A Man Rides Through

  She didn’t stop; it was too late to draw back. “That’s why you’re here,” she said, beating out the words against her thighs. “Why you want to let me out. You want me to be your prisoner. You know he cares about me,” cares about me, oh, Geraden! “and you want to use me against him. You think if you threaten to hurt me he’ll do whatever you want.”

  “You misjudge me, I say. It is not fear. Fear that puppy? I would rather lose my manhood.”

  She heard him, but she didn’t slow down. “The only thing” – which was already a lie, but she had no intention of telling him the truth – “the only thing I don’t understand is why you didn’t just send Gart to kill the lords of the Cares and Prince Kragen. Why else did you get them all together? You didn’t want any alliance – you knew that meeting would fail. You were just trying to undermine all of Cadwal’s enemies at the same time.

  “Why didn’t you finish the job? With the lords and Prince Kragen dead, Alend and Mordant and even Orison would be in chaos. What were you afraid of?”

  Abruptly, Master Eremis swung his own fists and hit the bars so hard that the door clanged against its latch. “It was not fear. Are you deaf? Do you have the arrogance to ignore me? It was not fear!

  “It was policy.”

  Terisa stared at him past the bars, past the stark conflict of lamplight and shadows on his face, and murmured softly, in recognition, “Oh.”

  “I did not send Gart against the lords and Kragen,” he said harshly, “because it was impossible to be sure that he would succeed. The Termigan and the Perdon and Kragen are all fierce fighters. Kragen had bodyguards. And any man who killed the Tor might drown in all his blood. Also it was much too soon to risk revealing my intentions. The gamble I chose to take was safer.

  “When Gilbur performed his translation, the champion came to us facing the direction we wanted him to go – in toward the most crowded parts of Orison, the rooms and towers where his havoc would be most likely to bring the lords and Kragen to ruin. That was why I wanted him, the only reason I permitted his translation to take place.

  “Of course,” the Master said in digression, “once he had been translated, it was necessary to preserve him from Lebbick. I could not allow some bizarre happenstance to bring him into alliance with Orison and Mordant. Let him rampage now and do harm as he wishes, without friends or understanding. That also serves me. But my chief intent was more immediate.

  “I wanted him to gut Orison, destroying all my principal enemies at once. If he had gone that way – if you had not turned him, my lady – my gamble would have brought a rich return.

  “Policy, my lady. If it succeeds, I succeed with it. If it fails, I remain to pursue my ends by other means.

  “And what I have done where Geraden is concerned is also policy, not fear. He is my enemy – and he appears to possess a strange talent. Therefore I will destroy him. But I will destroy him in a way that serves my ends rather than risks them. I do not” – vehemence bared his teeth – “fear that ignorant and impossible son of a coward.”

  So he admitted it. She was right about him – she had reasoned her way to the truth. That discovery simultaneously relieved and terrified her. She was right about him, right about him. Geraden was innocent, and she had reached the truth alone, without anyone to help or rescue her. It was an intense relief just to recollect that he had never been able to finish anything he started with her: that he hadn’t gotten her killed – or into his bed; hadn’t gotten her confused enough to turn her back on Geraden.

  On the other hand, there were no witnesses; no one else had heard him. She was alone with her knowledge – alone with him.

  And he had a key to her cell.

  Without meaning to do it, she had stripped herself of her only protection – the appearance of incomprehension that let him think she wasn’t a threat to him, led him to believe he could do anything he wanted with her.

  In quick panic, she tried to fake a defense. “Prove it,” she replied, groaning inwardly at the way her voice shook. “Leave me here. Go back to the reservoir and save Orison from Alend. If you aren’t afraid of him, you don’t need me.”

  Her own alarm was too obvious: it seemed to restore his humor, his equanimity. He began to smile again, voraciously.

  “Tush, my lady,” he said in deprecation, “you do not truly wish that. I have touched you in places you will never forget. No man will ever treasure the ardor of your loins or the supplication of your breasts as I do – most assuredly not that lout Geraden, whose clumsiness will make his every caress a misery to you. If you consult your heart, you will accompany me willingly.

