With his remaining men, he reentered the mouth of Orison.
Prince Kragen stared at the Castellan’s back. He made no effort to lower his voice. “That man has lost his mind.”
Still aching inside, Terisa murmured, “King Joyse cut the ground out from under him. His wife died, and he didn’t have anything else to live for except his loyalty, and the King made him look like a fool for being loyal.”
“A pitiful tale,” rasped the Prince. Obviously, he had no patience for Lebbick’s problems. “Sadly, it does not tell us whether or not he can be trusted. Will he not have us killed as soon as we cross that threshold?”
“Suit yourself.” Abruptly, Geraden jerked up his charger’s head. “I trust him. I’m going in.”
Breaking formation, he started for the gates.
Prince Kragen swore at him, ordered him back. Terisa was already following him, however, urging her mount almost onto his horse’s heels. The Prince and his guard had no choice but to enter Orison behind Geraden and Terisa.
As she passed through the thick stone wall into the protected rectangle of the courtyard, her pulse went up a beat. In spite of her numerous anxieties – or perhaps because of them – she had the strange sensation that she was coming home.
The interior faces of the castle loomed above her, crowded with spectators, punctuated with clotheslines. Castellan Lebbick had dismounted in the mud. When the Alend party approached him, he saluted with withering sarcasm. At once, his guards took the heads of the horses and held them so that Prince Kragen and his people could dismount in an orderly fashion.
Pulling her leg hesitantly off the back of the charger, Terisa found herself caught and lifted down in Artagel’s grasp.
He embraced her as if she were dear to him.
“Artagel!” He had hurt her once, badly. On the other hand, he was Geraden’s brother; she knew most of his family. And his hug was as eloquent as an apology. Instinctively, she flung her arms around his neck.
After a moment, he pushed her away and gave her a lopsided, rather embarrassed grin. “Be careful, my lady.” He rolled his eyes at Geraden. “We don’t want to make him jealous.”
“Artagel.” Geraden practically jumped on his brother; he grabbed Artagel, shook him, hugged him, thumped his back. “How are you, how’s your side, are you all right, what’s going on here, what’s the matter with Lebbick?” Geraden’s face shone with joy. “Do you realize how long it’s been since I saw you well? I can tell you, the Domne had some stern things to say about letting yourself get hurt like that.”
“ ‘Da’,” Terisa put in happily. “You promised to call him ‘Da.’ ” Artagel’s smile told her everything she needed to know. Now she was just glad that she had never told Geraden about Artagel’s distrust.
Nevertheless Artagel’s next words reassured her further. Instead of trying to answer Geraden’s questions, he commented half casually, “I heard what he said.” He nodded toward the Castellan. “We all heard him. Actually, he isn’t the only one who believes you. But I have to admit we’re in the minority.”
Terisa beamed with pleasure and relief.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Geraden. “We’ll get that straightened out as soon as we see King Joyse. Tell me something important. How’s your side?”
Artagel laughed easily. “Terrible. All this rest is giving me the twitches.” Humorously, he whispered, “If I don’t get to fight somebody soon, I’m going to end up like Lebbick.”
“My lady Terisa. Geraden.” Prince Kragen addressed them coldly, but his expression was one of bemusement rather than irritation. “It might be wise to conduct this reunion later. The present circumstances are less than cordial. We must meet with King Joyse promptly.”
Artagel laughed again. “He’s right. First things first. I’ll follow you to the hall. When you’re done there, we’ll talk.”
Waving his hand cheerfully, he retreated among the horses and guards.
When Terisa looked at Geraden, she saw that his eyes were full of tears.
He was happy: she knew he was happy. He loved Artagel. For that reason, she was surprised by the pain on his face.
Until she noticed Geraden’s pain, she didn’t absorb the fact that Artagel moved with a slight limp, as if he had an unhealed stiffness in his side.
And he wasn’t carrying a sword.
Oh, Artagel!
Had Gart hurt him that badly? Or had his long sequence of over-exertions and relapses aggravated the damage enough to cripple him? A swordsman of Artagel’s prowess didn’t have to be maimed or broken to be crippled. A few muscles which didn’t heal properly in his side could do it.
