“Yes.” That made sense to her. For a moment, she felt vindicated, sharply triumphant.
But she was misleading herself, of course. After scrutinizing what she had suggested, he asked, “What, exactly? What can she do? What power does she have over the Congery?”
Terisa had no idea.
This time, it was Geraden who stared morosely out the window. “I told you an early thaw was dangerous,” he muttered for no particular reason.
***
The next day was overcast and gloomy, full of cold wind: it seemed to promise a return of winter. Castellan Lebbick kept an eye cocked at the sky while he fretted at the Tor’s persistent attention and stewed over the fact that his scouts hadn’t come back. Without realizing it, he fell into the pattern of announcing, when he had nothing more direct or withering to say, that he intended to have the Armigite charbroiled at his earliest convenience.
From a superficial point of view, Orison demanded a great deal of him. The castle was overcrowded – and overcrowding bred quarrels as well as vermin. People were angry because they had been forced to leave their homes. Some merchants were angry because everything they owned had been commandeered; others were angry because almost no one could afford to pay the exorbitant prices dictated by scarcity. Guards were angry because they were being cooped up, or drilled too hard, or assigned to duties they didn’t like. Lords and ladies were angry because anger was in the air. Everybody was angry because everybody was afraid. And fear made anger seem more urgent, righteous, and justified.
The truth was, however, that Castellan Lebbick now had the castle organized to function almost entirely without him. His men knew what to do; their officers knew what to do. Everybody was angry, but virtually no one got hurt. The Castellan really had nothing to do but fret and stew – and keep an eye on the weather.
That night, what was left of the squadron backtracking Geraden’s attackers rode into Orison: two battered veterans with wounds that still bled, kept open by hard riding. The squadron had been ambushed by a number of the same creatures. And the ambush had taken place not far south of the Broadwine – not far into the Care of Tor.
To commemorate the occasion, the Tor broached a new hogshead of wine. But Castellan Lebbick concentrated on snow. If the weather turned to snow, the men he had sent to the Perdon, the Fayle, even the Termigan might have time to get through.
In the morning, the weather turned to spring.
Sunlight poured through the windows, leaving a gold largesse on the stone floors and the thick rugs. A breeze like a harbinger of flowers wafted through the courtyard. A few patches of bare ground appeared on the hillsides, and some of the distant trees looked distinctly like they intended to bud. Unexpected flocks of birds swirled over the roofs of the castle, lit in loud clusters on the tiles and gutters, and sang.
Shortly after noon, the Castellan’s scouts returned to report that the Alend army was already in the Demesne. Barring a cataclysmic disaster or a miraculous reprieve, Orison would be under siege no later than noon the next day.
The scouts gauged that Margonal had ten thousand men – two thousand mounted, eight thousand on foot – and enough engines of war to take the castle apart stone from stone. As it happened, many of the engines were of Armigite design. Apparently, Prince Kragen’s dealings with the Armigite hadn’t been as simple as the story he had told Nyle.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only bad news.
Shortly before sunset, a trumpet announced the arrival of riders. Nearly a hundred soldiers came down the road from the Care of Perdon. They looked old and weary, as if they had been traveling for an indecent length of time. They carried the Perdon’s banner and wore the Perdon’s insignia, and they moved slowly. All of them were injured: limbs were missing; heads and chests, bandaged; faces, haggard. Many of their horses supported litters bearing dead men.
When he realized who the riders were, the trumpeter changed his note to the wail of a dirge.
“Oh, no,” Terisa groaned, watching from her window as the procession approached. “He said he was going to do this.”
“Cadwal is marching,” muttered Geraden grimly. “The Perdon isn’t going to come to our rescue. He’s already at war.”
Then he bit his lip. “We have got to stop her. If she betrays us now, we don’t have any hope.”
Castellan Lebbick and the Tor met the riders at the gate. The Tor made a short speech. The Castellan didn’t know how to express grief or compassion, so he remained silent.
To Orison’s welcome and the Tor’s speech, the captain of the riders replied only, “We are dying. The Perdon commanded us to come.”
The sunset that evening was especially glorious.
***
Terisa pushed her supper away untasted. Geraden picked at a piece of bread, rolling bits of dough into pellets and tossing them at the hearth. The mood in the room was as dark as the night outside the window. Neither of them had spoken for a long time.
At last, he murmured, “It isn’t enough.”
