The lash of his outrage brought up an unexpected anger from among the secrets of her heart. How much sarcasm was she expected to swallow in one lifetime? “Your guards must have been mistaken,” she retorted. “Maybe the shadows fooled them. Or maybe they were half asleep. I wasn’t covered with blood. I’ve never been down there. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
When she was done, she wanted to give out a crow of joy which would announce to the world what she had achieved.
But the Castellan behaved as if she hadn’t spoken – or as if he hadn’t heard her. Lowering his voice until it sounded like the thongs of a flail being stroked between eager fingers, he said, “I am the Castellan of Orison and commander of the King’s forces in Mordant. Do you wonder how I came to this high position? It’s simple. Midway through his wars for Mordant’s freedom, King Joyse found me prisoner in the stockade of an Alend garrison near the borders of the Care of Termigan. I was hardly more than a boy, but I had been wed” – his throat knotted – “for nearly ten days. Our families were farmers and peasants of Termigan, and those folk wed early. So I had been a married man for ten days – and of those ten I had spent six in the stockade. As it happened, the garrison commander had ridden across my little farm, noticed my wife, and taken a fancy to her. Because I was foolish enough to resist, I was imprisoned.
“But I wasn’t mistreated. No harm was done to me.” He bared his teeth. “I was merely held spectator, so that I had to watch the great variety of things that were done to my wife, by the commander as well as most of the garrison.
“Then King Joyse surprised the garrison. We were released.”
The Castellan’s voice sank as he spoke. “When he observed the zeal with which I took revenge upon the commander, he gave me work which put that zeal to good use. And when I displayed a talent for that work, I rose in his service.
“Now he has lost his mind” – Lebbick was barely whispering – “and it’s my duty to preserve his life and power for the day when he may recover himself and need everything he entrusted to me. Don’t tell me any lies, my lady. If you don’t give me the truth, I’ll tear it out of you.”
Terisa’s throat had gone dry. She had trouble finding her voice. “The King told you to leave me alone.”
“My lady” – a touch of the whip – “I’m rapidly losing patience for the instructions of a madman. My King was in full possession of his wits when he made me his Castellan and commander. That’s the responsibility I intend to fulfill.”
In a strange way, he frightened and moved her at the same time. But she couldn’t afford to feel either fear or sympathy. She had to find some way to defend herself.
“I’m sure you will,” she said as if her small fund of anger were equal to his. “But I think you learned your moral sense from that garrison commander. I’ve told you what I did. Before you call me a liar, you ought to find out if I’m telling the truth. Look at my clothes. They’re clean. Ask Master Eremis. Ask him. Or have you already decided he’s a liar too, without bothering to check what he says? You want to do your job the easy way, by bullying the weakest person you can find. If you did a little work, you might learn something different.”
Then she stopped and held her breath while her heart shook.
A look of pain clouded his glare. “That’s enough, woman,” he said thickly. “When you’ve suffered the way my wife did, I’ll permit that imputation. Until then, you don’t have the right. You are an enemy of Mordant and King Joyse, and you don’t have the right.”
She wanted to babble, I know I don’t I didn’t mean it that way. The pressure to give up everything and tell him what he wanted to know was maddening. Somehow, however, she kept it under control. Instead, she replied, “No, I’m not. I’m nobody’s enemy. Not even yours. We have one thing in common. I’m just a spectator. I don’t have anything to do with any of this.”
For a moment, his jaws clenched, and his eyes darkened, and she thought he was going to let out a blast which would rip her to the bone. Yet he didn’t. He was more dangerous than that: he knew what to do with his anger.
“Have it your way, my lady. I’ll talk to Master Eremis – I’ll check your story. I’ll persuade” – the word was a snarl – “that pig-brained Armigite to go over every step of his tale with me. I’ll talk to every guard in Orison who may have encountered Prince Kragen’s bodyguards – or seen where you were going with Master Eremis. I’ve already studied the place where those men died. They could not have shed so much blood. And at least four people walked through the blood while it was wet. One of them had feet the size of a lady’s.” Though the threat was unmistakable, he emphasized it by raising one hand and cupping it lightly over her cheek. “I’ll have the truth. I don’t care how.”
Turning sharply, he strode out of the room. The door slammed behind him hard. He was capable of hitting her like that. If Master Eremis didn’t somehow convince him that she was telling the truth, she would be at his mercy.
But she had kept her promises to herself. She had done it, done it: she had fended Lebbick away from the truth. There was still hope for Mordant. Because of what she had done. She, Terisa Morgan - a woman who had never learned how to believe in herself. She had made a difference. The idea made her want to start singing. She imagined herself going to the window, flinging open the casement, and shouting out to the world below her – the muddy courtyard, the roofs clogged with snow, the smoking chimneys, the guards patrolling the battlements – “I did it! I lied to the Castellan!” The vision struck her as so ludicrous that she laughed.
She was having such fun that the quick knock at her door didn’t interrupt her. “Come in!” she called without so much as pausing to wonder who might be there.
It was Master Eremis.
He had Geraden with him again.
