the way, she retreated to Artagel’s room.

  It was dark. For a moment, she thought about asking someone for help; then she remembered where one of the room’s lamps was. On a small table at the head of the bed. She went to it by the light from the open door, picked it up and brought it back to the doorway. Another lamp hung on the wall outside; she used it to light the lamp in her hands. When it was burning brightly, she entered the room again and closed the door.

  A second lamp lit from the first helped fill the room with a comforting yellow glow. Amazing how nice Artagel’s cot looked in that light. She visited the bathroom, then took off her clothes and doused the lamp she had set across the room. The early spring chill in the air encouraged her to get into bed immediately, cover herself with clean sheets and sweet blankets.

  At once, she knew she was right: this was what she needed. As soon as her head reached the pillow, the peace inside her seemed to rise up and swell outward. It reached through the house growing quiet around her; it reached out to Geraden and the men trying to plan Houseldon’s survival; it reached up into the deep heavens and across the Care toward Domne’s mountains.

  Silence and rest spread so far in all directions that they carried her away.

  She went to sleep in such sudden contentment that she forgot to extinguish the lamp on the small table at the head of the bed.

  That was what saved her from rousing the household and embarrassing herself unnecessarily, that forgotten lamp. In the dark, she might have lost her head; might have screamed.

  For the second time in her life, after she had been asleep for a while she felt herself being kissed.

  A strong mouth began to nibble on her lips; a tongue slipped between them, searching for hers. A hand just cool enough to call attention to itself found her hip under the blankets, then rose in a long caress across her belly to her breasts. While the tongue probed her mouth more deeply, the hand began to play with her nipples.

  Her eyes flew open. In one quick glimpse, she saw the curly hair and intent brown eyes of the man kneeling beside the cot to embrace her; she saw that he wasn’t Master Eremis or Castellan Lebbick, wasn’t Gilbur or anyone else who terrified her. So she didn’t scream. Instead, she swung her arms with all her strength in an effort to fling him away.

  One of her elbows caught him squarely on the collarbone.

  With a muffled yelp, he fell off her, sprawled to the floor. His arms tried to protect the bandages over his ribs and around his shoulders, but the fall sent a jolt through his fractured bones. For a moment, his back arched in real pain. Then he went limp on the floorboards.

  Looking up at her and panting carefully as the pain receded, he murmured, “Terisa,” in a wounded tone, “what’re you doing? I just want to make love to you. You don’t need to hurt me.”

  Now that she could see his whole face, she couldn’t mistake his resemblance to the rest of the Domne’s sons. Judging by his bandages, his cracked or broken ribs and collarbone, his crooked features, he must be Stead.

  Glaring down at him angrily, she said the first thing that came into her head. “I thought you had too many broken bones to get out of bed.”

  He gave up sounding wounded and experimented with a smile instead. “So did I. But that was before I saw you in the hall – outside my door. So I waited until everyone was asleep. Then I gave it a try. I guess a man can stand almost anything if he wants to badly enough.”

  When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Will you help me up? I really am hurt, and the floor is hard.”

  Fortunately, he was wearing a pair of light cotton sleeping trousers below his bandages. If he had been naked, she might have had trouble keeping her composure. Under the circumstances, however, she was able to look at him squarely and say, “If you try to get up, I’m going to kick you until you wish you hadn’t.”

  But as soon as she said that she nearly started laughing. She had once threatened to kick Geraden. I
n fact, she had kicked him. To make him stop apologizing.

  “That isn’t kind,” Stead protested. His expression was lugubrious for a moment. But then another thought occurred to him, and he grinned. “On the other hand, it might be worth it. You won’t be able to get out of that bed to kick me without letting me see what you look like. The way you walk makes me think you must look glorious.” His grin sharpened. “I’ve never been turned down by a woman who let me catch even a glimpse of her breasts.”

  “In that case” – her desire to laugh was getting stronger – “I won’t kick you. I won’t get out of bed at all.” Stead looked astonishingly like Geraden trying to do an imitation of Master Eremis – with limited success. Keeping herself carefully covered with her blankets, she sat up and indicated the lamp. “I’ll just throw burning oil at you.”

