Lebbick looked at the Apt. For the second time, his face went through a strange transformation. Terisa expected him to be livid, but he wasn’t. Taken by surprise, he was open, accessible to pain: Geraden had hurt his feelings. “I have no intention of lying to anyone.” He spoke sternly, but his sternness wasn’t anger. “I don’t tell lies.”
“I’m sorry,” Geraden said at once, abashed by the change in the Castellan. “I knew that. I’m just not thinking straight.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference if you were.” Castellan Lebbick’s tone was rude, yet his intent may have been kind. “No matter how important the Tor thinks you are, you didn’t cause this mess. Prince Kragen told your brother a lot of hogslop. I know Margonal. He hasn’t suddenly been converted to benevolence and peace. He’s been planning to invade Mordant ever since he heard about King Joyse.
“Come on.”
Dismissing Geraden’s apology along with his own odd vulnerability, the Castellan strode toward the door.
***
The guardroom that gave access to Orison’s dungeon was unaltered from the time when Terisa had passed through it with Artagel, going to talk to Master Eremis. Despite its resemblance to a crude tavern – its trestle tables and rough benches, its beds and hearth, its refreshment bar – its defensive function was unmistakable. The racks fixed along all the walls held enough pikes and swords to equip forty or fifty fighting men. And the room itself was the only way into or out of the passages that led to the cells.
Remembering Master Eremis made her heart feel weak. He had left Orison without coming to her, without fulfilling his promise. An ache of desire passed over her.
If the room hadn’t changed, however, the men in it had. They weren’t ill-disciplined and resting: they were on their feet, at attention to meet the Castellan’s arrival.
He saluted their captain and stalked on through the guardroom without speaking.
Geraden shrugged and grimaced companionably at the guards as he and Terisa followed the Castellan. One or two of them nodded to him slightly, little signs that they understood his circumstances.
The air beyond the guardroom remained dank, foul with rotting straw and recollections of torture, fretted with hints of old blood. The infrequent lanterns seemed to create more gloom than illumination; the passage wandered as if it led down into the dark places of Orison’s soul. Castellan Lebbick took one turn, then another, and reached the region of the cells.
Past his shoulders, Terisa saw two guards coming along the corridor. They walked in single file, apparently lugging something heavy between them.
An instant later, she realized that they were carrying a litter.
Panic leaped in Geraden’s face.
She thought dumbly, Nyle?
When Castellan Lebbick shifted to one side of the passage, however, and the guards took the other, she saw that the man lying in the litter wasn’t Nyle.
“Artagel!” Geraden cried in relief and consternation. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
The guards stopped, and Artagel hitched himself up on one elbow.
“What’re you doing here?” snapped the Castellan. “This is none of your business. I’ve already lost one man today, along with my best chance to catch Margonal’s pigslime son. I don’t need you bleeding to death on top of my other problems.”
“Are you all right?” Geraden put in. Suddenly, he had so much to say that it all tried to tumble out at once. “There was no other way I could stop him. I couldn’t talk him out of it. He saved us. He could have let us be killed, but he didn’t. It makes me sick. I hit—” His voice caught; he couldn’t go on. His whole face burned for Artagel’s forgiveness.
But Artagel didn’t glance at Geraden. “He’s my brother,” he replied to the Castellan in a voice like a dry husk. He looked like he had suffered a relapse of fever; his mouth had lost its humor, and his eyes glittered like polished stones. “I had to see him.”
One of the guards shrugged against the weight of the litter. “We couldn’t talk him out of it, Castellan. He was going to walk if we didn’t carry him.”
Castellan Lebbick ignored the guards. Facing Artagel, he demanded, “What did he say?”
With surprising strength, Artagel reached out, caught at Lebbick’s sash, pulled the Castellan closer to him. “He told me the truth. He got into this because he loves that crazy woman. And because he thinks it’s right. Somebody has got to save Mordant. He thinks Margonal is our only chance.” Staring at him, Terisa understood that he wasn’t angry. He grinned when he was angry. No, what he felt now was closer to despair. “She talked to him about everything in the world except her part in Kragen’s plans. He doesn’t know where she is, or what she’s going to do.”
