As soon as the idea occurred to her, she knew it would be easy. That kind of failure would be easy. It had been calling out to her all her life, offering to protect her – offering her peace.
“Terisa?”
The word was a rustle of dry pain, so far away that she couldn’t believe it.
“Terisa!” Impossibly weak, hurt, crushed – and stubborn, determined to reach her. “Are you all right?”
Sudden weeping closed her throat. Now she couldn’t escape. Safety was impossible. He was here with her. She was too relieved to hear his voice. She had to stay.
“Terisa?” He fought to control his alarm. “Are you all right?” he coughed. “Can you hear me?”
“Geraden.” Raw strain knotted her chest. “I can’t breathe. I can’t stand it.”
“Don’t try so hard.” His whisper came to her from some place entirely out of reach. “Take shallow breaths. Make yourself relax. I’m getting air from somewhere.”
Despite the awful distance between them, she could hear his distress. He, too, was being crushed.
“We’re going to be rescued. They’ll dig us out. All we have to do is wait.”
“I can’t. Can’t.” The pressure of rejecting her one chance for escape drove her toward hysteria. “Can’t move. It’s breaking my back. Geraden!”
“Don’t think about it.” His voice sifted like dust between the stones. “Put it out of your mind.”
“I can’t.” She locked her teeth to keep from screaming.
“You can.” Somehow, he managed to speak more strongly. “Nothing to it. Think about something else. Tell me what happened. I don’t remember anything – after Master Gilbur hit me. Did he translate the champion? Did the Castellan stop him?”
Just for a moment, he startled her out of her panic. He didn’t remember—? He had come back to consciousness without any notion of where he was or why—
“Terisa.”
Until she heard the edge of need in his appeal, she didn’t realize how much he was depending on her. If he lost her now, he, too, might start screaming.
Deep inside, she wailed, I can’t I’m being crushed I can’t stand it! Let me go! But she struggled to do what he was doing, struggled to think about him instead of herself. He didn’t even know how he had come to be buried alive. “I’ll try.”
In quick, broken phrases, pieces of explanation like her breathing, she described the outcome of Master Gilbur’s translation.
When she finished, he groaned, then fell silent. Before she could panic again, however, he said, “That proves one thing. You’re definitely the one. The one who’s going to save Mordant. The champion.”
“What?” she panted. “What’re you talking about?”
“It was always possible” – the words came out as if he were retching them – “you were just an accident. I went wrong somehow. But that means Master Gilbur was right. Now we know he wasn’t. His champion isn’t going to rescue us.
“You must be the real champion.”
“That’s crazy.” She could feel the bones of her spine being squeezed to chips and splinters. The air was getting worse. You can. Think about something else. “Nothing’s changed. I’m not an Imager. I don’t understand anything. Master Eremis is the only one who can save Mordant.”
The words trailed away. If he were still alive— He was right behind her when the champion emerged. Wasn’t he? What if the collapse of the ceiling caught him? What if he were dead? A pang made her twitch against the press of stone. The ridge across her back settled closer to her.
“Master Eremis.” Somehow, Geraden managed a snort. “You think he can save Mordant? If you can make me believe that, you don’t need Imagery. You’re powerful enough already.”
She bit her lips to keep from crying out, I can’t stand it!
When she didn’t respond, he changed his approach. “Maybe you should tell me the stuff that was supposed to get me killed. I want to understand” – he seemed to be gritting his teeth – “why you trust Master Eremis.”
“All right.” I can’t! You can. His voice was the only thing that kept the rock from breaking her apart.
With a clench of will, she fought to push the pain and the dust out of her mind, the close heat, the immuring weight of the stone. To take their place, she fixed her attention on images of Geraden – the line of his cheek, the way his hair curled above his forehead (the blood trickling from his temple, the way Master Gilbur hit him, that good face smashed under the rubble – No! not that, don’t think about things like that), the quick potential for happiness and misery in his eyes. He was the reason she couldn’t fail, couldn’t fade. Picturing him helped her remember the things he wanted to know.
