He would have gone on, but Master Eremis cut in smoothly, “Worse than armies, however, is Imagery. And Imagery does not wait for spring. All Mordant is already assailed. Strange wolves have slaughtered the Tor’s son. Ghouls harry the villages of Fayle. Devouring lizards swarm the storehouses of the Demesne. Pits of fire appear in the ground of Termigan – almost within the fortifications of Sternwall.”
The Termigan nodded bleakly. “That’s why I’m here. I’m a soldier. I’m weaponless against pits of fire in the ground.”
“We have no time, my lords,” Master Eremis concluded. “For that reason, I have presumed to do what I have done.”
He paused, and Master Gilbur growled, “Get on with it, Eremis. What have you done?”
Master Eremis’ dour expression nearly broke. Suppressing himself stiffly, he said, “I have invited someone else to our meeting.” Before anyone could react, he called over his shoulder, “My lord, you may come in now!”
Terisa gaped as Prince Kragen strode into the room, accompanied by his two bodyguards.
His bearing showed that his self-assurance hadn’t been dampened. He no longer wore his ceremonial brass helmet, breastplate, and sword sheath. Black silk garments emphasized the darkness of his skin; his mustache gleamed. But once again he had a strong sword belted to his hip. His bodyguards were armed for use rather than show.
Seeing him, the Armigite blanched. The Termigan thrust back his chair and sprang to his feet, hauling at his sword. Master Gilbur’s face darkened apoplectically. The Tor took a swig from his flagon and belched.
“This is surprising,” commented the Fayle in a voice like the rustle of dry leaves. “You are not presumptuous by half measures, Master Eremis.”
“Have you lost your mind?” the Perdon snapped at Eremis. “I warned you that we will not be manipulated. Will you admit the son of the Alend Monarch to our secret counsels?”
One of the bodyguards braced himself between Prince Kragen and the Termigan. Before the man could draw his sword, however, the Prince stopped him. “My lords,” he said with a placating gesture, “hear me. You are surprised – but you are not threatened. Indeed, I am grateful that Master Eremis has provided me this opportunity to meet with you. After my treatment at the hands of your King, I was minded to depart Orison at once. But that would have ensured war between Mordant and Alend. And the Alend Monarch strongly desires peace. It is his greatest wish to form an alliance against the perils of Cadwal and Imagery. Therefore when Master Eremis asked me to remain in Orison, promising me a chance to speak to you, I allowed myself to be persuaded.
“My lords, I have been denied an alliance with Mordant’s King. But surely the same end may be achieved by an alliance with Mordant’s lords?”
“Alend is my enemy,” the Termigan spat at once, still holding his sword. “I’ve had too many brothers and friends killed by Alends who thought it was their right to own our freedom. I didn’t realize, Master Eremis, that you called us together to discuss treason.”
“Oh, treason, forsooth.” The Armigite fluttered his delicate hands, quickly recovering from his initial fright. “For myself, I am delighted to see Prince Kragen on grounds of friendship. What is your loyalty, my lord Termigan – to King Joyse, or to Mordant? You know what our King has done – and not done – to meet our need. I call it treason to obey him further. Mordant,” he added piously, “is a higher service.”
“My lord Termigan,” Prince Kragen continued, “you must understand the Alend Monarch’s position. As I have said, his desire for peace is strong. We have known peace since you fought so powerfully for our defeat – and we have learned that peace is better than war. But your King has not been content with peace. He has created the Congery.
“My lords,” he said generally, “the Congery represents great danger. While your King held it strongly, so that it served the causes of peace, we were able to bear the threat. But now your King has become weak. Mordant is under attack by Imagery – and Imagery is not used in your defense. How are we to explain this? Either your King has gone mad and no longer cares to defend what he fought so long to win. Or he has gone mad and now wields the Congery against his own land, preparing his strength” – Master Gilbur started to protest, but the Prince overrode him – “so that in time he will be able to destroy us all!”
“That is a lie!” Master Gilbur barked, pounding the table. “Of course King Joyse is mad. But he does not use the Congery! By the balls of the arch-Imager’s goat, we are not the cause of this peril!”
