A Man Rides Through

  Abruptly, the lord nodded. “Now I’m beginning to believe you. They want to kill you. You want to cause trouble for them. All this” – his manner referred to more than just the pits of fire outside Sternwall – “is only another contest between Imagers. We’re the victims” – now he meant the people of his Care – “but we aren’t really the point.

  “The point is power.”

  He had misunderstood her. She made an effort to explain. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re trying to defend Mordant. It’s King Joyse that Eremis and Gilbur want to destroy. We’re secondary – Geraden and I are in the way, that’s all. It’s King Joyse who needs your help.”

  Without a flicker of expression or inflection, the Termigan replied, “Pigslime.”

  Terisa stopped and studied him, trying to see past his face into his mind. But he was as closed as a piece of flint. In an effort to pull herself together, she poured more wine for herself, then returned to the bed and sat down again.

  Slowly, she said, “You don’t like Imagers. Is that it?”

  “Joyse needs my help, I’m sure of that,” he retorted, “but not because you ask it. You don’t care about him. You want me to do something that will help you against Eremis and Gilbur. If that helps the King today, it will help destroy him tomorrow.”

  “Is it because I’m an Imager?” Terisa asked, speaking mostly to herself. “It must be. Everybody who knows the Domne trusts his sons.”

  “The one thing you all want is to get rid of him. That’s the one thing you’re all united on. He’s the only man who’s ever succeeded at controlling you.”

  “I see.” Terisa had learned a lot from Castellan Lebbick: she had learned how to speak harshly to angry men. “You think an Imager can’t be honest. You think that talent – an accident of birth – precludes loyalty. Or compassion. Or even ethics.”

  Still the Termigan didn’t shift in his seat; he didn’t raise his head or his voice. “In the end,” he articulated flatly, “no Imager is loyal to anyone but himself. That’s the nature of power. It seduces – it requires. An Imager can appear loyal only as long as his power and his loyalty don’t come into conflict. The only thing” – now just for a moment he did raise his voice – “my lady, the only thing which has saved us for the past ten years is Havelock’s madness. If Vagel hadn’t cost him his mind, he would have gotten rid of Joyse as soon as the Congery was complete. He would have established a tyranny in Mordant to make the atrocities of Margonal and Festten look like boys pulling wings off butterflies.”

  The virulence, not of his tone, but of his belief, shocked her. “You think that? Even though Havelock was the King’s friend and counselor for – what was it? – more than forty years? Even though he gave up his sanity for his King?” Pain and the aftereffects of nearly being killed made her savage. “What would he have to do to make you trust him? Slaughter every Imager ever born? Exterminate talent from the world?”

  With a small flick of his hand, the lord dismissed her protest. “Even that wouldn’t be enough. The Imager I trust is the one who kills himself.

  “If you’re telling me the truth – which is always possible, I suppose – you haven’t known about your talent very long. You’ve only had a few days to discover what it does to you. My lady, I’ll tell you what it does.

  “It teaches you – no, it forces you to believe you’re more important than other people. Because you can do more. If you’re smart enough, and strong enough, and nobody gets in your way, you can change the outcome of the world. You can remake Mordant in your own image. So how can you let anybody stand in your way? How can you let anybody tell you what to do? How can you submit to any kind of control?

  “You can’t, my lady. You’ll find out that you can’t.

  “And when you find that out, you’ll learn Joyse is your enemy. I’m your enemy. Even if you think you’re honest now, and loyal, and trustworthy, you’ll learn you want us all dead. You’ll learn it’s better to translate pits of fire to roast us out of our homes than to take the risk that we might get in your way.”

  Terisa was more than shocked: she was appalled. How can you let anybody stand in your way? The Termigan was right: she knew Imagers who met his description. And more than that: she knew people who would meet his description if they became Imagers. Her father was one of them.

  If she was her father’s daughter, she might be one of them herself.

  “Now, my lady,” the Termigan said like a sharp stone, “tell me what you think I can do to help my King.”