  Stead didn’t appear to take this threat very seriously. “No, you won’t.”

  In an effort to stifle her mirth, she glowered back at him. “What makes you think that?”

  “You don’t really want to hurt me.” With no arrogance at all, he explained, “What you really want is a man.”

  She stared at him. “I do?”

  He nodded. “Every woman does. That’s what men and women are for. First they want each other. Then they get into bed and enjoy each other.”

  That sounded dangerously plausible. She countered by asking, “What about Geraden? He’s your brother, after all. And I came here with him. Don’t you consider him a man?”

  “Ah, Geraden.” Stead’s smile seemed genuinely affectionate. “Of course I consider him a man. If you want my opinion, he’s the best one of us all. Oh, he isn’t half the farmer Tholden is. He isn’t half the shepherd Wester is. He isn’t half the swordsman Artagel is. And he sure doesn’t know anything about women. But he’s still the best.

  “But that’s not the point, is it?” he continued rhetorically. It was remarkable how little arrogance he had in him, how little assumption of superiority. He didn’t belittle anyone. “The point is, you don’t consider him a man.”

  Terisa’s mouth fell open. She closed it with an effort. Suddenly, the situation wasn’t funny anymore. “I don’t?”

  “You came here with him. He worships every inch of you. If you thought of him as a man, you’d be in his room right now.” Nothing in Stead’s tone suggested the slightest criticism of Geraden – or of her. His view of the situation was essentially impersonal.

  “There must be someone else you want.”

  Holding her gaze, he began to ease himself up from the floor. Every moment was obviously painful to him, but the pain only accentuated the appeal in his eyes.

  “I think you want me,” he murmured. “I certainly want you.”

  There was something of Master Eremis in the way he looked at her, an intensity of interest which hypnotized. And he had distinct advantages over the Master. He wouldn’t demean her. He wouldn’t do anything cruel.

  “I started wanting you as soon as I saw you,” he said as he got his feet under him. “Your lips cry out for kisses. Breasts like yours should be fondled until they give you bliss. The place of passion between your legs aches to be pierced. Terisa, I want you. I want to revel in you until your joy is as great as mine.”

  Upright despite the way his ribs and collarbone hurt, he moved gently toward her.

  He had some of Master Eremis’ magnetism. And his desire was less threatening than the Master’s.

  At the same time, he forced her to think of Geraden.

  If you thought of him as a man—

  She dropped the blankets. Stead’s eyes grew bright, and he reached toward her, but she ignored him. Fending his arms away, she left the bed and crossed the room to her clothes.

  “Terisa?”

  The shirt and skirt Quiss had given her weren’t warm enough to hold out the chill. They were warm enough for the time being, however; she didn’t want to spend time looking for an alternative. And the boots helped.

  Stead came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. “Terisa?”

  She turned to face him. “Take me to Geraden’s room.”

  He frowned in puzzlement. “Geraden’s room? Why do you want to go there? He doesn’t want you. He thinks he does, but he doesn’t really. If he did, he would be here already.”

  Terisa shook her head; she knew Geraden better than that. “Stead,” she said quietly, “I’m not going to threaten you. I’m not going to kick you – or set you on fire. I just don’t want you.

  “Take me to Geraden’s room.”

  Stead blinked at her. “You don’t mean that.”

  Taking care not to hurt him, she moved around him toward the door. Outside, the lamps had been extinguished. She returned to the table at the head of the bed and took the lamp. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said. “You might as well sleep here. I won’t be back.”

  She was out the door and had started to close it before she heard him pant, “Terisa, wait,” and come shuffling after her.

  His injuries prevented him from walking quickly; he took a moment to catch up with her. Then he braced himself against the door and paused to rest. His expression didn’t make sense to her. Behind the strain of movement, he seemed sadder than she’d expected – and happier.

  “Quiss always refuses me,” he said, breathing carefully. “I don’t understand that. I’ve tried to tell her how much I want her. That’s all that matters. But she always refuses.

