A Man Rides Through

  Elega and Terisa and Geraden and everyone anywhere near the pennon turned in time to see one of the catapults catch the burst and fly to pieces. Chunks of timber and strands of rope sailed soundlessly off the rampart, shedding flames as they fell.

  Elega thought she heard the hammering of the war drums falter. Maybe she had imagined it.

  “One,” Darsint announced flatly.

  He aimed again, fired again.

  Its legs broken, his target leaned forward, started to topple; then its arm snapped under the stress.

  “Two.”

  With some difficulty, Elega restrained an impulse to cheer. Everyone else was silent, clenched in awe and suspense.

  Frowning, Darsint rechecked his rifle; he fired again. A blazing line sped as straight as a die toward the next catapult.

  Apparently, the team of Cadwals at the engine panicked. They tried to throw before their catapult was ready. A load of scattershot sprayed harmlessly down the wall as fire reduced the catapult to wreckage.

  “Three.

  This time, there was no question about it: the war drums faltered. A moment later, they stumbled into confusion as their drummers lost the beat. Instead of reorganizing themselves, resuming their insistent drive, they stopped altogether.

  Several of the guards cleared their throats and began to cheer hoarsely. A ragged shout of approval, raucous with urgency and relief, spread out across the valley.

  Well done, Darsint! Elega crowed to herself. By the stars, we will teach High King Festten what it means to oppose us!

  The champion fired again; another engine collapsed.

  “Four.”

  Frowning harder, Darsint peered at his rifle, pushed buttons, thudded the stock with the heel of his hand.

  Through the mounting cheers, Prince Kragen called, “Darsint, is it wise to empty your weapon now? This battle has hardly begun. You will need your strength.”

  The champion gave another twisted grin. “It’s never wise to take low ground and let enemies throw rocks at your head.”

  He lifted his rifle; from its muzzle came another shot of flame.

  “Five.”

  Over the tumult came the sackbut’s blare, sounding retreat. The Cadwal front began to withdraw. As if they were already victorious, the King’s guard and Prince Kragen’s soldiers cheered more ferociously.

  Nevertheless everyone around the pennon had seen how Darsint’s fifth shot sputtered and fizzled. When he shrugged, aimed at the last catapult, and tried to fire, his weapon produced nothing except a spray of sparks, quickly gone.

  He shrugged again, tried again: nothing. Automatically, he reslung the rifle across his back. To no one in particular, he said, “Anybody got a portable cyclotron I can adapt to charge this thing?”

  Smiling, Myste moved close to him and put a hand on his armor as if to congratulate or console him.

  By degrees, the cheering died as everyone realized that the last catapult wasn’t going to fall.

  If King Joyse felt any disappointment, however, he didn’t show it. “That was well done, Darsint,” he asserted, “well done indeed. Let the High King beware. His fortunes have begun to turn. Now he and his allies will know that you are here, and that you are with us.”

  “They will also know,” put in the Prince, “that his weapon has no more force.”

  “But they cannot know how many weapons he has,” Joyse retorted confidently, “or what his capabilities are. They will wait now. They must. High King Festten and Master Eremis will consult together. When they strike again, they will attempt something extravagant – a sign of growing desperation.”

  Her father was amazing, really, Elega thought. Trapped in this valley, hugely outnumbered, with Darsint’s resources effectively exhausted, and the Congery’s as well, he somehow made everyone who heard him feel that he couldn’t be beaten.

  “In the meantime, my lord Prince,” he continued, “we have a good opportunity to strengthen our defenses. We must make the best use we can of every obstacle to the High King’s advance.”

  Prince Kragen nodded once, grimly ready. “As you say, my lord King.” His manner was severe: only the particular brightness of his gaze betrayed his pleasure in the things he and Elega had planned and hoped for together, in the validation of the risks he had persuaded the Alend Monarch to accept. “I will undertake the matter.”

  Gripping his reins, he turned his horse.

  “I’ll come with you,” said the Termigan before anyone else could speak. His flat eyes and dour expression gave no hint that he had ever considered the Prince an enemy. “I didn’t ride all this way to sit around watching other people work.”

