Most of the suite was unadorned, almost unfurnished: its occupant apparently didn’t spend enough time in Orison to care about his rooms. Or perhaps his sense of home was focused exclusively on Houseldon. Whatever the reason, his quarters contained only one piece of decoration – a long rack, stretching across two walls of the sitting room, from which hung a clutter of variously snapped and shattered swords.
“They’re all blades that failed him,” Geraden whispered in explanation as he led her toward the bedroom.
There Artagel lay on an austere bed, a simple wooden frame with strips of cloth woven across it to support a pallet. He had no fireplace, and the air was cool. In addition, he was naked to the waist, except for the bindings wrapped around his middle. Nevertheless sweat streaked his skin, and his eyes smoldered darkly, like secret fires.
Geraden had warned her that he was feverish; but she was still taken aback to see him grinning as though he were about to go down under Gart’s next attack.
She had rehearsed a speech for him, wanting to thank him, but it failed her. There was no fat on him: all his muscles were outlined clearly under his skin. And the sweat emphasized his scars, making them catch the light differently so that she couldn’t ignore them. He had been cut and cut— Part of his chest looked like someone had once stuck a pole through it, and he hadn’t been able to grow enough tissue to refill the wound. And under his bandages was another wound.
Her eyes spilled tears, making him a blur of reflected lamplight. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why he wants to kill me. I swear I don’t know why he wants to kill me.”
“My lady.” His eyes glittered through the blur, and his voice sounded like his eyes. “Your cheek is almost healed. That’s good. When he hit you, I couldn’t see how bad it was. I thought I was too late. Then this idiot” – he was referring to Geraden – “jumped him and nearly got his neck broken. I thought you were both lost. I’m glad you’ve got quick reflexes.”
While Terisa blinked her vision clear, he added, “I’ve been practicing that counter he used on me. I think I know what to do about it now.”
“If you ever get the chance to find out,” Geraden put in gruffly, “I’m going to tie you down until it’s all over. That way, we won’t have to find out whether he can beat you three times in a row. I can’t stand the suspense.”
Artagel’s smile looked like the fire in his gaze. “That’s the trouble with you. You don’t have any confidence in me.”
Geraden wasn’t having a good day. For a moment, Terisa feared he might lose his grip on himself. But somehow he managed to smile back at his brother. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered in a thick growl. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“You heard him, my lady.” Unexpectedly, Artagel began falling asleep. “If you wake up one morning and find yourself dead, with me tied up on the floor beside you, you’ll know what happened. No confidence.” He closed his eyes, and a subtle tension faded out of him.
She and Geraden left him to rest.
***
For two more days, nothing happened. The thaw weakened, but didn’t break. Mindlin sent word that her material had arrived. Argus and Ribuld found no trace of Nyle. To pass the time, Terisa took long, aimless walks through Orison; she even revisited the bazaar because she wanted some fresh air. Now whenever she left her rooms alone at least one guard accompanied her: Castellan Lebbick had made his orders for her protection stricter. But she saw no sign of Prince Kragen or the High King’s Monomach anywhere.
Not long after breakfast on the third day, however, Geraden came to her rooms. “I’ve just had a talk with the Tor,” he announced, trying to sound cheerful. He was feeling too much stress to carry it off, unfortunately.
She asked the natural question. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to tell me about his conversation with Elega.”
“And how did it go?”
“Not very well. I think he underestimated her.” Geraden shook his head. He didn’t like what he was thinking. “You remember he said he wanted to teach her ‘the fear of discovery.’ Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to fear discovery. ‘She declines to be taught,’ he said. In fact, she defied him to produce one scrap of proof that she was in communication with Prince Kragen.
“That was bad enough,” he commented. “Whatever her plan is, it’s already at work. And she’s sure we can’t stop her. But—” He grimaced and met Terisa’s gaze glumly. “She was so convincing the Tor isn’t sure he believes us anymore.”