Prince Kragen didn’t take offense. “You speak for yourself, Master Gilbur,” he said mildly, “and for yourself I believe you. That the Congery desires our meeting augurs well for its honesty. To my mind, Master Eremis has proven himself true by bringing us together – and by gaining the Congery’s permission to tell us what the Masters mean to do in Mordant’s defense. Sadly, however, that changes nothing. Your King has become weak. Therefore Cadwal aspires to possession of the Congery. And therefore Alend must fight. We cannot permit so many Imagers to become a weapon in the hands of the High King.
“My lord Termigan, you have lost much in war against us. We also have lost much. But Mordant and Alend together will lose a great deal more if Festten becomes the ruler of the Congery.”
“Well said!” cheered the Armigite. “Well said!”
The Perdon was looking hard at Master Eremis. After a moment, he said softly, “You are wiser than I realized, Master Eremis. If I had known that you are so farsighted, I would have come to you for counsel sooner.”
Eremis’ eyes glittered, but he didn’t permit himself to smile.
The Prince’s argument was enough to make the Termigan reconsider. He lowered his sword; frowning in thought, he stared at the table.
Unexpectedly, the Tor banged his flagon to the table. “Oh, sit down, my lord Termigan. So much upright anger makes me tired. Let us learn what more surprises are in store for us.”
“Before we go further,” the Fayle said dryly, “perhaps Master Eremis will explain why he has brought this young woman to hear what we say and decide.”
Taken by surprise, Terisa’s heart started to pound again.
Abruptly, the Termigan slapped his sword back into its sheath and sat down. His flat eyes looked at no one. “Yes, Master Eremis. Account for the woman. You ask us to accept too much too quickly.”
Master Eremis opened his mouth to answer, but Prince Kragen was faster. “My lords, she is the lady Terisa of Morgan. I know nothing of her. Yet I am in her debt. During my audience with your King, she did all she could to spare me humiliation. For that, the gratitude of Alend is hers.” He gave Terisa a formal bow. Then, his voice at once velvet and iron, he added, “My lords, I must ask you to treat her with respect.”
Master Gilbur snorted softly.
The Tor peered past the Fayle at her through a blur of wine. “You were with that boy of the Domne’s,” he said thickly. “Geraden. When I arrived.” Without warning, his eyes filled with tears. Blinking furiously, he leaned back in his chair, then slapped his hand down on the table. “Take my gratitude as well. Prince Kragen and I will see that you are treated with respect.”
Gulping from his flagon, he slumped to the side as if he had lost consciousness.
“Very touching,” the Armigite murmured without quite looking at Terisa. “What will we have next? Offers of marriage?”
The other lords, however, seemed to think better of the Tor than of the Armigite: they didn’t acknowledge his sarcasm. Instead, they fixed their attention pointedly on Master Eremis, and the Termigan said, “I’ll respect her well enough when I understand why she’s here.”
“My lords” – Eremis spread his hands in an expansive gesture – I will tell you. Will you be seated, my lord Prince?”
“Thank you.” Smoothly, Prince Kragen moved to a chair beside Terisa, between her and the Fayle. His eyes gleamed at her. “May I sit at your side, my lady?” he murmured. He didn’t wait for her permission, however. As he sat
down, she noticed that his hands were well manicured, but there were ridges of callus on his palms and fingers.
His bodyguards stationed themselves behind him.
“As you have heard,” Master Eremis resumed at once, “she is the lady Terisa of Morgan. She was brought among us by Imagery.”
No one reacted to this announcement: perhaps it was self-evident.
“Beyond that, you already know as much of her as I do – certain secondary details aside.” He couldn’t resist a leering grin that made the Armigite snigger. But he suppressed it quickly. “She reveals nothing. She has no discernible talent for Imagery. I brought her here so that you will understand what the Congery has done in an effort to answer Mordant’s need – and what we now propose to do.
“My lords, our dilemma is yours, and we are not blind to it. Mordant is in great danger. And King Joyse has lost his senses. Therefore we have done what Imagers have always done. We have cast an augury.