  “If you should prove useful to me, how does that harm you? You will still be my lady. And you will be rewarded. I am going to win this contest. King Joyse considers it a mere game, an exercise in hop-board, and that is one of many reasons why Mordant will be defeated. Alend will be defeated, and Cadwal will be consumed. When I am done, there will be no power left in all this world which is not mine. Then the woman who stands with me will have riches and indulgence beyond her wildest imaginings.

  “You would look well in that place, my lady. If you accompany me willingly, it will be yours.”

  Terisa studied him hard. She didn’t listen to what he was saying; his offer meant nothing to her. But the fact that he made it meant something. It meant something. When he stopped, she muttered, “Take Saddith. She wants the job,” speaking aloud for her own benefit, so that the sound of the words would help her think. “I’m still trying to figure out why you bother pretending to seduce me. You’ve got a key. You’re bigger than I am. Why don’t you just come in here, rape me, club me over the head, and let Gilbur or Vagel translate me to some other dungeon where you can use me without having to be nice about it?”

  “Because” – he had recovered from the unpleasant surprise she had given him; now he was very sure of himself – “that is not what you truly wish, my lady. Your deepest desire is not to defy me, but to open yourself so that I may teach you the joy of your body – and mine.”

  She shook her head, hardly hearing him. Any explanation he gave was automatically false. Still for her own benefit, she went on, “You’re not just afraid of Geraden. You’re afraid of me.” She felt a growing sense of wonder and dismay. “You’re trying to trick me for the same reason you’ve been trying to have me killed. You’re afraid of me.”

  This time when Master Eremis laughed his amusement was unforced and unmistakable. “Oh, my lady,” he chortled, “you are a wonderment. You flatter yourself beyond recognition. If you were not so earnest, I would believe you drunk with pride.

  “Nevertheless I will respect what you say. Perhaps you desire a little force. Perhaps that will add spice to your eventual surrender. Since you suggest it—”

  With a final chuckle, he pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Terisa reared back and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Guards!”

  Master Eremis froze. His gaze flicked away down the passage, then sprang back to her in instant fury.

  She put her whole heart into it:

  “Guards!”

  A door clanged in the distance. A rumor of boots ran along the corridor.

  The Imager snarled a curse. “Very well, my lady,” he hissed savagely. “That was your last chance, and you have lost it.” In a swirl of darkness, he turned to leave. “Now you will face the consequences of your foolishness. When Lebbick is done with you” – he spoke sharply enough to raise echoes after him, so that she could hear him as he left – “expect worse from me.”

  Then he was gone.

  His departure was so abrupt – and the approach of the guards sounded so ominous – that just for an instant she thought she had made a mistake.

  That concern evaporated almost immediately, however: it was burned away by the swift, hot awareness that she preferred being left to the Castellan’s mercy. He was unpredictable and violent, capable of almost any atrocity when his loyalties were
outraged. Yet he was faithful – far more trustworthy than the people in whom he had placed his faith. In fact, that discrepancy was what drove him wild. She would rather fight a man like him, who was at least true to his king, than be seduced by a man like Master Eremis, who was false to everybody.

  The guards arrived at her cell, demanded an explanation threateningly because Castellan Lebbick might take them to task for anything they did in regard to her. For a moment, she was right on the edge of telling them what had happened. Master Eremis was here. He’s got a secret entrance to the dungeons. He’s a traitor. But her instinct for subterfuge made her swallow the words. No. She might need them. The Castellan would be back: she might need everything she could possibly tell him.

  Facing the guards as if she had become bold, she replied, “I want to see him.”

  The two men gaped at her. One of them asked stupidly, “Who? The Castellan?”

  She nodded.

  The other leered. “Waste of effort. Last time a woman wanted to see him, he had her stripped and flogged and thrown out of Orison.” He grinned at the memory. “Had nice tits, too. Would have done better to come to me.”

  Terisa closed her eyes to control an upswelling of disgust. “Tell him,” she demanded. “Just tell him.”