“It’s too much, Terisa,” Geraden gritted between his teeth. “Too many people have been hurt. Too much harm has been done. This has got to stop. We’ve got to stop him.”
She put her arm through his and squeezed it: she knew whom he was talking about.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t get the feeling out of her stomach that a lot more people were going to be hurt soon.
“Come on,” she murmured so that Prince Kragen wouldn’t summon them again. “If we’re going to stop him, this is the way to do it.”
Geraden nodded; he scrubbed the expression of sorrow off his face.
Together, he and Terisa joined the Prince and Castellan Lebbick.
Lebbick considered them balefully. He didn’t look like a man who believed them. He also didn’t sound like a man who believed them. Without preamble, he asserted, “You’ll leave your men here, my lord Prince.”
Prince Kragen stiffened. “What an odd idea, Castellan. Why would I do such a thing?”
The Castellan’s mouth twisted. “I understand your problem. You don’t think you’re safe here. Well, I have a problem, too. I could be wrong about you. You could be plotting treachery.
“If you’re honest, I can tell you one thing for certain. I’ll die before you do. But if you aren’t—” He shrugged. “You’ll leave your men in the courtyard.”
Prince Kragen’s fingers stroked the hilt of his sword lightly. His demeanor was unruffled, but Terisa could sense his ire. Softly, he asked, “Are you so unconcerned about the lady Elega’s position, Castellan?”
Castellan Lebbick returned a snort. “She isn’t my daughter. I don’t care what happens to her. I’m in command of Orison. If you make me cut you down, King Joyse will never know the difference. I’ll report it any way I like.”
He faced the Prince, daring the Alend Contender to doubt him.
The darkness in Prince Kragen’s eyes scared Terisa. She thought she ought to do something, intervene somehow. But Geraden was holding her arm now; he kept her still.
After a moment, the Prince said, “If you had come to me, Castellan, you would have received better treatment.”
“Swineswater,” remarked Lebbick succinctly.
Prince Kragen’s jaws bunched; blood deepened the hue of his skin. After a moment, however, he nodded.
“My guard will wait outside the gates. If we do not return in an hour, they will ride to the Alend Monarch. The lady Elega will be killed. Tell King Joyse what you will.”
Castellan Lebbick gave another of his crushed-rock laughs. “Let the Alends wait outside the gates,” he told one of his men. “Be civil about it. Keep the gates open.”
Without waiting for a reply, he headed toward the nearest doorway.
Prince Kragen glanced at Terisa, at Geraden. She chewed her lip; but Geraden assented promptly. “It’s the best chance we’ve got. He’s never stabbed anybody in the back.”
“You are a bad influence,” murmured Prince Kragen, “both of you. You urge me to accept horrifying risks as if they were entirely plausible. If I am ever crowned the Alend Monarch, I will have to become more cautious.”
Smiling ominously, he led Terisa and Geraden after the Castellan.
Inside the castle, past the guards at the door, the halls were deserted. The spectators who packed the inner windows and balconies were nowhere to be seen;
every indication of Orison’s overcrowding was gone. “Curfew,” Castellan Lebbick explained as he strode along the echoing passage. “I thought you were going to break through the gates today. I ordered everybody out of the way. Nobody’s allowed to use the halls except the King’s guard.”
He may have intended his explanation to be reassuring. Nevertheless the unnatural silence of the place plucked at Terisa’s nerves. She seemed to feel vast numbers of people crouched out of sight, waiting—
Rumors would travel fast in a besieged castle. When enough people heard that Nyle’s murderer and Master Quillon’s murderer and the Alend Contender were in Orison, the curfew wouldn’t hold. No curfew would hold.
And when it broke, what would Lebbick do?
King Joyse had to listen to them. That was all there was to it. He had to listen. He had to believe them.
Otherwise she and Geraden and even Prince Kragen might not live long enough to find out what Master Eremis’ trap actually was.
They were obviously being watched. She didn’t see anybody, but she could hear voices. Just a murmur at first, an impression of whispering which filled the corridors with hints of menace. Then the voices grew louder, bolder. One of them said, “Killer.” Another called out clearly, “Butcher!”