  “My lord Termigan.” King Joyse’s tone made both the lord and Prince Kragen stop. “You have not yet told us how you happen to be here, or why. And I have not had a chance to thank you. For bringing two hundred men to my side, I am grateful. For bringing Darsint and my daughter here safely, I am forever in your debt.”

  The Termigan jerked at his horse’s head. “Sternwall is lost,” he snapped. For the first time, Elega noticed the froth on the beast’s mouth, the exhaustion in the beast’s eyes. “I had no intention of coming. Geraden told you that. I held on as long as I could. But when I lost Sternwall I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  “You’re the only hope my Care has left – you, and your Imagers” – he looked like he wanted to spit – “and your alliance with Alend.” Forcibly, he seemed to recollect that he was talking to his King. “My father practically built that city with his bare hands. I’m sorry I don’t have better manners.”

  His mount stumbled as he wrenched it around. Nevertheless by simple willpower he pulled the beast into a trot as he rode away toward the foot of the valley.

  King Joyse and Prince Kragen met each other’s eyes. “Use him carefully,” murmured the King. “I have lost two good lords already and have no wish to lose another.”

  The Prince replied with a bleak smile. “In Alend, old soldiers still talk about what a terrible thing it was to do battle against the lord of the Care of Termigan. I will use him carefully.”

  Bowing to the King, waving to Elega, Prince Kragen followed the Termigan.

  Elega wanted him back. The knowledge that he was in no immediate danger didn’t comfort her. At the same time, however, she felt a small shiver of eagerness because she knew that now she would get to hear Myste’s story.

  While the forces of Cadwal waited, and Prince Kragen did what he could to shore up the King’s defenses, Elega and Myste withdrew to the Tor’s tent, looking for a quiet place to talk. Terisa and Geraden were with them – and King Joyse as well, which surprised Elega because she expected him to be busy with matters of battle, and pleased her because it demonstrated that he trusted the Alend Contender, son of an old foe.

  Darsint accompanied them also. In a way that made the mere idea of refusing him seem unimaginable, he insisted on staying with Myste.

  Outside, the remaining catapult threw at intervals: a stubborn assailant, and quite useless. For the most part, the King’s men were able to stay out of the engine’s range. Eventually, it became clear that the catapult’s only real purpose was to remind the guards and soldiers that High King Festten intended to destroy them.

  But Elega wasn’t thinking about destruction at the moment. She was marveling at her sister, who had somehow become a force to be reckoned with in the struggle between kingdoms. Like Torrent, she had found a way to make a difference.

  Elega was keenly proud of her.

  “Did you really threaten your sister?” King Joyse asked as soon as everyone was settled. “Did you really threaten to unleash Darsint against the whole Alend army?”

  The light of lanterns dimmed Myste’s beauty. Inside the tent, she seemed less sure of herself, more easily embarrassed. A bit shamefacedly, she answered, “I fear so. I made an effort to be careful – to say less than I meant, rather than more. But I am certain Elega understood me.”

  Happily, Elega nodded. “I was glad
of it, however – when I recovered from the shock. I needed as many arguments as possible to set before the Alend Monarch.”

  No doubt about it: Myste was definitely blushing. “Still I am relieved you did not put me to the test. My threats became hollow almost at once. As soon as we parted – as soon as you helped me from the Alend camp – Darsint and I left. We were not there to take any action against you.”

  “No?” Elega was surprised. “I would have sworn you were watching everything I did for days afterward.”

  “Where did you go?” Geraden put in. Like Terisa, he appeared to have some special reason to be pleased by Myste’s presence. Perhaps it was because he loved families. Not for the first time, Elega noticed that he had changed enormously. The sense of ability in him was unmistakable. In retrospect, she was ashamed that she had ever treated him with scorn.

  Myste glanced a bit awkwardly at her father. “Elega told me what I needed to know,” she said slowly. “When I heard the High King was marching, not to Orison, but into the Care of Tor, I felt that my way became clear. Darsint and I went to help the Perdon, if we could.”

