The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “Thanks.” As usual, Terisa’s eyes were drawn to Saddith’s open blouse and bursting breasts. She made an effort to raise her head so that she felt less like she was talking to Saddith’s chest. “I would like that.”

  In response, Saddith swung a saucy gaze at Geraden. “Be warned,” she said slyly. “I will be back too soon for what you desire. Even the hottest youth must have a certain amount of time.”

  Laughing, she left the rooms.

  Terisa eased herself experimentally to her feet.

  In a hurry to steady her, Geraden jerked forward. Unfortunately, he missed his balance and nearly fell onto the bed. Terisa found herself holding him up rather than being supported.

  Swearing at himself, he pulled away. Apparently, he had lost his balance in more ways than one. Now he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

  Geraden? What’s the matter? She wasn’t sure of what she was seeing. Or she wasn’t sure of herself. She wasn’t in particularly good shape. In fact, she felt lousy. Where was the Geraden who always took care of her as if she were the most important person in his life?

  Inanely, she said the first words she could think of that had nothing to do with what she felt. “I thought I saw you blush. What were you and she really doing while I was asleep?”

  He stiffened. Retreating to his chair allowed him to turn his face away from her for a moment. When he sat down, his features were set into hard lines, as if he were angry. Nevertheless she knew he wasn’t angry. His eyes were hot with grief.

  “I don’t understand that woman,” he muttered without meeting her gaze. “I mean, I understand. I’m not as ignorant as she thinks. It just doesn’t make sense to me.” He scowled at the vista of his confusion. “While you were asleep, she wasn’t telling me her life story. She was trying to persuade me to bed her right here on the floor.”

  For some reason, Terisa didn’t find this amusing. All at once, the muscles around her heart felt tight.

  “She said she hadn’t had a man for a while. She talked about it like it was just scratching a complicated kind of itch. Of course, there are probably two hundred men within a stone’s throw of us right now who would be glad to oblige her. But she didn’t want to do anything that might get back to the man she’s really interested in. I got the impression he’s been away. Whoever he is.” He sighed, but still couldn’t bring himself to look at Terisa. “She said I was safe because my heart was set on you, not her. And she would be doing me a favor by teaching me what to do with your body when I finally got my hands on it.

  “I couldn’t get it through her head that if she kept talking like that she was going to make me throw up.”

  “Why?” Terisa tried to sound casual, but didn’t succeed. “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”

  His gaze turned cold as he faced her. “Sure, she’s attractive. A stone wall would be attractive if it looked like that. It’s her attitude I don’t like. There’s more to love than just getting your itches scratched.

  “Tell me something.” Now he was angry. “Some time ago – I think it was the first morning of the thaw – I was here with you, and Saddith came in. You asked her how Master Eremis was.”

  The knot around Terisa’s heart pulled tighter.

  “At the time, I thought that was a strange question. I just didn’t want to pry. But the more I think about it, the stranger it gets. Why ask her? What would she know about Master Eremis?”

  Saddith had tried to seduce Geraden. Terisa sat back down on the bed to conceal the fact that she was trembling – and to control it. In a small voice – putting her emotions at a distance because she was afraid of them – she said, “She’s having an affair with him. She tells me about it.” She would never be able to admit that she had seen Master Eremis and Saddith together. “I think she believes if she sleeps with enough men she’ll end up queen of Mordant.”

  After a moment, he murmured, “That explains it.” He no longer sounded angry. He sounded frayed and alone.

  Abruptly, he rose to his feet. “I got a message earlier. Artagel has had a relapse. His physician says it’s temporary. He’ll be all right. But I ought to go see him. Saddith will be back soon. That may not cheer you up, but at least you’ll get some food and a hot bath.”

  Unable to keep his distress from showing, he turned to leave.

  “Geraden, wait.” The sight of his departing back seemed to pull everything inside her in a different direction. She jumped upright, reached a hand he couldn’t see toward him. “Don’t go.”