  Fortunately, she didn’t get a chance to answer. A knock at the door saved her from babbling incoherently. The Termigan turned his head, rasped, “Enter,” and one of his soldiers came into the room.

  “My lord,” the man said in a pale voice. His face was ashen, but his eyes still held the red glow of lava. “It’s getting worse.”

  “ ‘Worse’?” the lord demanded without moving.

  The soldier jerked a nod. “They’re translating more lava. We can see it pouring out of the air. It’s building up against us faster. Two of the pits ran together.” He hesitated, then said, “Part of the wall just gave way.”

  A sting of alarm went through Terisa. Half involuntarily, she said, “That’s because we’re here. We’re too dangerous.”

  And because they were approaching the crisis – the point where Master Quillon said Eremis would be vulnerable. So that he would attack here. The point at which King Joyse intended to strike back. If in fact he had ever had the policy Quillon ascribed to him – or if he were still King enough to carry it out. Eremis needed to kill or paralyze the King’s allies before that moment, so that King Joyse wouldn’t have any force with which to strike.

  It was probably true – although the thought made her sick – that Eremis wouldn’t try so hard to kill her and Geraden if she hadn’t convinced the Master that King Joyse knew what he was doing, that the King’s choices were deliberate, purposive, rather than passive or accidental.

  “ ‘We’?” asked the Termigan. He sounded fatal – too calm for the extremity of his outrage and dismay. “One new Imager and a failed Apt? I don’t believe it.”

  “You should.” Terisa couldn’t bear it. Sternwall was going to be destroyed. Like Houseldon. Because of her and Geraden. “He’s an Imager, too. He’s even more powerful than I am. Let him make a mirror, and he’ll get rid of that lava for you.

  “Eremis wants us dead. He can’t take the chance we’ll talk you into helping us.”

  Then she closed her eyes, trying to rest her head from this prolonged struggle against pain; trying to believe that she hadn’t condemned Geraden and herself to spend the rest of their short lives in the Termigan’s dungeons.

  She expected the lord to do something vehement: spring to his feet, storm around the room, perhaps have her locked in irons. He did none of those things, however. He murmured to his soldier, and the man left the room. Then he sat still, studying Terisa flatly; his gaze was so unreadable that when she finally met it it made her want to scream.

  A few moments later, the soldier returned, ushering Geraden into the Termigan’s presence.

  After that, the man left.

  Geraden looked at her, at the lord. He said, “My lord Termigan,” roughly, his only concession to politeness. He was already hurrying toward Terisa.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice. “You were hit so hard, I thought they broke your neck.”

  She managed a crooked smile, a stiff nod. Putting her hand in his, she pulled herself to her feet. “The lava’s getting worse,” she said, speaking carefully so that she wouldn’t start to yell. “I think it’s another way of attacking us.” She faced the Termigan although she spoke to Geraden, held Geraden’s hand; with all her strength, she willed the lord not to harm Geraden. “And I think Eremis is afraid of the Termigan. There must be something he can do to fight back.” Because she wanted the lord to understand that she was threatening him, she concluded to Geraden, “I told him you’re an Imager.?
??

  And Geraden – without hesitation, almost without trepidation – supported her even though he probably had no idea what he was getting into. “That’s right,” he said. “If you’ve got any sand here, any kind of furnace or kiln, I might be able to make a mirror. I could translate that fire away.”

  Terisa squeezed his hand hard and held her breath.

  For the first time, she saw the Termigan react plainly. A muscle twitched in his cheek; his brows knotted into a hurt scowl. The emotion she felt wash from him wasn’t anger or even disgust: it was grief.

  In a ragged voice, he said, “No. Even if you’re telling the truth. I won’t have it. I won’t have Imagery here.”

  His own severity cost him this hope.

  Geraden blew a sigh; but he still didn’t hesitate. “Then, my lord,” he said clearly, “there’s only one thing you can do for your people.” Terisa marveled at him – at the strength in his voice, at the certainty with which he met a dilemma that confounded her. “Evacuate Sternwall. Get your men together. Go fight for King Joyse. Before it’s too late.”