Terisa winced.
“He made quite a speech about it. He told me that before I aimed any more accusations at my own brother and the King’s eldest daughter I should make an effort to produce a witness or two, instead of relying on empty-headed suspicions.”
“But I saw Prince Kragen and Nyle meet each other,” she protested.
He shook his head again. “They both emerged from behind the same tent. Maybe they just happened to go back there at the same time to relieve themselves.”
“Do you think I’m wrong?”
“No,” he answered at once. “He’s behaving too strangely. There has to be an explanation.” A moment later, however, he added in a pained tone, “But I wouldn’t want Castellan Lebbick to throw him in the dungeon for reasons as thin as what we have.”
That expression of certainty did little to make her feel better.
***
Geraden returned to spend the evening with her. They were together when a guard brought a message from Argus and Ribuld.
It was cryptic:
“Got Nyle. See Artagel.”
So Terisa and Geraden went to see Artagel.
He was half sitting up in bed, with several pillows propped behind his back, and he looked clearer and cooler of eye, less feverish. His smile was distant and a little sad, rather than fierce. “He came to visit me,” he explained. “They picked him up when he left.”
“I don’t understand,” muttered Geraden. “He’s been hiding out for days. Why did he suddenly decide to visit you?”
Artagel tried to shrug; the movement hurt his torso. “If you don’t understand, don’t expect me to figure it out.” He wasn’t being sarcastic. “I don’t understand him any better than I understand you.”
Geraden ignored that remark. “What did he want to talk about? What did he say?”
The memory emphasized Artagel’s unaccustomed sadness. In a thin voice, he said, “He didn’t look glad to see me. I suppose that’s because I’m hurt. But he’s seen me hurt before. At least I’m not dead. If he was worried about me, wouldn’t he be glad to see I’m getting better?
“Anyway, he asked me if there was any news from Houseldon. But he’s been there more recently than I have. He asked me” – Artagel’s eyes avoided Geraden’s – “when you were going to stop embarrassing the family here and go back home where you belong. I didn’t try to answer that.”
Geraden held himself still.
“Then he asked me what would happen to Orison in a siege, now that we’ve got that breach. The last time I saw it, the wall Lebbick is building wasn’t very impressive. He asked me if we had any defense left. He asked me how long I thought it would be before King Joyse got us into a war with somebody. But he wasn’t listening to the answers.
“Then—” Artagel stared at the ceiling while the lines in his face got deeper, cut by what he remembered. “Then he told me how much he admired me. I was his hero – I was always his hero. The first thing he could remember about his own life was wanting to be like me. But he just didn’t have the balance, or the reflexes. And his muscles refused to develop the right kind of strength for a longsword.
“And everybody in the family seemed to be content with him the way he was, when the way he was wasn’t what he wanted. Having his parents and his brothers content with him did nothing except make his heart ache. Nobody expected him to be good at anything. They were proud of me. And they were ambitious for you. They wanted you to marry Elega and become a great Imager. But nobody wanted any
thing from him. Or for him.”
Swallowing hard, Artagel stopped.
“Is that it?” asked Geraden quietly. “He didn’t say anything else?”
“I told you,” Artagel snarled. “Don’t expect me to explain it.” But his anger wasn’t aimed at Geraden. “The best I could think of was to ask him how he managed to admire me, when I didn’t even have a home of my own or a woman who could put up with me, not to mention children, and I was lying here with a stupid hole in my ribs after the High King’s Monomach had already beaten me twice.”
Geraden put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. There was nothing you could have said that would have made a difference. He’s already committed.” His tone was more reassuring than his expression. “He was just trying to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For choosing the other side.” Geraden sounded like he understood perfectly. “If everything he and Elega and Prince Kragen are planning works out – and you and I don’t turn our backs on King Joyse – he might end up being responsible for our deaths.” A note of grimness came into his voice. “That’s why we have to stop him. He’ll hardly be able to stand the rest of his life if he has both of us on his conscience. On top of everything else.”