  He paused in the doorway. His voice was cramped in his throat. His shoulders hunched as if he were huddling over a pain in his chest. “I have to.”

  “Please,” she said. “I’ve been very selfish. You’re always so good to me that I let myself forget you have problems of your own. Please tell me what’s the matter.”

  He didn’t move. Slowly, he put out one hand to brace himself on the doorframe. “Terisa,” he said, aching, “this mess really is my fault.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She was ready to defend him at once. “You aren’t Prince Kragen. You aren’t Elega.”

  He raised his free hand to his face. “Nyle was right. I’ve been a fool about everything. He was doing what he thought was right. But he was also doing something that wouldn’t do any serious damage if he turned out to be wrong. That’s important. We didn’t need to worry about him. He didn’t pose any threat. You and I should have gone back to Orison so that Ribuld could stay with Argus. We should have told Castellan Lebbick about Elega right away.”

  Slowly, his voice became edged with iron, like the hit of a chisel. He cut off words like chips of stone. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gone wrong with that translation. The champion would be here instead. Or else he would have refused, in which case he wouldn’t have been translated against his will. Orison’s walls would be intact. And Myste would still be here. If anybody could stop Elega, she could.”

  “Geraden.” Terisa went to him; tentatively, she rested her hands on his back. It felt like it had been bound with cords to keep him from exploding. The boyish side of him was dying. He was being taken apart piece by piece, deprived of the things he loved, the things that sustained him. “Please, Geraden.”

  She would have to tell him.

  He had gone too far to stop. “The Alend Monarch is going to take Orison. It’s impossible – it ought to be impossible – but he’s going to do it. And it’s my fault. I was betrothed to that woman. Maybe we don’t have much in common, but I thought I knew her better than this. First Nyle. Now her. Everything I love—”

  His throat closed. She felt him struggle to open it. Then he said, “Artagel is right. This is going to kill my father.”

  She should have told him long ago. “Geraden, don’t do this to yourself.”

  Without warning, he turned to face her. His cheeks were wet with tears, but he didn’t look like he was weeping: he looked flagrantly unhappy, almost demented with contempt for himself and his mistakes.

  “Artagel thinks it’s my fault.” He spoke quietly – so quietly that he sounded unreachable. “I expected that from Nyle. But Artagel thinks it’s my fault too.”

  “Geraden.” She had passed the limit of what she could stand. To steady herself – because she was afraid – she took hold of the front of his shirt with both hands. “You aren’t wrong. I don’t know why – or how. But you aren’t wrong.

  “Do you remember the augury? Do you remember seeing riders?” Three riders. Driving their mounts forward, straight out of the glass, driving hard, so that the strain in the shoulders of their horses was as plain as the hate in the keen edges of their upraised swords. “I saw them— I dreamed them before I ever saw the augury. Before I ever met you. I had a dream that was exactly the same as one Image in the augury.”

  Searching his face, she saw surprise and bafflement dawn into joy. “So there is a reason,” he breathed in wonder. “I didn’t go wrong. You are the champion.”

  “I don’t know why,�
� she repeated, insisted. It was the only gift she had to give him, the only consolation. “I don’t know how. But there is a reason. You didn’t go wrong.”

  In response, he became brighter and brighter, as if he were burning. His arms closed around her; his mouth came down to hers.

  Ardently, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  They hugged and held each other until Saddith returned with a tray of food and a porter carrying bathwater.

  After a meal, they did what they could to get ready for the coming siege.

  ***

  By noon the next day, Castellan Lebbick had deployed virtually all the King’s guards in Orison, sorting them according to their responsibilities for the defense and maintenance of the castle, and billeting them wherever he could find room. When the barracks became overcrowded, some of the abandoned passages and quarters under the main habitation were brought back into use. Cooks complained about the extra work. Servingmen and -women whose jobs included sanitation complained vehemently. Nevertheless Orison swallowed the additional troops.