Castellan Lebbick didn’t glance aside. He didn’t seem to hear the voices. Or maybe he approved of them. He waited until they faded behind him. Then, to no one in particular, he commented, “They don’t mean you. They mean me.”
The way he walked was so tightly controlled that it made his whole body appear brittle.
He took Terisa, Geraden, and Prince Kragen directly to the audience hall.
Across a high, formal space marked with windows and pennons, they approached a set of peaked doors. Like the ones to the courtyard, those doors were guarded. Terisa took that as a good sign. She held Geraden’s arm and tried to keep her respiration steady as the guards opened the doors into the hall of audiences.
She remembered it vividly – its cathedral-like height and length; the walls covered by carved wooden screens, their finials reaching twenty or thirty feet toward the vaulted ceiling; the two narrow windows high in the far wall. Working on short notice, a flustered old servant hurried along the rows of candles, past the batteries of lamps, trying to light them all as fast as he could. He still had a long way to go; yet he – and the windows – already gave enough illumination to show King Joyse’s ornate mahogany throne on its pediment. A run of rich carpet led from the doors to the pediment; the rest of the wide area in front of the throne was open, surrounded by benches like pews. From each side of the pediment, a row of chairs reached toward the benches.
Because the light was so dim, the balcony surrounding the hall above the screens was shrouded in darkness. Terisa could see well enough, however, to note that the Castellan already had guards in position. Archers ranged there along the walls of the hall, four on each side.
Two pikemen closed the doors and stood to hold them. Four more were at attention beside the King’s seat. She counted them again: fourteen guards. Sourly, she supposed that Lebbick’s refusal to permit the attendance of Prince Kragen’s honor guard made sense. If the Castellan could only produce fourteen guards, Kragen’s ten soldiers might have been sufficient to protect him from the consequences of treachery.
Then, as the old servant continued to do his job, and the light improved, she realized that the benches and chairs weren’t empty.
The gathering was small compared to the one which had greeted Prince Kragen’s first visit. Terisa suspected, however, that the people here were the ones who mattered. No courtiers were present, no lords or ladies whose sole claim to significance arose from birth or wealth. Around the benches were several more guards, each wearing the insignia of a captain: Lebbick’s seconds-in-command. Artagel sat among them, grinning encouragement. She saw some of King Joyse’s counselors, men she had met only once before: the Lord of Commerce, for example; the Home Ambassador; the Lord of the Privy Purse. And in the chairs—
To the right of the throne sat the Tor, sprawling his bulk over at least two chairs. To all appearances, he hadn’t changed his robe since Terisa had last seen him: it was crumpled and filthy, so badly stained that it looked like it would never come clean. The dull red in his eyes and the way his flesh sagged from the bones of his face gave the impression that he was drunk. If he recognized either Terisa or Geraden, he didn’t show it.
As if to avoid him – as if he stank or had lost continence – everyone else was seated on the left.
The men there were Masters. Terisa knew Barsonage, of course: the mediator was scowling at her as if she had betrayed everything he valued. And most of the Imagers with him she had seen before. But at least one of them looked so unfamiliar – and so young – that she thought he must be an Apt who had just recently earned his chasuble.
Two or three of them were breathing hard. They must have come at a run. After all, the Castellan’s men hadn’t had much time to summon people to this audience.
The reason for the attendance of the Masters was obvious. King Joyse had threatened to defend Orison with Imagery. To do that, he needed the support of the Congery.
The Imagers made her think of Master Quillon, and her heart twisted.
Then she realized that Adept Havelock was missing. The High King’s Dastard wasn’t in the hall anywhere.
Neither was Master Eremis, however. That was a relief.
Soundless on the carpet, Castellan Lebbick strode toward the chairs on the right and sat down a few places away from the Tor, leaving Prince Kragen, Geraden, and Terisa in the open space before the throne. Inconsequently, she noticed the burned spot on the rug, where Havelock had once dropped his censer. No one had bothered to mend it. King Joyse hadn’t had much use for his audience hall in recent years.
He didn’t have much use for it now, apparently. He wasn’t present.