  The guards looked at each other. The first one said, “He isn’t going to like it.” But the other shrugged.

  Walking loudly, they went away.

  She sat down on her cot and tried to believe that she knew what she was doing.

  She didn’t have much time to prepare herself. Scant moments after the guards left, she heard Castellan Lebbick’s rage echoing along the corridor.

  “I don’t give a trough of horseshit who she wants to see! You irresponsible sons-of-sheep are going to be cleaning latrines before morning! You’re going to clean latrines until everything you eat tastes like piss and your wives and even your children stink as bad as you do! Who gave you the fornicating permission to let her have visitors?”

  Then the door between the guardroom and the dungeons rang viciously against its frame; and boots came, as hard as hate, along the damp stone corridor.

  Shocked, she found herself murmuring helplessly, Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, on the verge of panic.

  The Castellan stamped to the front of her cell like a man with murder on his mind. The glare in his eyes was fierce enough to wither what little courage she had left; his jaws were knotted with violence. Like a blow, he rammed the key into the lock, turned it, and slammed the door open. The door hit the bars so hard that they belled like a carillon.

  “You heartless slut!” He came into the cell, came straight at her. “I’ve been tearing my guts out over you all day, and you’ve been having visitors!”

  Involuntarily, she flinched back onto the cot, cowered against the wall. “The Tor!” she cried out, trying to keep him from hitting her. “Artagel! They came here. I didn’t ask to see them.”

  “You didn’t have to!” His fists caught her shirt, wrenched her off the cot so fiercely that the seam at one shoulder parted and the fabric ripped like a wail. “Artagel is still too sick to get out of bed, and King Joyse personally told the Tor to let me do my job with you. So instead they both came to see you.

  “What are you plotting? Did they tell you what to say to me? They must have. I half believed that dogpiss story about Eremis and Gart. You couldn’t make that up yourself – you don’t know enough. No, you’re all doing this together. Those riders with the red fur came from the Care of Tor. Artagel is Geraden’s brother.” Convulsive with anger, he twisted her shirt so that it tore down one seam to the hem. “What are you plotting?”

  “Nothing.” She ought to be able to resist him, but her strength had deserted her. “Nothing.” His fury was thrust so closely into her face that she could hardly focus her eyes on it, hardly see him at all; he was a darkness roaring in front of her, clawing at her – too much hate to be endured. She couldn’t do anything more than whimper in protest. “Nothing.”

  “You’re lying!” His intensity seemed to strangle him. “You’re lying to me!” His voice was like a howl stuck in his throat, too congested for utterance. “You’ve got friends, allies. Even when you’re locked in the dungeon, I can’t stop you from plotting. You’re going to destroy us! You’re going to destroy me!”

  She felt him gathering force as if he rose up to consume her; he blotted out her vision. A spasm of his grip nearly dislocated her shoulders. Then he caught his arms around her and began to kiss her as if he had been starving for her so long that the pressure of his need had snapped his self-command.

  She sank into his embrace, into the dark. She let herself fall limp, so that she scarcely felt the violence of his kisses, scarcely felt the iron of his breastplate against her chest. The darkness sucked her away, out of herself, out of existence – out of danger. It took her to a place where he couldn’t touch her and she was safe—

  No. Fading wasn’t the answer. She had to do better than this. It accomplished nothing. Oh, it kept her safe, kept her spirit hidden among the secrets of her heart – but her body would still be harmed. And no one would be left to help Geraden. No one would be left to stop Master Eremis. No one would be left to champion Orison against the real enemy, against Master Eremis and his dire alliance with Master Gilbur and the arch-Imager Vagel, with Gart and Cadwal. It came down to her in the end. Myste had said, Problems should be solved by those who see them. There wasn’t anybody else.

  She was terrified – but the fact that she was capable of escape gave her courage. She remained limp, lifeless, until the Castellan eased his embrace and shifted his hands to the waistband of her pants, bending her backward over the cot. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

  She could see him clearly now, the distress bulging along the line of his jaw, the pale intensity on either side of his nose, the darkness like mania in his eyes. He scared her down to the bottom of her soul, where her fear of her father still lived and burned, distorting her. Nevertheless she caught at his wrists and held them as hard as she could, trying to stop him.