On the other hand, Castellan Lebbick was angry enough for both of them. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Artagel?” Geraden insisted. “Artagel?”
Artagel met the Castellan’s glare. Slowly, he let go of the sash and eased himself onto his back in the litter. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I don’t even care if you torture him. He’s a son of the Domne. No matter what you do, this is going to kill my father.”
Geraden raised a hand and clamped it around his mouth to keep himself still.
The Castellan drew himself up. His face showed no softening. Nevertheless he said, “All right. I’ll try believing him for a while and see what happens.”
For the first time, Artagel turned his eyes to Geraden. The angle of the light from the one lantern filled his face with shadows.
Geraden flinched. Terisa had never seen him look more like a puppy cringing because he had offended someone he loved and didn’t know what to do about it. He needed understanding if not forgiveness, needed some kind of consolation from his brother.
He didn’t get it.
“You’re the smart one of the family.” Artagel’s voice was still as dry as fever. “You find that woman and stop her. If you don’t – and she betrays us – I swear to you I’m not going to let Margonal’s men in here, no matter who tells me to surrender. I’ll fight them all if I have to.”
In response, Geraden’s face twisted as if he were about to throw up.
“Oh, get him out of here,” Castellan Lebbick rasped to the guards. “Put him back in bed. Tie him down if you have to. Then call his physician. This air is making him crazy. Right now, he couldn’t fight a pregnant cripple.”
“Yes, Castellan.” The guards settled their shoulders into the load and took Artagel in the direction of the guardroom.
“Geraden?” Terisa put her hand on his arm and felt the pressure that knotted his muscles. “He didn’t mean it. He still has a fever. He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.” He was so hurt that she wanted to embrace him, but Castellan Lebbick’s presence prevented that. “Listen to me. He didn’t mean to blame you.”
The Apt turned to her. Gloom hid his eyes. He had his back to the lantern; the lines of his face were dark. He didn’t respond to what she said. But he continued to face her as he addressed the Castellan.
“That just leaves the creature who attacked us.” His tone was as empty as one of the cells. “What do you think you can learn from him?”
“That depends,” replied Lebbick. “You’re the student of Imagery. You tell me. Is there any chance he speaks a language we can understand?”
Geraden had once discussed that subject with Terisa; he didn’t go into it now. “Let’s find out.”
He and Lebbick started down the passage – and a shadowy figure brushed past them, hurrying toward the creature’s cell. “Nobody tells me anything,” the man muttered into the air as he passed.
Terisa caught a glimpse of his face and recognized Adept Havelock.
Adept Havelock?
Automatically, the Castellan grabbed at his sword; then he slapped it back into its scabbard. With Geraden, he pursued the mad old man.
Jumping to sudden conclusions, Terisa ran after them.
They were moving
too quickly: she couldn’t catch up with them in time. In the grip of a sudden alarm, she called, “Don’t ask him any questions.”
Castellan Lebbick whirled toward her so unexpectedly that Geraden ran into him. Their collision sent the Apt staggering against the bars of a cell. Swearing viciously, Lebbick took hold of Terisa’s coat and snatched her to him.
“Don’t ask him any questions?”
“That’s right. Questions just make him worse.” The Castellan’s breath was dry and sour. She wanted to explain herself clearly, but everything was happening too fast. “He might tell us something. But not if we ask him any questions.”
“My lady,” Castellan Lebbick whispered through his teeth, “how do you know that?”
“He told me.”
“He told you?”
Fortunately, she had no chance to think about what she would say. A chance to think would also have been a chance to make a mistake, to reveal something accidentally. Almost without hesitation, she repeated, “He told me. I guess he wanted to talk to me. But I didn’t understand. When I didn’t obey, he nearly had a fit.”