  It didn’t work. “ ‘Evacuate Sternwall’?” the Termigan spat as if he had discovered a piece of glass in his food. “Leave my people? Abandon my Care?” Softly, but so intensely that it sounded like a cry from his heart, he demanded, “For what?”

  “For Mordant,” answered Geraden. “For peace.”

  The Termigan didn’t respond, so Geraden went on, “Orison is under siege. Prince Kragen brought the Alend army against us – at least ten thousand men. And Cadwal is marching. The High King’s army is even bigger – I don’t know how long the Perdon can hold out against it. Right now, the Alend Monarch may be in the strange position of defending Orison from Cadwal.

  “I don’t think you can do anything about that. I don’t think you’ve got enough men.

  “But you could attack Eremis directly.” He released Terisa’s hand so that he could move closer to the Termigan, face the lord more squarely. “He’s in league with High King Festten. But Cadwal has to fight Alend and Orison. So the place where Eremis keeps his mirrors is vulnerable – the place where he does translations like this one, the one destroying Sternwall. The place where he and Gilbur and Vagel hid to do their plotting and shape their mirrors.

  “You could attack him there. In the Care of Tor. In his home. Esmerel.”

  Esmerel? Terisa was surprised. That didn’t make sense. “What about his father – his brothers?” she asked stupidly. They would have betrayed him long ago. “He couldn’t use Esmerel.”

  Geraden turned to her. Frowning at the distraction, he said, “Eremis doesn’t have any family. They all died in a fire years ago. Some of his servants in Orison are people who used to serve his father. I’ve heard them talk about it.”

  So that also was a lie, just another of Eremis’ attempts to manipulate her. She ground her teeth. Suddenly, she felt a fierce desire to do what Geraden was proposing: ride into the Care of Tor, ride to Esmerel, attack—Get even with that bastard.

  But the Termigan wasn’t moved. “Will that save Sternwall?” he asked Geraden in a voice like a winter wind.

  “Probably not,” Geraden admitted. “It’ll take too long. Sternwall is probably doomed – unless something good happens for a change. Unless something happens to distract Eremis or Gilbur so they can’t keep translating that lava.”

  “Then I repeat,” gritted the lord. “For what?”

  This time, Geraden said simply, “You might be able to save King Joyse.”

  The Termigan chewed on that for a while. Then he said harshly, “So you think there’s something worth saving? You think Joyse hasn’t just gone passive or anile?” He’d been pushed too far: he was losing his calm, his inhuman self-restraint. “You think there’s some reason why he let those shit-eating Imagers do this to my Care?”

  “Yes,” Terisa said at once, before the lord’s sorrow and distress became too much for her. “I don’t like it very well. I don’t think it’s good enough. But there is a reason.”

  In a few stiff sentences, while the Termigan stared at her as if she were lice-ridden, she told him what Master Quillon had told her about King Joyse’s reasons.

  The lord surged to his feet; almost before she was done, he snapped, “Is that all? He turned his back on us, left his realm to rot, let Imagers do whatever they wanted to his people – just so Mordant would be attacked, instead of Alend or Cadwal?”

  His passion stopped Terisa’s voice. She nodded dumbly.

  Without warning, the Termigan let out a snarl of laughter. Candlelight reflected in his eyes like an echo of lava. “Brilliant. Destroy your friends to save your enemies. Completely brilliant.”

  “He needs the help anyway, my lord,” murmured Geraden. “No matter how slim it is, the possibility that he knows what he’s doing is the only hope we have left. You might be able to do him some good by striking against Esmerel.”

  For a moment, the lord remained motionless, holding himself as though a gale were gathering inside him. Then, abruptly, he lifted his fists and roared, “No!

  “He decided to sacrifice Sternwall without consulting me! Let him pay for the rest of his reasons himself!”

  When he left the room, he slammed the door so hard that splinters jumped from the latch and one of the crossmembers cracked.

  Geraden looked at Terisa with trouble in his eyes. “Well,” he said finally, “at least I haven’t lost my talent for mishap.”