Her account was erratic, filtered and altered by the press of rock. Nevertheless she told him everything as well as she could. She related what he had already surmised about the decision of the Congery to translate its champion, as well as to send Master Eremis and Master Gilbur to a meeting with the lords of the Cares. Master Eremis had arranged that meeting, but had opposed the translation of the champion. Master Quillon was the one who had warned her not to talk to Geraden. You can. The meeting and its outcome. What she could remember about Prince Kragen. The attack of the man in black.
When she was done, she held her breath for a moment, hoping that would ease the pressure in her chest. But it didn’t.
Geraden’s reaction surprised her. Sounding even more distant and forlorn, he murmured, “So Quillon’s a traitor.”
“What do you mean?”
“He warned you not to talk to me because he knew I would tell King Joyse about that meeting. And about the champion.”
“No.” The dust was turning to stone in her lungs. She couldn’t maintain her equilibrium, could not— “If you put it that way, all the Masters are traitors. They voted for the champion and the meeting. Master Quillon is just more loyal to them than to King Joyse. And he’s been trying to keep you alive.”
Geraden, help me.
He considered for a while. “There has to be a traitor on the Congery.” The pain in his voice was growing stronger. “The man who attacked you had to know where you were going to be. That leaves out the lords and Prince Kragen.
“Ah!” he groaned sharply.
A moment later, however, he continued at a higher pitch, “Even if Eremis told them he was going to bring you, none of them knew you existed when you were attacked the first time. Only the Congery. And for that man to just disappear— It takes Imagery. Some Master wants you dead. He knows you’re the only one who can save Mordant.
“If it isn’t Quillon, it must be Eremis.”
“No,” she said again. That isn’t what I meant. You don’t understand. I need him. The rubble shifted again. She thought she could feel her ribs starting to give. I need him to teach me who I am.
On the other hand, the air seemed to be cooling. That was one small blessing, at any rate.
“He’s trying to save Mordant. Can’t you see that? He’s trying to make alliances. Find ways to fight. Because King Joyse won’t.”
“No, I don’t see that,” Geraden replied distantly. “Don’t you think it was odd for him to take you to that meeting? You didn’t know he was going to do that. How could the man who attacked you know? And why did he rush off and leave you? Maybe he went to use the mirrors so that man could appear and disappear.”
“No. No.” You don’t understand. Pressure. Dust. I put on the sexiest gown I could find and went to his rooms by myself. Come on – think about it. “You aren’t being fair. You were with him this morning. When he came to get me. You saw the way he behaved. He didn’t know I was attacked.
“It had to be set up in advance. How could he know how the meeting was going to turn out? He wanted it to succeed. He certainly didn’t sabotage it.”
“The Fayle was there,” Geraden muttered. “He wouldn’t have anything to do with illicit Imagery. Everybody knows that.”
She wasn’t listening. Her concentration
was focused on what she was trying to say. It was important – she knew it was important. You can. If she survived this – and Master Eremis survived it – she had to talk to him right away. He needed to know there was a traitor on the Congery. “And how could he know where King Joyse would put me? The first attack had to be set up in advance too. But none of the Masters knew you were going to find me instead of the champion.”
Geraden coughed thinly. Then she heard him gagging.
Instantly, everything else rushed out of her head. He was being crushed. “Geraden! Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
For a time, he didn’t answer. She saw him in her mind, dangling from Master Gilbur’s grasp, falling, always falling, his head a smear of blood and splinters of bone. Again she struggled crazily, helplessly, to move.
“Geraden.”
“I’m sorry.” To her amazed relief, he sounded better. “I didn’t mean to scare you. The rock keeps shifting. It came down harder on my throat for a while. Are you having an easier time breathing?”
At first, she had no idea what he meant. If anything, the dust was thicker than ever. But then she realized that the air had become cooler – noticeably cooler than the rubble piled around her. It was almost cold.