The Castellan tightened his grip on her. His grin made him look mad, nearly out of control. A second later, however, he dropped his hands and went after Adept Havelock again.
Geraden had caught up with the Adept. They stood together in front of a cell. Lamplight glowed from inside the grid wall.
A snarl throbbed down the corridor. Four furred arms with claws on their fingers sprang between the bars, reaching for Geraden. He jerked backward just in time.
Vehemently, Adept Havelock shoved the last digits of both hands up his nostrils and waggled the rest of his fingers at the creature like a child trying to make his face as horrible as possible.
Castellan Lebbick grabbed Havelock by the scruff of his surcoat and pulled him a safe distance away from the bars. When Terisa joined the three men, the creature was clinging to the grid with all four hands. His chest heaved, and the whiskers around his eyes bristled like weapons. Maybe they’re poisoned, she thought, staring at him. Though his features were completely alien, they plainly promised violence.
Swept away from rationality by the creature’s strangeness, the Adept’s unexpected appearance, the pressure of too many unanswered questions, she observed in a tone of lunatic calm, “The weather sure got cold today.”
Trying to lure Havelock into talking with her.
He didn’t look in her direction. First he pinched his lips with his fingers and pulled them apart, making a wild grimace. Then he commented, “I’ve heard of these, but I’ve never seen one before.”
The Castellan started to explode. Geraden slapped a hand against his chest to stop him.
All at once, Terisa’s throat went dry. She had to swallow several times before she was able to say, “We went riding today. I nearly froze to death.”
Havelock experimented with another monstrous face, but it had no discernible impact on the creature. “A couple of Vagel’s Imagers talked about them,” he muttered. “Not Vagel himself. But he was eager. In the mirror, all they did was hunt for things to kill. And they seemed to be able to find what they were after without seeing it. They went past the mirror in swarms. But obviously intelligent. They had domesticated animals they used for mounts. He wanted a whole army of them.”
In an effort to keep the Adept going, she said the first words that popped into her head. “We were following Geraden’s brother Nyle. He went to meet Prince Kragen.”
Geraden winced.
“That’s right,” replied Havelock as though he were in complete agreement. “Festten kept interfering.” He bared his teeth in a humorless grin, then put his thumbs in his ears and stretched his eyes to slits with his fingers. “If Vagel had his own army, he wouldn’t need the High King. Festten found ways to interrupt the research before those two Imagers could finish it. One of them finally disappeared. I think he was killed.”
Terisa did her best to pull her thoughts together. Her concentration was in tatters. She had killed—
What were the Imagers researching? What kept them from translating the army the arch-Imager wanted?
Was it language?
Aiming a mute apology at the Apt, she said, “We tried to stop Nyle. That was when they attacked us. They were after Geraden. Not me.”
The Adept gave her a smile as high-pitched and unexpected as a giggle. “I know exactly what you mean.” The lamplight made his eyes look milky, as if he were going blind.
From one of his sleeves, he produced the palm-sized bit of mirror that Terisa had twice seen him use as a weapon.
For a piece of time that seemed to have no measurable duration, she gaped at him while he murmured to the glass and passed his hand over it. Then a sting of intuition warned her, and she wrenched herself forward, grabbed at his wrist.
She missed. He had already turned away.
Blissfully unaware of her, he focused his glass and shot out a beam so hot that the creature went up in flames like a bundle of kindling.
With a howl of inarticulate frustration and rage, the Castellan flung Havelock aside. Instantly, the beam stopped as Adept Havelock stumbled against the wall and fell to the floor.
But the creature burned like a torch. No sound came from him; he didn’t recoil or wave his arms or loose his grip on the bars. Slowly, slowly, he slumped down the grid.
As if in slow motion, Terisa felt a blast of heat. The stench of scorched fur and sizzling flesh filled the air.
Unable to control her reactions, she staggered to her knees. Down near the floor, the air was still cool. The rotten stink of the straw was too much for her, however. Adept Havelock had risen to his hands and knees to watch the creature. When he saw that she was looking at him, he gave her a huge, conspiratorial wink.