  “I have to admit, though” – by degrees, his happiness took over his face – “she certainly makes me think well of Tholden.

  “Geraden’s room is that way.” Grinning, he pointed down the hall.

  Now she found it easy to smile back at him. To help him walk, she slipped her arm through his. That appeared to confuse him – but of course he had no way of knowing how much he was improved by the comparison to Master Eremis. In any case, he let her assist him, and they went down the hall like old friends.

  Past two corners and down a long passage, Stead stopped in front of another door. “Here,” he murmured softly. Then he put his arm around her waist and hugged her. Touching his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come with me? No matter how much he worships you, he can’t want you more than I do.”

  Gently, she disentangled herself. “Go away,” she replied as kindly as she could. “This is too important.”

  He sighed; nodded; shook his head in bafflement. But he didn’t argue. A bit morosely, he turned and began to shamble down the hall, holding his arms protectively across his ribs.

  She waited until he was out of sight around the corner. Then, before she had a chance to lose her nerve, she lifted the door latch and let herself into the room.

  By the light of her lamp, she saw that Stead had brought her to the right place. In the wide bed against the far wall, Geraden sprawled among his blankets. Judging by appearances, he had lost a fierce struggle with his covers; now he lay outstretched in defeat, snoring slightly on the battlefield.

  Asleep, his face gave up its bitter hardness, the iron of despair. He looked young and vulnerable, and inexpressibly dear. She wanted to go to him immediately and put her arms around him, hold him close to her heart, comfort away everything that hurt him. At the same time, she wanted to let him sleep – let him rest and dream until all his distress was healed. She shut the door behind her gently, so that he wouldn’t be disturbed.

  But the lamp woke him. He didn’t flinch, or jerk himself out of bed; he simply opened his eyes, and yellow light reflected back at her. Without transition, he no longer looked young or vulnerable. He looked poised and deadly, like a wounded predator.

  Master Eremis had understood from the beginning how dangerous Geraden was. All at once, the Master’s policy toward him made sense to her.

  “Geraden,” she murmured in sudden confusion, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Or I guess I did. I don’t know why I came. I couldn’t stay away.”

  Then, mercifully, he
sat up, and the change in his position changed the way the light caught his eyes. He relapsed to the Geraden she knew: hard and hurt, closed like a fist around the sources of his pain; but nonetheless human, precious to her.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. “There’s so much we need to talk about.”

  Like Stead, he was dressed only in a pair of sleeping trousers; apparently, he didn’t feel the cold as much as she did. He didn’t get up from the bed or reach out to her. Yet when he spoke his voice sounded like the voice she remembered: capable of kindness; accessible to pain or hope.

  “After supper – after you left – I went to see Minick. I wanted to apologize for yelling at him. People shouldn’t yell at him, even though he never gets angry about it.

  “Do you know what he said? He said, ‘I spent the afternoon with your Terisa. She’s nice. If you make her unhappy, you won’t be welcome in my house anymore.’ Minick said that, my mild brother who never gets angry.”

  Geraden shrugged. “I didn’t tell him that I’ve already made you unhappy.”

  “No,” she replied at once, “that’s not true,” reacting too quickly for thought. “How can you say that?”

  He watched her impassively. “I look at you, Terisa. I see the way you look at me.”

  “And what do you see?”

  He held her eyes, but he didn’t answer.

  “I like your family,” she protested. “I feel comfortable in Houseldon. Ever since you talked me into leaving my old life, you’ve done more to make me happy than anyone else I’ve ever known. How can you—?”

  She stopped. It would have been nice if he’d had a fire in his room: she needed an external source of warmth. The darkness beyond the lamplight seemed full of sorrow. Making a special effort to speak calmly, she continued, “Geraden, I think I probably could have made that mirror translate me anywhere. Anywhere I could visualize – anywhere vivid enough in my mind.” And I just came from Stead. He touched my breasts. He wanted to make love to me. “Why do you think I’m here?”