“A great amount of time was required to do this. It is not a simple thing to create the glass needed for such specific augury. But when the glass was done, the augury was cast. As best we can, we have acted on what we learned.
“I will not trouble you with lengthy explanations of augury. It is enough to say that the matter of interpretation is difficult. Put simply, our augury shows Mordant’s peril. It shows an alien figure of great power. It shows scenes of victory. And it appears to imply a connection between the figure of power and the Domne’s youngest boy, Geraden.
“As it happens, this same figure of power is visible in one of Master Gilbur’s most celebrated mirrors.”
Master Gilbur gave the room an indiscriminate glare.
“We came to the conclusion,” Eremis continued, “that this figure was the champion who would save Mordant – if he were translated in the right way. And we agreed – not without some debate – that it must be Geraden’s task to perform the translation.”
He leaned back and indicated Terisa with a nod. “She is the result. In some way that we cannot explain, Geraden’s translation went awry.” Then he paused to enjoy the perplexed frowns and muttering of the lords.
The Tor twitched in his seat. “I know that Geraden,” he rumbled. “He is a good boy. A true son of his father.” Absentmindedly, he yawned and took another pull from his flagon.
After a moment, the Armigite said in a tone of rising indignation, “Do you mean us to believe, Master Eremis, that Mordant is to be saved by this”—he waved the back of his hand in Terisa’s direction—”this woman?”
“No, my lord Armigite.” The Fayle’s voice was as dry and brittle as ever, but it held an unexpected authority. “Master Eremis would never ask that of a man who has no wife and no daughters. He means us to understand the decisions which the Congery has made because of the lady Terisa’s translation.”
“Exactly, my lord Fayle.” Despite his stern expression, the laughter in Master Eremis’ eyes implied a comment on the Armigite’s embarrassment. “It is my hope that seeing the lady Terisa will enable you to grasp why we have determined now to turn our backs on the obvious interpretation of our augury.
“Though he figures prominently in the augury, we have decided to forgo Geraden’s assistance. Master Gilbur will perform the translation as soon as you wish him to do so.”
Terisa thought the room was getting colder. But— she protested. But— That wasn’t what the Congery had decided. Master Eremis was going too far.
The Tor made a soft snoring noise. The other men were more attentive, however. The Termigan stared at Master Eremis. The Armigite’s mouth hung open. Prince Kragen’s gaze darted watchfully around the room, gauging what he saw. The Fayle moved his lips as if he were talking to himself. In the surprised silence, Terisa could hear the creak of the bodyguards’ leather as they shifted on their feet.
All at once, her sense of the situation changed. Despite his strange manner, Master Eremis had the ability to amaze her. Now she understood what he was doing. He was trying to forge an alliance, trying to place all three of the forces here – the lords, the Congery, and Alend’s representative – into positions from which they would find it impossible to refuse him. Lacking the strength of the King, or even the authority of the mediator of the Congery, he was forced to resort to these subtle ploys. But the point of his maneuvering was to save Mordant.
Abruptly, Prince Kragen slapped his hand down on the table and crowed, “Bravely done, Master Eremis! You are audacious and resourceful, and you have my admiration. This is the union you offer us – Alend and the lords of Mordant and the Congery. I would not have believed there to be a man anywhere bold enough to make such a proposal – and clever enough to make it possible by bringing us together.”
“Master Eremis is indeed audacious and resourceful,” said the Fayle. “Our reward for forming the union he wishes is the chance to employ the Congery’s champion as if he were our own.”
“You say a ‘figure of power,” ’ the Termigan put in brusquely. His tone suggested distaste, but his flat eyes revealed nothing. “What do you mean?”
“A moment, my lord Termigan,” the Fayle insisted mildly. “I must claim precedence.”
The Termigan closed his mouth.
“Emend me if I am mistaken, Master Eremis.” The Fayle’s blue eyes glittered like a bird’s. “Has not King Joyse forbidden any translation that deprives its object of volition?”
“He has,” snapped Master Gilbur. “The greater our need for Imagery, the more he strives to paralyze us.”
“And is he aware that your champion will be brought among us involuntarily?”