  Work on the curtain wall across the breach continued.

  At the same time, scouts crossed from the Demesne into the Care of Armigite. Although they would have been appalled to encounter the Alend Monarch’s army so soon, they began to travel with more caution.

  During the night, the men tracking Prince Kragen had returned. The Alend Contender had lost his pursuers in the simplest way possible – by riding onto a road, where his trail couldn’t be distinguished from anyone else’s. This report inspired the Castellan to curse extensively, but there was nothing he could do to change it.

  Nothing was heard from the guards who were trying to find out where Geraden’s alien attackers had come from.

  Most of the farmers and merchants in the nearer environs of the castle had started to empty their sheds and warehouses and pens and barns toward Orison. Plenty of people still alive in the villages remembered what life had been like before King Joyse had taken power over Mordant and created peace by the strength of his good right hand. They goaded the folk around them into motion.

  Grandmothers and flocks of goats didn’t move quickly - but they were on their way.

  As a result, the courtyard was crowded with activity, and an atmosphere of bustle pervaded the halls. The situation could easily have degenerated into chaos and choler. Castellan Lebbick knew his job, however – and his men knew their orders. Most of the incoming populace found places and got settled without noticing how closely they were supervised. And those who did notice probably didn’t guess that the highest priority of the guards wasn’t to preserve order, but rather to make sure that Alends or spies didn’t sneak into Orison.

  Satisfied with the progress of his preparations, Castellan Lebbick paid a visit to Master Barsonage.

  The outcome of that visit was less satisfactory. Since the Masters had seen fit to interfere in Mordant’s affairs by translating their champion, the Castellan argued that they couldn’t now claim to be detached from what was happening. It was their responsibility, therefore, to assist in the defense of Orison and their King. That seemed clear enough.

  But Master Barsonage replied with the almost treasonous information that the Congery had disbanded itself. Paralyzed by the very ideals that had brought them together, the Masters couldn’t agree on anything. They had no credible purpose. Castellan Lebbick was free to approach individual Imagers as he saw fit – unlike Master Eremis, most of them had remained in Orison – but he couldn’t look for concerted decision or action. King Joyse’s abandonment of the Congery had finally arrived at its logical conclusion.

  Fuming, Castellan Lebbick left.

  For his part, the Tor spoke to King Joyse. Or, more precisely, he spoke at King Joyse. He wheedled and demanded; he whispered and shouted. He made himself lugubrious, and he tried sincerely to make himself noble. Unfortunately, he received nothing for his pains except a rather strained smile and the absentminded assertion that the King was sure his old friend the Tor would do whatever he, the Tor, thought best. King Joyse himself was really too busy trying to solve the latest hop-board puzzle Adept Havelock had set for him to be distracted by a mere siege. Nevertheless he became irrationally angry when the Tor risked mentioning the lady Elega. The Tor eventually gave up and retreated to the solace of his chancellor’s flagon.

  As for Elega, two squadrons of guards had searched what they called twenty-five miles of hidden passages in Orison without finding her. The Castellan sent them back to the beginning to start over again.

  Pacing the peacock rug in Terisa’s sitting room, Geraden demanded, “But what can she do?” Terisa had forgotten how many times he had asked the same question, but at least he had the decency not to expect an answer. “I mean, stop and think about it. She has essentially promised that she’ll deliver Orison to Prince Kragen single-handed. And she made him believe it. But he knows what a siege is. And he’s seen Orison. What could she possibly have said to him that he would believe?”

  Terisa sighed and gazed glumly out the window.

  As he had promised, Mindlin brought her new clothes for a preliminary fitting. She made a few arbitrary decisions, accepted a few adjustments; he went away.

  She returned to the window. Although she loved the spring-like sunshine which made the hillsides sparkle and the roads treacherous, she was hoping for snow.

  ***

  In fact, most of Orison’s burgeoning population was hoping for snow. But the next morning brought, not clouds and cold, but a warming trend. Apparently, the weather was on Alend’s side.