  The Perdon, who fought a suicidal battle against the forces of Cadwal because his King had abandoned him.

  “ ‘I have always believed that problems should be solved by those who see them,’ ” Terisa said, quoting softly. Her eyes shone as if she, too, were proud of Myste.

  King Joyse didn’t react to the implications of what Myste and Terisa said, however. He only smiled at them, and at Elega, basking in their company. “That was well done, Myste,” he murmured. “Go on.”

  His attitude relieved Myste. “There is little to tell, really,” she said more easily. “We traveled as best we could, but the High King’s army was between us and the Perdon. We were saving Darsint’s fire, since we knew it would soon be depleted, so instead of attacking High King Festten from the rear we attempted to pass around him to the fore. By the time we succeeded, the Perdon had already been trapped and killed.

  “That was a hard time for us. Seeing my distress” – her eyes were wide with fondness – “Darsint wanted to assail the Cadwals, to hurt them as much as he could alone.” Darsint nodded. “But I felt certain that his force must not be wasted, and I required him to withhold. Together, we waited and watched, gathering as much knowledge of the High King’s movements as we could without betraying our presence.

  “When your army came, we were once again on the wrong side, unable to reach you directly. This time, however, our position was fortuitous. Circling the High King’s forces, first to the south, then to the west, we encountered the Termigan and his men.

  “Without him, we would not have been able to join you, except by a ruinous expenditure of Darsint’s fire.”

  Geraden interrupted again. “Did he explain himself? When Terisa and I asked him to come, he refused.” He looked to Terisa for confirmation. “He was pretty convincing about it.”

  Myste shook her head. “He told us only what he has already suggested to you. He held to Sternwall as long as he could, but at last the pits of fire in the ground left him nothing of his father’s Seat. With what fighting men he could spare from the care of his people, he set out across-country to Esmerel, intending” – she faltered momentarily, then resumed in a quiet, sad tone – “intending, I think, to both use and end his hate in one swift blow against Master Eremis.

  “I cannot truly vouch for the state of his mind,” she added. “I can only say that he was not easily persuaded to join us, to join his purpose to ours.”

  “I’ve seen that look before,” Darsint muttered. “Had his death all planned – until he met us. Now, who knows?” The champion may have shrugged inside his armor.

  “It was not Darsint’s presence that persuaded him,” Myste continued. “He is savage against all Imagery. And I do not think he was moved by the knowledge that you were here.” She faced her father frankly. “He is another lord who believes he was abandoned by his King. But for some reason your alliance with Alend changed him. He finds – Father, I must say this. I fear he finds his old enemies easier to trust.”

  A shadow passed across the King’s face. “Who can blame him?”

  Awkwardly, Myste finished her story. “Once he was persuaded, however, he did not hold back. Since then, we have spent our time searching for a way past the Cadwals which would spare Darsint’s fire. Without the Termigan’s aid, we could not have reached you as we did.”

  As she spoke, King Joyse’s expression cleared. “That is well,” he said when she was done. “If we are defeated, my lord Termigan will be able to do whatever he wishes with his hate. And if we are victorious, he will know that we could not have won without him. That may do much to heal him.

  “In the meantime, daughter, you have brought us new hope. Did you know that your meeting with Darsint was augured?”

  Elega looked at King Joyse sharply. Augured?

  Both Terisa and Geraden were grinning.

  “Havelock cast an augury,” Joyse explained, “in which you appeared, on your knees before Darsint as if you were begging him not to kill you.”

  Darsint shifted his weight uncomfortably. “She did kneel. I was hurt – out of my head. Couldn’t get my eyes in focus. Everything was changed, enemies everywhere. Someone came, I fired. Nearly God-rotting killed her.

  “Then I heard her voice. A woman. On her knees. Felt like shooting myself when I saw what I did to her.”

  Distinctly, as if he wanted no mistake on this point, he said, “She saved my life.” There was a threat in his tone. He had no intention of letting Myste be harmed again.