Master Eremis spread his hands like a shrug. “My lord, that is one of many reasons why we must meet in secret. Our wise King will not lift his hand in Mordant’s defense. But he will take Orison stone from stone to prevent a forbidden translation.” Then Eremis indicated Terisa. “The last time we obeyed his commands, she was the result.”
“I see,” the Fayle replied. “Forgive my interruption, my lord Termigan.”
“For my part,” said the Perdon fiercely, “I favor anything that will keep Festten’s butchers on their side of the Vertigon. I have sworn to send King Joyse my dead and wounded if I am attacked – and I will do it.”
The Armigite looked like he was going to be sick.
The Termigan hadn’t shifted his gaze from Eremis. Softly, he said, “Tell us about this ‘figure of power,’ Master Eremis.”
“What is the need?” Gilbur demanded sourly. “He is augured. We must have him.”
But Master Eremis answered, “He has weapons that hurl a destructive fire. His armor protects him from all attack. Seeing him in battle, we cannot imagine how even an army would be able to stand against him. Surely he will be proof against wolves and ghouls and devouring lizards. Pits of fire will not harm him. He will be able to fight this vile Imagery to its source.”
“Better and better.” Prince Kragen’s smile shone like his mustache. “What is that source, Master Eremis?”
“I believe,” Eremis replied as grimly as his private excitement allowed, “that he is the arch-Imager Vagel.”
The Tor made a snorting noise. He raised his head, glanced around blearily for a moment, then heaved himself to his feet. “My lords, I must go to my bed. I have become too old for so much carousal.”
“Do not go, my old friend,” the Fayle remonstrated gently. “You must help us to a decision.”
The Tor blinked hard. “What decision? I have none to make. I will not return to Marshalt. I am old, I say. These questions are too much for me. If King Joyse means to destroy Mordant, I will be here to assist him. I will stand at his side to the end.” He made a small chuckling noise. “He deserves me.” Then he began to shuffle his bulk toward the door. “My son always said I was a fool and a coward for not giving him more than two hundred men when he first set himself to become King. Now my son is dead. I should not have been so cautious.”
Slowly, he lumbered out of the room.
 
; To Terisa’s surprise, the Armigite said, “The Tor is right. We should all go to bed. A decision like this should not be made quickly.” His eyes showed white, and there was sweat on his upper lip. “What if we are discovered? What if Castellan Lebbick comes upon us? We need time. We must choose with care.” His voice cracked. Struggling for dignity, he concluded, “I do not like decisions.”
With considerable asperity, the Perdon snapped, “My lord Armigite, your father is groaning in his grave. Did he fight so many bloody – handed battles against” – he flicked a glance at Prince Kragen – “against foes of every description, simply to surrender his Care to a half-man who does not like decisions?”
The Armigite flushed, but was too nauseated to retort.
“My lords,” the Perdon went on, “Armigite is bordered on the east by Perdon, on the west by Fayle and Termigan, on the north by Alend. We are enough. The Armigite cannot oppose us all. He will permit us to make his decisions for him.”
There was a moment of silence while the Armigite squirmed and the Perdon looked hotly around him. Then the Fayle said, “Be explicit, my lord Perdon.” He sounded like a dry husk. “What is the decision you propose?”
“I propose the union Master Eremis has offered us,” replied the Perdon at once. “I propose that we join together to draw up a plan of battle—against Cadwal as well as against these attacks of Imagery. King Joyse we will ignore. When Prince Kragen has had time to ready his forces” – he spoke as though he could hear trumpets, and his bald head seemed to gleam with enthusiasm – “the lords of the Cares will march with him and the champion of the Congery for the preservation of the realm.”
Master Eremis sat very still, trying not to smile. Down the table from him, Gilbur had covered his face with his heavy hands.
“That’s eloquent, my lord Perdon.” The Termigan’s tone betrayed neither approval nor sarcasm. “I’m considered a loveless man. Certainly, I’ve got little use for any of you, my lords – and none for King Joyse. But Termigan is my Care. From the depths of its copper mines to the expanse of its wheat fields and the heights of Sternwall’s towers, it is mine.