“They’re coming,” he said. “They’re going to rescue us. We’re going to be rescued.”
Unable to control herself, Terisa burst into tears.
***
It seemed to take forever. Then it happened all at once. The air grew colder and colder, cooling the rocks, cooling the desperate pressure in her lungs; but there was no other change except an increase in the shifting. That nearly pushed her into panic: every subtle movement threatened to break the bones of her back. She couldn’t keep from sobbing. Nevertheless Geraden’s nearness helped her. And she knew how to hang on when every part of her seemed to be fading.
And suddenly the weight on her simply vanished as though it were no longer real. She heard voices; more stone vanished. Hands came scrabbling through the debris to grab her arms with alarmed roughness and haul her upright.
She was still crying, but the tears washed the grit out of her eyes. She got her vision back in time to see Artagel pull Geraden out from under the place where she had been lying.
Master Quillon held her. “Are you all right, my lady?” He seemed to be weeping himself. “Are you all right?” His concern sounded as wonderful as the grip of his arms, and the cold, open air full of snow, and the freedom to move.
Geraden clung to his brother and coughed as if his lungs were torn. Yet he was breathing. Nothing about him looked crushed. Dust hid the traces of blood on his temple.
Falling snow made the air as dim as twilight, but she could discern what was left of the Congery’s meeting hall. Beyond the shattered stumps of the pillars, the doors were open. Enormous quantities of broken stone still covered the floor. At least a dozen Masters – and many guards with shovels, picks, and crowbars – stood holding mirrors among the debris.
She caught a glimpse of Master Eremis; then he strode away as if he were in a hurry.
Abruptly, Aragel shouted, “We did it!” and the guards dropped their tools and started cheering.
“It was a terrible mistake,” muttered Master Barsonage. Behind the dust caking his face, his eyes were red with weariness. He gripped a tall mirror that she recognized – the glass with the reflected seascape. The mediator’s shoulders shook in exhaustion. “We should never have risked that champion. We were all mad. Castellan Lebbick has fifty men chasing him, but I doubt they will be enough. Still, we have been luckier than we deserve. We have lost only two Masters.” He named men she didn’t know. “And you are alive.
“Please forgive us, my lady,” he finished unsteadily. “We were stupid – but we did not mean you harm.”
Geraden rubbed a cloud of dust from his hair. “Tell that to Master Gilbur.” He was smiling. “If he hit me any harder, he would have broken my neck.” But he seemed unable to keep his eyes in focus. “With your permission, my lady,” he said to Terisa, “I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
Smoothly, as though it were the most graceful thing he had ever done, he fainted in Artagel’s grasp.
There was a gaping breach in the ceiling of the chamber, and that section of the level above it had been gutted; but the worst damage was off to the side, where the champion had burned his way up and out through the wall. Snow swirled inward on an eddying wind. It was falling heavily enough to gather in Master Quillon’s hair and form clumps on the mediator’s wide shoulders.
Geraden believed that she was going to save Mordant.
When she looked up into the snow, she thought she heard the distant thrill of horns.
FIFTEEN: ROMANTIC NOTIONS
She was shivering. The temperature of the air seemed to drop rapidly – although that was just reaction, she knew, just her body and mind suffering the consequences of what she had been through. Her gray gown, so warm and self-effacing earlier, now gave her no protection at all. Granite dust coated every fiber of the material, covered every inch of her skin, made her hair feel like ruined wool.
On the other hand, she was able to understand why Geraden had fainted.
But someone thrust a rude, soldier’s goblet in front of her face. She took it and swallowed deeply because she thought it contained wine.
The liquid turned out to be harsh brandy. A spasm knotted her chest. When she was done coughing and gasping, however, she felt better. More dirt had been washed from her eyes, and her lungs were clearing. She felt warmer.