Terisa watched the two brothers study each other. Finally, Artagel managed a crooked smile. “Well, I’m not going to be much help. That physician swore he’ll have me clubbed if I try to get out of bed too soon. But there probably isn’t a guard in Orison who doesn’t know Ribuld and Argus are trying to do you a favor for me. You should be able to get all the support you need.”
Somehow, Geraden chuckled. “I would rather have you. But I suppose I ought to be satisfied with one or two thousand of Castellan Lebbick’s best men.” Then he sighed. “I hope he doesn’t keep us waiting much longer. I want to know what’s going on.”
Terisa felt the same way.
***
As it happened, Nyle didn’t keep them waiting much longer. In fact, if Argus and Ribuld hadn’t found him when they did, they probably would have missed him altogether. Before dawn the next morning, while Terisa was still in bed, tangled in sweaty sheets and dreaming that she could see Gart’s blade as it came for her like the edge of a star, she was awakened by a wooden pounding and Geraden’s voice.
“Terisa. Terisa.”
Naturally, she decided the noise must be coming from the door to the secret passage. She peeled the sheet off her naked back and climbed, instantly shivering, out of bed to let Master Quillon or Adept Havelock in. But that didn’t make any sense. Why were they knocking so loudly, when she had forgotten to put a chair in the wardrobe to block the door?
With a wrench, her perceptions corrected their orientation. Was it really this cold, or was she just chilled by the effect of her dreams? Her robe was on the chair that should have been in the wardrobe. She snatched it up, got her arms into the sleeves, knotted the sash around the deep velvet. Geraden? Shivering so hard she nearly lost her balance, she went into the sitting room and unbolted the door.
Light from the lamps outside washed inward, sweeping Geraden with it.
“Come on,” he whispered at once. “We’ve got to hurry. He’s leaving.”
“Leaving?” Her voice shook wildly. “What are you talking about? What time is it?”
“Almost dawn.” He was breathing hard: he had been running. “It’s Nyle. This is our chance to find out what he’s doing. Maybe it’s our chance to stop him.”
“Leaving?” she repeated. Her robe seemed to hold no warmth at all. “How can he be leaving? Where can he go?”
“That’s what we’ll find out,” Geraden hissed. “Just get ready. He was in the stables when Argus and Ribuld finally figured out what he was doing. He’s probably in the courtyard by now. He’ll be out the gate by the time you get your clothes on. We’ve got to hurry. “
Some of his tension reached her. She turned to look for some clothes. Which clothes? Her old shirt and pants. And the sheepskin coat. The warm boots. There was still a small fire in the hearth. Why was she so cold? “How can we follow him?” she asked, trying to get herself under control. “He’s practically gone already.”
Geraden permitted himself a growl of exasperation. “Argus is waiting for us. Ribuld will follow Nyle. He’ll leave us a trail. Come on.”
She got herself moving and tried to hurry.
Violent tremors made her hands fumble. As familiar as these clothes were, she had trouble putting them on. From the privacy of the bathroom, she asked, “What’s happened to the weather? I’m freezing.”
“Bitter, isn’t it,” he muttered. “The thaw is over – at least for a while. But there’s no new snow. We would be better off if there was. It would slow down anybody who might be marching in this direction. And it might make it easier for us to follow Nyle.”
A part of her was glad that she was too cold and rushed to think about what she was doing. If she thought about it, it might turn out to be crazy. Her rooms were still full of nightmares. It would be good to escape them.
A moment later, she pulled on her coat and left the bathroom. “I’m ready,” she said, although that was probably nonsense. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand, and they left.