  She went to him and hugged him. “Wait and see,” she muttered dryly. “If he doesn’t tie us up and throw us in the lava, you got more out of him than I did.”

  That enabled him to chuckle a little. “Do you mean,” he asked, “that if we simply survive this experience I’m supposed to consider it a success?”

  “Wait and see,” she repeated. She didn’t know what else to offer him.

  They waited.

  Eventually, a servant brought them hot water, so Geraden braced a chair against the door, and they bathed each other. They drank the wine and ate the food; they took advantage of the bed. They even got some sleep.

  The next morning, they answered a knock at their door, and another servant came into the room carrying their breakfast.

  A soldier visited them as well. Brusquely, as if he had no time for this, he asked Terisa and Geraden what they needed for their journey.

  They were surprised – but not so surprised that Geraden couldn’t think of a list. After all, the Termigan had a reputation for fidelity. He may have hated Imagers and lost confidence in his King, but apparently he couldn’t forget his lifelong loyalties. To the Domne, for instance. And Geraden and Terisa had lost their horses and supplies outside Sternwall; they needed anything the lord was willing to give them. So Geraden talked to the soldier for several minutes; and by the time he and Terisa had finished their breakfast the man returned to report that their new horses and fresh supplies were ready to go.

  In fact, the Termigan sent them on their way better equipped than they had been when they entered his Care. In addition to the horses, he gave them plenty of food, full wineskins, cooking utensils, a short sword for each of them, and bedding that seemed luxurious compared to the thin blankets with which they had left Houseldon. He even provided a rough map which showed a direct route across country toward the Care of Fayle and Romish.

  But he didn’t do anything to help King Joyse.

  THIRTY-SIX: GATHERING SUPPORT

  According to the map, Romish was situated near the southeast point of the Care of Fayle, where the border between Fayle and Armigite met the border between Termigan and Fayle.

  Terisa and Geraden wanted to hurry. From one perspective, the attack on Sternwall was a good sign: it implied that Master Eremis was still waiting for his plans to mature, still vulnerable. In every other way, however, the Termigan’s plight was cause for alarm. So far, Houseldon had been burned down; Sternwall was falling into a pit of fire. The Armigite had made an agreement with Prince Kragen. The Perdon was alon
e against all of High King Festten’s power. What came next? If this process continued much longer, Mordant would soon have nothing left to save.

  Terisa and Geraden had reason to hurry.

  Unfortunately, the terrain didn’t let them.

  They made good progress for a day after they left Sternwall, but that was only because they were able to remain on the road which led eventually to the Demesne and Orison. The second day, their route required them to angle away from the road, heading more to the north as the road shifted east. And this part of Termigan was the roughest land she had yet seen in Mordant.

  “Now if this were Armigite—” Geraden panted as he tugged his horse, a rangy gray with a head like a mallet, up an interminable hillside that was too flinty and steep for safe riding. “Armigite in spring is worth seeing. The soil is so sweet they say you only have to wave a few squash seeds at the ground and you’ll be up to your hips in vines. The early hay should be just coming up – it smells so fresh you want to take up dancing. And the women—” He glanced at Terisa and grinned. “All that rich soil and relaxed countryside makes their work so easy they really don’t have anything better to do than sit around and become gorgeous.”

  Terisa snorted softly. At the moment, she would have been delighted to be in Armigite. Let the women there become as gorgeous as they pleased. As far as she was concerned, the only thing worse than riding a horse was trying to haul it by main force up a hill it didn’t want to climb, when her knee still pained her. Generally, she was willing to put up with the mount the Termigan had provided for her – a roan gelding with a decent gait and no malice. In the present circumstances, however, she would cheerfully have dropped the beast into one of Eremis’ fiery pits.

  Nevertheless she didn’t suggest that she and Geraden forget about the Fayle; that they return to the road and head straight for Orison. The Fayle was the only lord left whom they might bring to the King’s support.

  And Queen Madin lived in Fayle, in Romish. Myste had mentioned a manor just outside Romish.