Geraden remained unconscious. Artagel had stretched him out on the rubble, and a man in a gray doublet and baggy cotton breeches was examining him. After listening to his chest and feeling his pulse, the man sponged the dirt from his face, noticed and cleaned the wound on his temple, then took a vial from a leather satchel and poured some liquid between his lips.
Rising to his feet, the man announced quietly, “He sleeps.” Apparently, he was a physician. “He does not appear seriously hurt. Take him to his bed. Let him rest for an hour or two. Then awaken him for a bath and food. If he has any complaint – or if he is difficult to awaken – I will come at once.”
Artagel nodded, and the man turned to Terisa. “Are you hurt, my lady?”
She tested her arms and legs. They felt unnaturally stiff, and she couldn’t stop shivering, but nothing was damaged.
The physician watched her analytically. “Bruises and headaches must be expected. But if you discover any deep pains or swelling – or if you suffer dizziness or prolonged faintness – you must send for me.”
Taking his satchel, he left the chamber.
Artagel scooped Geraden into his arms. “Take care of him,” Terisa murmured. He gave her a smile and moved away, carrying his brother easily.
“Come, my lady.” Master Quillon was still supporting her. “We will return to your rooms. You, too, will profit from rest, a bath, and food.”
“Yes,” sighed Master Barsonage. “We must all rest. And think. We must find some way to combat this champion. Now that his proper glass is broken, we have no good weapon against him.”
Leaning on Master Quillon because her legs seemed to have developed ideas of their own, Terisa let him help her out of the meeting hall.
As soon as they gained the relative privacy – and the warmer air – of the corridors leading out of the laborium, she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind. “Is Geraden safe now? Do his enemies have any reason to kill him now?”
He hesitated momentarily. “My lady, let me first explain that I do not know what the enemies of Mordant hope to gain by the presence of this champion. For that matter,” he added, “I do not know what we hoped to gain. I abide by the decisions of the Congery because I am an Imager – but that decision I do not understand. He appears to be a danger without aim, allegiance, or purpose. As such, his actions will be random in effect. Perhaps they will aid our enemies, perhaps us.
“Nevertheless,” he continued,
“it is clear that Geraden’s immediate peril is now less. If you were to tell him everything you have heard, what action could he take that would threaten those who do not wish him well?
“And yet, my lady,” he said pointedly, “the reason for his peril— I have never been able to say what that is. I do not know what it is that makes him a threat to his enemies, and so I cannot claim that their malice against him has been made less. The reason for his peril remains.”
Master Quillon’s words drew a shudder from her; but she accepted them. She needed to keep her mind moving. Since he seemed willing to talk, she asked, “Why didn’t King Joyse stop them? Why did he wait so long before sending Castellan Lebbick?”
The Master cleared his throat uncomfortably. “My lady, the Fayle tried to warn King Joyse, but he was not heard. The King refused. Castellan Lebbick had no orders to intervene. He acted upon his own initiative, after the Fayle spoke to him.”
“But why?” she pursued. “I thought King Joyse opposed that kind of translation. I thought that was one reason he created the Congery in the first place – so he could have all the Imagers in one place and make sure they didn’t do any more involuntary translations.”
Master Quillon gave a snort of exasperation. “If I were in a position to explain our King’s actions and inactions, Mordant’s need would be very different than it is now.”
That was the best answer she was able to get out of him.
***
He took her through frightened, tense, and curious crowds in the direction of her tower. When they reached her suite, they found the doors unguarded.
“Wonderful!” he muttered angrily. “By the stars, this is perfect.”
Confusion had begun to creep like fog through the cracks and crevices of her brain. Her reaction to what had happened was growing stronger. Like a woman with a head full of cotton, she asked, “What’s perfect?”
“The guards.” He stopped and cocked his fists on his hips; his head made twitching movements as his gaze darted in all directions. “They were all called to dig in the rubble. You are unprotected. If that butcher who desires your life should choose this moment to attack again, you are lost.”
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 40