  Castellan Lebbick wasted no time cursing the weather, however. He had other things to swear about.

  The influx of people and livestock and supplies was actually going quite well. Of course, life in the courtyard was little better than thinly structured chaos; and people who found themselves quartered in the once unused depths of the castle had to contend with a damp that only grew worse as the walls were warmed by fires and bodies. But there was room for everybody somewhere. And the added livestock and supplies compensated for the increased number of people who had to be fed.

  The causes of Castellan Lebbick’s compressed fury lay elsewhere.

  He had heard nothing from his scouts – but that was good news, not bad. On the other hand, he had also heard nothing from the men who were backtracking Geraden’s attackers. As news, that was uncontestably bad. It left open the ominous possibility that an entire horde of creatures was gathering somewhere to sweep down on Orison at the worst possible moment.

  Unfortunately, the Castellan also had other provocations. One was that the Tor refused to leave him alone. Having failed to dent King Joyse’s detachment, the fat old lord now insisted on knowing everything about Orison’s defenses. He wasn’t content with generalities: he wanted specifics – the names of officers who had been given certain orders; the quantity and disposition of certain stores; the important routes for moving men and weapons (and water – was the Castellan ready in case of fire?) through the castle. The lord’s interference was enough to make a kind man savage.

  As another provocation, King Joyse refused to take seriously Lebbick’s report from Master Barsonage. “Disbanded?” he snorted. “Nonsense. Barsonage has just lost his nerve. Find Master Quillon.” The King hopped a piece on his board and studied the resulting position. “Tell him he’s the new mediator. I need those Imagers.”

  Although Castellan Lebbick gnawed at an outrage that was starting to taste like despair, King Joyse refused to say anything further.

  And the lady Elega appeared to have vanished without a trace. The guards not only failed to find her, they also failed to find any sign of her – any little stores of food and water; any clothes; any lamps or candles; any (the guards were thorough) carrier pigeons. All they found was Adept Havelock, who appeared at awkward intervals and treated them to displays of wisdom and decorum that would have embarrassed the ruffians at a carnival. The Adept seemed to be having the time of his life. Nev
ertheless Castellan Lebbick wasn’t diverted.

  Behind his anger, and his concentration on his duty, and his determined belief that no one woman could deliver him and Orison to the King’s enemies, he was beginning to sweat.

  “Do you think,” Geraden asked Terisa, “it’s something stupid and obvious, like suborning the guards? That might work if nobody suspected her. It’s at least imaginable that she could arrange to have the gates opened in the middle of the night.”

  He was calmer today, which relieved her sense of responsibility for him and freed her to feel worse herself. Perhaps his obsession was starting to soak into her, making her tense and irritable for no good reason. Or perhaps there was something— She ground her teeth at the idea. Something she knew and couldn’t remember? Something she ought to understand?

  Damn it.

  Scowling at the Apt as if he were to blame, she tried to make sense out of the little she knew.

  “Tell me something. Why haven’t Alend or Cadwal – or both – attacked Mordant long before this?”

  “They were afraid of King Joyse. They were afraid of what he would do with the Congery.”

  She nodded. “And why is Margonal attacking now? Why isn’t he still afraid?”

  “Because he’s heard” – this was painful for Geraden to say – “from Prince Kragen and probably a few dozen other sources that King Joyse doesn’t care anymore.”

  “No.” She felt that she was pouncing. “That’s not good enough. So what if the King doesn’t care? Why isn’t Margonal still afraid of the Congery? Why isn’t he afraid the Masters will defend themselves no matter what King Joyse does?”

  “Because they’ve disbanded.”

  “He doesn’t know that. She probably doesn’t know it.”

  At that, Geraden faced her with an awakening light in his eyes, as if she had suddenly become more beautiful or brilliant. “In that case, she’s promised to do something that will keep the Masters from fighting back.”