They went down the stairs almost at a run. Holding his hand gave her the illusion that she could keep him from falling, but he didn’t stumble. All she remembered about the stables was that they were somewhere near the warren of rooms where the guards were quartered. And she had never ridden a horse. The route he chose appeared convoluted because it bypassed a number of long, straight halls and passages that ran in the wrong direction. The exercise was just starting to generate a little human warmth inside her coat when he brought her to the place where Orison wintered its horses.
The guard at the side entrance nodded sleepily and said. “Argus is waiting. Keep it quiet. Nobody’s supposed to be here this early. Upsets the horses.” Then he let them in.
The low ceiling was supported by a great number of stone pillars, as well as by bulky wooden posts which also anchored the sides and rails and gates of the individual stalls. In addition, many of the stalls had been constructed haphazardly, with the result that the aisles between them were crooked. Consequently, the true dimensions of the place were hard to see. Its size was only apparent from one of the main aisles, which met like roads in the center of the stables.
During his tour, Geraden had taken Terisa to the center and showed her that the stalls stretched cavernously for a hundred yards in each direction.
The ceiling multiplied noise; but the place was much quieter now than she remembered it. Still, a constant rustling murmur punctuated with staccato thuds and coughs filled the air as hundreds of horses snuffled in their sleep, broke wind, shifted positions, and knocked their hooves against the slats of the stalls. So many animals put out enough heat to make the cavern warm, one of the most noticeable effects of which was to perfect the sweet, thick stench of horse droppings and urine fermenting in sodden straw. Together, the noise and the warmth and the smell were comforting in an odd way, like a return to a primitive womb. And the womb-like atmosphere was increased by the fact that at night the stables were lit only by a few small lanterns placed at considerable intervals along the aisles. Nevertheless the air made Terisa feel that she had fungus growing in her lungs.
Geraden put his finger to his lips unnecessarily and led her forward.
She spared as much attention as she could to keep her feet out of the brown piles that dotted the aisles, but she had a number of other things to think about. Now that she was more awake, she was both excited and fearful. She was going to go out. For the first time since this whole experience began, she was going to see the outside of Orison. On the other hand, she believed instinctively that something was about to go wrong.
Geraden spotted Argus. The guard stood near a lantern with three horses, already saddled. They nickered and snorted softly, complaining about being put to work
so early in the morning. Geraden waved and hurried toward the grizzled veteran.
Bracing herself to endure Argus’ crude sense of humor, Terisa followed.
Over leather clothes, Argus wore a mail shirt and leggings; over his mail, a cloak that looked like a bearskin. His iron cap was on his head. A dagger hung at his belt opposite his longsword, but he had left his pike behind. As Geraden and Terisa reached him, he grinned, showing the gaps where several of his teeth had been knocked out. “Good,” he leered. “I have horses. I even have brandy.” He indicated a small pouch tied to the back of one saddle. “You have a woman. This is going to be more fun than guard duty.”
Geraden brushed that remark aside. “How far ahead do you think he is?”
“She’s in my debt, don’t you think?” Argus persisted. “I don’t care how fine a lady she is. The finer the better. I’ve risked my life for her twice now. She owes me a little gratitude.” He reached a grubby hand toward Terisa’s cheek.
“Argus.” Suddenly, Geraden clamped a hold on the guard’s wrist. Though Argus was much larger, Geraden wrenched his hand down. “Do not trifle with me.” Strength echoed in his voice – strength that Terisa hadn’t heard for a long time. “Nyle is my brother. How far ahead is he?”
Involuntarily, Argus winced. “He has his own horse,” he replied as if he were surprised to find himself backing down. “He didn’t have to get permission to take it and go. And he didn’t have to stand around here waiting for you. But Ribuld has him. We should be able to catch up.”
“Then let’s go,” said Geraden impatiently. The echo was gone. “Who gets which horse?”
“This one’s mine.” With a slap to its rump, Argus shifted a rawboned roan stallion out of his way. “You get the mare.” He indicated a smaller horse the color of fresh axle grease. “She likes to kick, but you can handle her. At least she’s tough.