“Hmm?” she asked vaguely
For no special reason, they had both neglected to light the lamps. The only illumination came from the hearth. Flickering firelight cast streaks of orange and shadow across the Apt’s face; bits of flame echoed in and out of his eyes.
“It isn’t enough,” he repeated. “Suppose Elega knows some way to neutralize the Masters. For example, suppose – just for the sake of supposing – that she has some kind of acid that eats glass. And she knows a way to sneak into the laborium where the mirrors are kept. And she knows where all the Masters keep all their private mirrors. Suppose she has time to ruin every mirror in Orison. That’s a lot – but it isn’t enough.”
As he spoke, she was gradually struck by the impression that his face had changed. The firelight seemed to emphasize an alteration in the line of his jaw, the planes of his cheeks, the shape of his frown. The pressure of the past few days had ground the puppy out of him. He no longer looked like a man who tripped over his own feet and smiled lopsidedly at the results.
“It wouldn’t defeat Orison,” he mused into the fire, talking mostly to himself. “Castellan Lebbick wouldn’t surrender for a reason like that. There has to be some other answer.”
Yes, she said inside herself. There has to be some other answer. But she wasn’t agreeing with him. She was consciously and explicitly angry. She was angry at Artagel and Castellan Lebbick and Nyle. She was angry at King Joyse, who knew what he was doing to people who had spent their lives trusting him. She was angry at the Masters for their derision, their unwillingness to understand. She had liked Geraden’s puppyish look. She had liked his ability to tumble all over himself without feeling that he was to blame for the destruction of everything he loved.
Why are we responsible for Elega? Why is it our fault she’s probably going to betray everybody?
A moment later, however, her memory brought another image back to her, as vivid as Geraden’s face – an image of the lady Myste. Sitting in this same room, Myste had explained to Terisa why she wanted to go after the champion. I have always believed, she had said, that problems should he solved by those who see them. This is more true rather than less for a king’s daughter.
Myste! Terisa murmured with a silent ache. What happened to you? Where are you?
What is Elega doing?
Without thinking, she said aloud, “Water.”
Geraden’s face shifted through patches of light and darkness until he was looking at her. “Water?”
“Where do we get water?”
His brows knotted in perplexity. “I told you about that during our tour. Orison was built over a spring. But of course it’s grown a lot. And we use a lot of water. I think I mentioned Castellan Lebbick has strong ideas about sanitation. The spring has been inadequate for a long time. So we store rainwater and melted snow. Gutters and pipes from all the roofs take water to the reservoir – I showed you the reservoir.”
“And now,” she said slowly while a keen pul
se began to beat in her temple and a hand of tension closed around her heart, “we have all these extra people. And we haven’t had any more snow.”
“That’s one of the dangers of an early thaw.” He was watching her closely. “Until the rains start, we won’t have anything except the spring to keep us going.”
She took a deep breath and held it to prevent her head from spinning. When she was ready to speak steadily, she asked, “What if something happens to the reservoir?”
He still didn’t understand. “Happens? What could happen?”
“Is it guarded?”
“No. Why should it be guarded?”
Unable to suppress the excitement or fear charging through her, she jumped to her feet. With both hands, she took him by one arm and pulled him upright.
“What if she poisons it?”
The idea hit him as if she had thrown open a window and shown him a completely alien world. His lips shaped the words poisons it while he scrambled to catch up with her. In a strangled tone, he argued, “There’s always the spring.”
“What difference does that make? Fresh water won’t help. We’ll all be poisoned. As long as nobody knows we’re in danger, we’ll all be poisoned. There won’t be anybody left to fight. Even if we aren’t killed – even if we’re just sick for a few hours – Margonal will be able to take Orison almost without a struggle.”
“That’s right.” His face twisted as his thoughts raced. “We’ve got to warn Castellan Lebbick.”
“Geraden.” For just a second, she wanted to yell at him. He was being so obtuse.
Almost at once, however, her mood changed, and she wanted to laugh. She wasn’t used to being ahead of him. Carefully, she said, “Don’t you think it would be better if we stopped her?”
He stared at her momentarily with his mouth wide open. Then he let out a whoop that sounded like glee. The firelight was as bright as laughter in his eyes. “Excuse me, my lady.” He hugged himself and chortled. “I’ve got wax in my ears. I’m not sure I heard you right.” But joy and relief weren’t the only emotions reflecting from his gaze. The flames were warm and glad – and they were also fierce, burning sharply. “Did you say, Don’t you think it would be better if we saved Orison all by ourselves? Just you and me?”