Prince Kragen surveyed the hall; he scanned the balconies. The corner of his moustache lifted as if he were sneering. When he had completed his study of the King’s defenses, he said clearly, “Remarkable. Is this the best audience King Joyse can produce? If an ambassador came to the Alend Monarch, at least a hundred nobles would commemorate the occasion, regardless of the hour – or the urgency.” A moment later, however, he remarked politely, “Most impressive, Castellan. For the first time, I truly believe that you do not intend to harm us. You would not need so many men – and so many witnesses – to procure our deaths.
“What do you intend? Where is King Joyse?”
Castellan Lebbick remained sitting. In a voice which resembled his laugh, he barked, “Norge!”
Slowly, almost casually, one of the captains stood and came to attention. He saluted the Castellan calmly. In fact, everything about him seemed calm. He sounded like he was talking in his sleep.
“My lord Castellan?”
“Norge, where is King Joyse?” demanded Lebbick.
Norge shrugged comfortably. “I spoke to him myself, my lord Castellan. I told him what you said. I even told him what the Prince said. He said, ‘Then you’d better get the audience hall ready.’ ”
Apparently, the captain didn’t think any other comment was necessary. He sat down.
Terisa heard a door open and close as the servant left, his job done.
Castellan Lebbick faced the Prince. “Now,” he said, “you know as much as I do. Are you satisfied?”
“No, Castellan,” put in King Joyse. “I doubt that he knows as much as you do. And I’m sure he isn’t satisfied.”
Somehow, Terisa had missed the King’s arrival. He must have entered from a door hidden behind his seat: she jumped to that conclusion because he was beside the pediment now, with one hand braced on the base of the throne as if he were about to go up the four or five steps and sit down. Nevertheless she hadn’t seen him come in. For all she knew, he had appeared by Imagery.
He was wearing what she took to be his formal attire: a robe of purple velvet, not espec
ially clean; a circlet of gold to keep his white hair off his forehead. And from a brocade strap over his right shoulder hung a tooled sheath which held a longsword with a jeweled pommel. His blue eyes were as watery and vague as she remembered them; his hands appeared arthritic, swollen and inflexible. The way he moved conveyed the impression that he was frail under his robe, barely able to support his own weight; too frail for dignity or decision.
Only his beard had changed. It had been trimmed short and neatly combed. Under his white whiskers, his cheeks showed a flush of exertion or wine.
At once, everyone stood. A bit too slowly for decorum, Lebbick stood also and bowed. “Attend,” he drawled by way of announcement. “This audience is granted to Prince Kragen, the Alend Contender, by Joyse, Lord of the Demesne and King of Mordant. It’s a private audience. Everyone here is commanded to speak freely – and to say nothing when they have left the hall. To speak outside of what is said here is treason.”
Bitterly, as if he had no use for the King’s permission, he sat down.
No one else sat. Even Lebbick’s captains remained on their feet while King Joyse looked up and down the hall as if he were making a mental note of everyone present. Meeting Terisa’s gaze, and Geraden’s, he scowled so dramatically that she was tempted to think he didn’t mean it; tempted to think he was scowling to conceal a leap of joy. She had no way of knowing the truth, however. Instead of addressing her or Geraden – or the audience generally – he turned abruptly and ascended his seat, dragging his sword upward like a millstone. When he reached his throne, he collapsed into it; he had to pause and breathe deeply for a moment before he was able to tell the gathering to sit.
The assembled captains and counselors and Imagers obeyed.
Of course, Prince Kragen, Terisa, and Geraden had to remain standing.
Her reaction to the sight of King Joyse was more complex than she had expected: she was at once gladder and more distressed. He had a strange power which always surprised her, an attraction of personality that made her want to believe he was still as strong and idealistic and dedicated and, yes, heroic as he had ever been. That was why his appearance upset her. He was simply too weak. There on his throne, with Mordant in shambles, and Eremis poised to strike the last, crushing blow, he was too close to his grave – the burial ground as much of his spirit as of his decaying frame. She understood why Geraden loved him. Oh, she understood. Everything in her chest ached because he wasn’t equal to the love people gave him anymore.