The Apt wore a baffled expression: he didn’t know why he was there. Nevertheless Terisa was instantly glad to see him. Although she couldn’t tell him what she had just accomplished, she was free to smile at him, and she did that with unfamiliar pleasure.
He grinned back through his confusion, then shrugged in the direction of Master Eremis.
The Imager was scowling as though he wanted no one to realize that he had never been happier in his life.
Closing the door quickly, he strode toward her in a hurry. He seemed to give off an electricity of excitement and urgency, so that simply being in the same room with him made her nerves tingle and jump, ready to go off in any direction. “The Castellan, “he demanded in a rapid half whisper as he crossed the peacock rugs. “He was just here. Why?”
The question closed her throat like a hand clamped around her windpipe.
She knew immediately what he was after: he wanted to know how much of his night’s activities had been betrayed to Lebbick. But she didn’t know how to answer. Geraden was staring at her, perplexed and alarmed by her consternation. She had been warned to keep everything secret from him. How could she reply without putting his life in danger – and without exposing what the Master was trying to do?
Eremis reached her and caught hold of her shoulders, gripped them so hard that he nearly lifted her from the floor. “Tell me!” he hissed furiously, his eyes sparkling. “Why was Lebbick here?”
She felt his power so strongly that for just a moment, perhaps no more than one or two heartbeats, she was nearly overwhelmed by an irrational desire to say, Why did you leave me last night? I wanted to go back to your rooms. But he needed more than that from her. And Geraden was watching. He needed better – and didn’t deserve to be hurt.
Meeting the Master’s strange gaze, she said as clearly as she could, “He doesn’t know anything.”
“Nothing?” He cocked an eyebrow, eased his grip on her shoulders. “Then why was he here?”
At that, her tension increased to the level of fright. Suddenly, a new dimension of uncertainty was added to the situation. Perhaps Master Eremis didn’t know what had happened after he left the meeting. If he didn’t, she shou
ld tell him, make him aware that Apts of the High King’s Monomach had the power to appear and disappear in Orison. But again she couldn’t talk about such things in front of Geraden.
Geraden was watching her with frank worry. If he felt any personal pain over the fact that she and Master Eremis were sharing secrets, it was secondary to his direct concern for her.
She had to say less than she meant. Striving for nonchalance, she replied, “The guards told him I went out with you” – she darted a glance at Geraden – “and came back alone. That made him curious.”
For a second longer, the Master studied her, searching for the truth behind her words. Then he let her go, turned away, and started laughing as if he were having the best time of his life. “Curious?” he chortled. “That old lecher. I will wager gold doubles to coppers that he was more than curious. He must have been avid.”
Geraden looked away. A dull flush spread over his face.
All at once, Terisa was ashamed of herself.
Fortunately, Master Eremis’ mirth was quick to subside. “Well, the stars have smiled on us,” he said, resuming his haste. “I am certain that the Fayle spoke to King Joyse. So it follows that the King said nothing to Lebbick. Either our illustrious sovereign has lost the capacity to understand what he hears, or he does not believe it, or he is unable to achieve a decision. We must act while he leaves us time.”
Immediately, he started for the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “The Masters are gathering. Come.”
Terisa remained where she was. This was too fast. She still felt obscurely ashamed. And she hadn’t told Master Eremis all the things he needed to know.
For that matter, why was the Congery in such a rush to meet? Hadn’t Master Eremis stopped it from summoning the champion last night? What had changed since then?
But Eremis wasn’t prepared to wait. From the doorway, he snapped, “Geraden, bring her!” and stalked out of the room.
That brought the Apt’s gaze back to hers. In a hurry himself, he whispered, “Terisa,” as if the words were being wrung from him, “what is going on?”
“I can’t tell you,” she replied. She was trying to make sense. “I want to. It’s too much for me.” But what she really wanted was to reassure him. “I don’t know what he was laughing about. I didn’t spend the night with him.”
He looked away. At first, she thought he was still in pain. Then she realized that he was just trying to hide his relief. When he turned to her again, his expression was clear.
“We ought to go.” He tried not to smile. “He told me to bring you. I won’t be an Apt much longer if I start disobeying commands this simple.”
He made her feel better. “All right,” she said. “I really don’t know what the Congery is going to do. But we might as well not get ourselves in trouble.”
Enjoying his helpless, idiotic grin, she took his arm. Together, they went after Master Eremis.
On her way down the stone stairs, she missed her moccasins. They were warmer and protected her feet better than the delicate buskins Saddith had recommended. But her discomfort wasn’t enough to make her go back.
When she and Geraden left the tower and entered the main halls, they caught up with Master Eremis: he had stopped to talk to someone. His stance briefly obscured who that someone was; as her angle of vision changed, however, she recognized Artagel.
“That’s Artagel,” Geraden whispered quickly. “I’ve mentioned him. He’s one of my brothers. I asked him to keep an eye on you – give you some extra protection. I would introduce you if we weren’t supposed to be in a hurry.”
His words left a trail of electricity across her mind. So Artagel hadn’t told Geraden about last night. And if he hadn’t told Geraden, he probably hadn’t told anybody. There was a real chance that Master Eremis didn’t know she had been attacked.