Then darkness welled up in her, and she fainted as though she were fading inward.
TWENTY-THREE: ANTICIPATING DISASTER
She had the distinct impression that she was gone for a long time.
A man bending over her: she remembered that. But who was he? Master Eremis? The idea gave her a liquid feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to be unconscious. If he were to touch her in any way, she didn’t want to miss it.
Now, however, the figure with her was more like a woman. Gradually, she became aware that she wasn’t lying on the floor in the dungeon. For one thing, she was warm, really warm – warm all the way down to her toes. There must be a bed under her; no stone was this soft. And blankets—
With an effort, she got her eyes open.
Over her hung the familiar peacock-feather canopy of her bed.
Saddith met her bleary gaze and called softly, “Geraden, I think she is waking up.”
At once, Geraden came to her side. His face was stretched with fatigue and worry, and his expression was harried; but when he looked into her eyes he smiled as though she made everything in the world all right. “Thank the stars,” he murmured in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see you conscious again.”
She coughed at a throat full of gluey cotton. “How long have I been out?”
“Long enough.”
Saddith gave a light laugh. “My lady, the Apt is sotted with you. Every moment that your eyes are not open for him is ‘long enough’ to fill him with alarm. You have had a much-needed rest. When you have had food and” – she wrinkled her nose – “a bath, you will feel well enough to be amused by his concern.”
Terisa smelled the faint rotten scent. It seemed to be in her hair. And in— Her coat was draped over the back of another chair, but she was still wearing her clothes under the blankets. The smell was in her shirt and pants as well. When she lifted the covers, it wafted delicately into her face.
She pushed the blankets away and let Saddith and Geraden steady her in a sitting position on the edge of the bed. A bright fire crackled in her hearth, and the creature had burned—
“What happened?” she asked.
Geraden’s smile twisted. “Not much. You pas
sed out. Adept Havelock left. The Castellan swore at everybody. One of the physicians and I brought you here. He said you were going to be all right, but I didn’t believe him.” He looked away. “Saddith has been telling me her life story to keep me from screaming while you slept.”
“Why did—?” Terisa ran her fingers into her hair, then grimaced at the odor which clung to them. She had to breathe deeply to make her head stop spinning. “Why did Adept Havelock kill that poor—?”
At that, Geraden’s expression turned harsh. “He’s crazy. Even if we knew why he does anything, it wouldn’t make sense.”
“I can explain it,” said Saddith in a teasing tone. “If the rumors are true, the Adept has not had a woman since he returned from Cadwal.” With her elbow, she nudged Geraden’s ribs. “All men become madmen if they do not bed women often enough.”
For no very clear reason, Geraden appeared to be blushing.
Terisa had to get the creature’s immolation out of her mind. She had to get the stink out of her clothes and hair. Ignoring Saddith, she said to Geraden, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t those Imagers who worked with Vagel translate the army he wanted? What research did they have to do?”
Promptly, as if he were relieved by her question, he answered, “I don’t have any way of knowing, of course – but I’m pretty sure I can guess. We’ve talked about language.” He watched Terisa’s face intently. “When the arch-Imager’s cabal came up with an Image of what looked to them like the ideal warrior, they had no way of knowing whether they would be able to talk to him. They didn’t believe the question of language would be resolved by the translation itself. That’s what they needed to research.”
He snorted a sour laugh. “It’s funny, in a way. Either High King Festten or the arch-Imager could have had an entire army of those creatures, if they just believed the same thing King Joyse believes. They might have been able to beat him.
“Now we’ll never know the answer,” he concluded bitterly.
Terisa nodded, letting Geraden push back the memories she wanted to escape from. For her part, however, Saddith didn’t appear particularly pleased by this turn of the conversation. As soon as Geraden stopped, she said, “My lady, I have no food or bathwater ready for you. I did not know when you would awaken. But both can be provided almost immediately. With your permission, I will go to bring what you need.”
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 66