  For a moment, the King’s blue eyes blurred. “When you disappeared from Orison,” he continued to Myste, “I knew in my heart where you had gone – and I was afraid. That is why,” he explained to Terisa, “I was so harsh with you, when I asked you to account for her absence. I could not resolve my fear of the truth.

  “In fact,” he went on, addressing Myste again, “when I first realized that the champion in Master Gilbur’s glass was the same as the figure in Havelock’s augury, I almost decided to shatter that glass. To spare you. So that Darsint would not be translated. Havelock had great difficulty dissuading me. Allowing that translation to take place – trusting the risks I had chosen—” His smile was sad and relieved and strong all at the same time. “That did not come easily. If I had let the Fayle urge me to stop the Congery, my determination might have faltered.”

  Geraden cleared his throat. “Adept Havelock tried to tell us about that augury – tried to tell Terisa. I’m still not sure why. All he managed to do at the time was scare us. But maybe he was trying to make us understand you better. As well as he could, in his condition—”

  Dryly, King Joyse replied, “Perhaps. Don’t underestimate him. At his worst, he’s still the best hop-board player I know.”

  Without preamble, Terisa said, “There’s got to be something we can do.”

  At once, the King shifted his attention to her. “My lady?”

  “They’re all here.” She didn’t seem to be speaking to him, or to anyone. Her eyes studied the air; her attention was inward. “All the pieces are in place. Myste and the champion. Elega and Prince Kragen. The Masters. Lebbick’s army. He and the Perdon and the Tor all did what they were supposed to do before they were lost – sacrificed so the rest of us would come to this position. Even Torrent did her part. Everyone is doing what you want them to do, what you gave them the chance to do.

  “Except Geraden and me.”

  Again, King Joyse asked softly, “My lady?”

  No one else spoke. Geraden studied Terisa intently; Myste watched her with shining eyes.

  “We’ve done what we can,” Terisa said. “We helped bring about this position. But now we’re useless. We might as well be pushed off the board.”

  Now she met King Joyse’s gaze. “What do you want from us?”

  He smiled at her as if she were wonderful. “My lady, I can beat the High King. I want you to defeat Mas
ter Eremis.”

  Before she could react – before Geraden or Elega or anyone else could say anything – Castellan Norge strode through the tentflaps, unannounced and hurrying.

  “My lord King,” he said with as much urgency as his phlegmatic manner could convey, “you’ll want to see this. Something’s going to happen.”

  So quickly that he may have been trying to escape the questions Terisa and Geraden wanted to ask, King Joyse left his chair and followed the Castellan out of the tent.

  Elega hesitated momentarily; she thought she ought to say something to Terisa and Geraden – or even to Myste and Darsint. But her heart was with her father, with the battle and Prince Kragen; she couldn’t remain behind.

  Outside, she hardly noticed that the rest of the people in the tent joined her only a moment later.

  The valley was full of midmorning sunshine. Only midmorning, after all that had happened—Above the ramparts, the sky was immeasurably blue, as clean and complete as springtime. The air was turning subtly but unquestionably warmer, and under the sunlight the night’s thick snowfall had gone slushy. Where the army had trampled the snow, a few small stretches of dark, wet dirt were beginning to appear. The stream down the center of the valley ran more loudly, taking in water from the snow-melt.

  Like King Joyse and his companions around the pennon, every Mordant and Alend from the valley foot to Esmerel watched what could be seen of High King Festten’s army.

  The Cadwal forces appeared to be withdrawing.

  No, not withdrawing: dividing. The High King parted his men into a new formation, half on either side with a space of clear ground between them as wide as the valley itself.

  “Does he think he can lure us out there?” Norge inquired. “Does he think we’re crazy enough to let him hit us from both sides?”

  “No,” King Joyse snapped, unintentionally brusque. “He is making room.”

  “Eremis is going to translate something,” Terisa breathed to Geraden. “If I go down there, if I get close enough—If I can figure out the Image, the way I did at the crossroads, I might be able to break his mirror.”