Artagel was leaning casually against the wall, a smile on his lips, his sword prominent on his hip. He seemed to be sneering politely at something the Imager had said.
Master Eremis shook his head. “Artagel, Artagel,” he murmured sadly, “I thought we were friends.”
“So did I.” Artagel’s smile might have been an insult. “But Geraden assures me you’re no friend of his – so I’m no friend of yours. “
The Master turned a gaze Terisa couldn’t interpret on Geraden. Then he looked back to Artagel. “Do you always let him choose your friends for you?”
Artagel laughed easily. “Always. He’s my brother.”
For a moment, Master Eremis stood motionless. His back was to Terisa; the only face she could see was Artagel’s. Somehow, the confident mischief in his eyes increased his resemblance to his brother. Abruptly, Eremis strode away. As he left, he said, “Geraden is mistaken. I am a better friend than he knows.”
Artagel glanced past Geraden and Terisa and shrugged eloquently. As if he were speaking to the air, he commented, “He wants to hire me. He thinks he needs protection. In Orison, of all places. I wonder what he’s afraid of.”
Geraden snorted. “Probably his friends.”
Artagel went on smiling. “Speaking of friends, did you know Nyle is here?”
“No.” Geraden sounded surprised.
“I met him by accident. He didn’t seem especially pleased to see me. But I got him to admit he’s been here for eight or ten days now. I have no idea why he made a journey like that in the dead of winter. He said he just wanted to get away from Houseldon for a while.”
“Sounds like one of your expeditions,” Geraden muttered. Then he added, “He must be hiding. Otherwise I would have run into him. Do you suppose he’s in some kind of trouble?”
“That’s what I thought.” Artagel pushed himself away from the wall. “You should go. I don’t think Master Eremis is feeling patient today.
“My lady.” He gave Terisa a bow and sauntered off down the hall, heading away from the laborium.
At once, Geraden tugged her into motion. “He’s right. We’d better hurry.”
She went with him as quickly as her skirts permitted, but her brain was spinning. After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t Nyle one of your brothers? Why would he come here in the middle of winter and then not try to see you?”
He shrugged without looking at her, as if the question were painful.
She let it go. Instead, she asked, “What kind of ‘expeditions’ does Artagel go on?”
This proved to be a safe topic. “Didn’t I tell you about him? He says he’s too lazy to be a regular soldier, but the truth is that he hates to take orders. So he does what you might call piecework for Castellan Lebbick. Whenever he’s in the mood, he volunteers for something. The Castellan sends him all over Mordant – and probably into Cadwal and Alend, too, but nobody says that out loud. He just came back a few days ago from stopping a smuggler who was selling our crops to High King Festten’s army suppliers.
“When I heard he was here, I couldn’t resist asking for some help. Did I tell you he’s the best swordsman in Mordant?”
She shot a glance of concern and sympathy at him which – fortunately – he didn’t notice. His brother may have been the best swordsman in Mordant, but the man in black was better.
The idea that Artagel could be beaten by a man who appeared and disappeared in Orison at will gave her a shiver of trepidation.
Shortly, she and Geraden crossed the vacant ballroom to the corridor that gave entrance to the laborium and descended the stairs into the former dungeon. Soon they were walking along the passageway that led to the Congery’s meeting hall. Ahead of them, Eremis and another Master entered the chamber. The guards saluted correctly – they certainly betrayed no sign that King Joyse or Castellan Lebbick knew what the Imagers had in mind. Nevertheless Terisa felt a tightening in her chest as she and Geraden followed Master Eremis.
Two or three more Masters arrived after she and Geraden did; then all the doors were closed and bolted, and the Imagers gathered around the curved circle of benches within the pillars. She was starting to recognize
more of them by sight. All the familiar faces were there. Except Master Quillon. That surprised her. She expected – no, there he was, already seated partway around the circle from her. He nodded at the floor as though he were half asleep.
He was the only man in the hall who wasn’t staring at Geraden, Terisa, and Master Eremis with some degree of confusion, curiosity, or indignation.
The light of the oil lamps and torches flickered, making the Masters appear hot-eyed and hollow-cheeked, spectral.
Then Terisa’s attention was drawn to the open center of the chamber. Some of the Masters in her way sat down; others stepped aside to make room for Eremis. She saw the tall mirror which had been set ready on the low stone dais.
The mirror of the champion.
The scene in the glass had changed: the spaceship was gone. But hadn’t Geraden told her that mirrors focused on places, not on people? Had the ship taken off? Or was it simply out of sight? The alien landscape certainly seemed unaltered, despite the shift of details: it was stark, red, and dim, composed of jagged old rocks and sand under the light of a dying sun.
The metallic figures were clustered in the center of the Image – and they were fighting for their lives.
Black flame as liquid as water and as flexible as whips licked at them from all directions. Three or four bodies sprawled around the scene, their machinery and flesh still smoking from great, ragged gashes. The remaining men used the rocks for protection as much as possible and struck back at the black flame with the incessant fire of their guns.