  As if his kisses had made her lucid and crazy, immune to fright, she said, “You didn’t ask them why they came to see me. You didn’t bother. You didn’t ask Artagel to look at Nyle’s body. You didn’t even try to find out the truth. You just want to hurt me more than anything else in the world, and they finally gave you an excuse.”

  Roaring almost silently behind the constriction in his chest, he let go of her and drew back his arm. He was going to hit her hard enough to crush her skull against the wall.

  “They came to see me,” she said – lucid and completely out of touch with the reality of her plight – “because they want me to tell you where Geraden is.”

  While his arm rose and his teeth flashed, he stopped. Surprise or doubt or self-disgust seemed to seize hold of him, cramp all his muscles. Hoarsely, he panted, “You’re lying. You’re still lying.”

  “No.” She shook her head calmly. It was madness to be so calm. “Is it true that you didn’t ask Artagel to look at Nyle’s body?”

  The Castellan was going to hit her. Or else he was going to break down right there in front of her. Precariously balanced between the extremes, he choked, “I asked. He’s had another relapse. Too sick to understand the question.”

  Steady and unafraid, she shrugged away her disappointment as if it were trivial. “Never mind,” she murmured. She might have been trying to console Castellan Lebbick. “I had another visitor. One you don’t know about.

  “Master Eremis was here.

  “Now I can prove he’s a traitor.”

  Lamplight flickered in the Castellan’s gaze. He straightened his back and stood over her as though his body had become stone; he held himself back from bloodshed with an effort of will so savage that it made him gasp for air.

  “How?”

  Unnatural quiet and clenched wildness, Terisa and the Castellan spoke to each other.

  “He put cayenne in his wine to make h
imself sweat, so you would think he was exhausted.”

  “You’ll never prove that.”

  “He gave your guards a potion to make them sleep, so he could get away.”

  “If they’re awake when I check on them, you’ll never prove that, either.”

  “He has a secret way into the dungeon. It comes from his workroom in the laborium. You ought to be able to find it without too much trouble.”

  When she said that, Castellan Lebbick flinched backward. He didn’t loosen his grip on himself, but his eyes betrayed a vast accumulation of pain.

  “If he came here,” he asked, still breathing hard, “why didn’t you go with him? Why didn’t you escape?”

  For some reason, that question cracked her mad calm. She seemed to feel herself shattering, like an eggshell. Without transition, she went from lucidity to the edge of hysteria.

  “Because—” Her voice broke, and her heart hammered as if it couldn’t bear the strain any longer. “Because he wanted to use me against Geraden. The same way he used Nyle.”

  A muscle began to twitch in the Castellan’s right cheek. The twitch spread until the whole side of his face felt the spasm. He was losing control.

  “So if you’re telling the truth” – for the first time since she had met him, he sounded like a man who might weep – “Geraden has always been true to King Joyse. True, when almost nobody else is. And you’re true to Geraden. And I’ve been hurting my King by distrusting you – by trying to protect him from you.”

  Dumbly, Terisa nodded.

  Without warning, the Castellan whirled away. “I’ve got to see this ‘secret way’ for myself.” Slamming the cell door so hard that flakes of rust scattered to the stone, he started down the corridor.

  Almost at once, he broke into a run. His voice echoed across the sound of his boots as he shouted as if he were calling farewell to her – or to himself – “I am loyal to my King!”

  Stricken numb and hardly able to care what happened to her at the moment, Terisa pulled the torn seam of her shirt closed as well as she could. Grief threatened to overwhelm her: her own; the Castellan’s; the hurt and sorrow of anyone who had to bear the consequences of King Joyse’s decline. No, decline wasn’t the right word. He still knew what he was doing. He had brought Mordant and Orison to this dilemma deliberately. Dully, she thought about that to keep herself from considering how close she and Castellan Lebbick had come to destroying each other.