She nodded.
“Why should we tell Lebbick? We’re just guessing. He might not believe us. If he believes us, we might be wrong. But if we’re right this is our chance to prove that you’re innocent – that you aren’t secretly plotting Orison’s destruction.”
She nodded again, more because she liked the life in his face than because she thought the Castellan would believe any demonstration of her innocence.
“Blast all glass to splinters!” He hissed the words between his teeth, grinning like Artagel. “Get your coat. It’s going to be cold up there.”
Terisa got her coat.
***
It was cold up there.
The reservoir had been built in the highest part of Orison’s main body – a labor of construction that was justified by the amount of work saved by being able to distribute water around the castle with gravity instead of pumps. The towers, of course, required pumps; and the waters of the spring had to be pumped up to the reservoir. But those were relatively simple jobs compared to the chore of supplying water for all of Orison.
Terisa had to fill in many of the details from memory. The place was dark: the only light came from the screened openings that let rain and snow and the night air into the reservoir while keeping birds out; and the bright moon outside did little more than glint vague silver across the surface of the water. But she remembered that the reservoir had been built like a pool, deep and rectangular, with a smooth stone walk on all four sides.
Around the walk rose heavy timbers, crisscrossing toward the roof to hold up the network of pipes that carried rainfall and melted snow and even dew from the roofs of Orison – and to support also the scaffolding that made possible the cleaning and repair of the screens. Because of these timbers, the reservoir resembled a cathedral. Against the faint, wet, lapping susurrus, the overarching silence felt like awe. In the darkness, the water looked vast.
It seemed to absorb whatever warmth endured after the onset of night. The reservoir was cold enough to make her chill despite her coat.
“We need a light,” she whispered unsteadily.
“She’ll see us,” answered Geraden, putting his mouth close to her ear so that he wouldn’t be overheard.
Terisa nodded. She had hoped she would never have to be cold again in her life.
“Where can we hide?”
For a moment, he didn’t move. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“How should I know? I’m just guessing about all of this.”
“Well, guess some more.”
She made an effort to control her shivers. “All right. Whatever she puts in the water will need time to dissolve – or spread out – or whatever it does. But if she does it too soon, people will start getting sick” – or dying – “too soon. The Castellan or somebody might have time to figure out what’s going on. Before Margonal is ready.
“If I were her, I might wait until the siege starts.” No later than noon the next day. “We might be stuck here all night.”
“No.” Geraden was thinking too hard to be polite. “If she does that, practically all our forces will already be on duty. She’ll get the farmers and servingwomen and cooks, but that will just warn Lebbick. She needs to strike tonight, so the water will be bad when the guards get out of bed tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning early.”
That made sense. “Where can we hide?” she repeated.
He took her by the arm and pulled her softly into motion. “There may be any number of ways in here. The floor is riddled with pipes. Maybe it’s riddled with passages, too. But we can’t do anything about that. And there really isn’t anyplace to hide. We’ll just put ourselves where we can watch the entrances – the way we came in, and the other one” – he pointed across the reservoir – “and hope we get lucky.”
“That should be fun,” she retorted simply because she needed to say something. “We’re famous for our good luck.”
He let out a breath of stifled laughter. “Very true.”
Muffled though it was, his laugh made her feel better.
She wanted to test her way with her feet to be sure she didn’t fall into the pool, but he urged her forward as if he were afraid of nothing. He didn’t lead her into the water, however. Instead, he guided her to a place where a pair of timbers met the floor close together. They were located roughly midway between the entrances to the reservoir, and the gap between them was just wide enough for two people. In this dark, she and Geraden would be effectively invisible as long as they stood near the timbers.
Side by side in the gap, they were pressed against each other a bit at the shoulder and hip. Initially, she tried to squeeze away from him, so that he wouldn’t feel her shivering. But she would be warmer if they were closer together. She would be warmer still if he put his arm around her. After a moment, she found that she didn’t mind letting him know how cold she was.
Turning his head, he breathed her name into her hair and gave her a companionable hug. Almost at once, the pressure that made her shiver seemed to grow less.
She quickly got tired of straining her eyes into the deep dark of the pool, of trying to tell the difference between the light lap-and-slap of water and the possible sound of footsteps. Shifting more toward Geraden so that she fit better against his side, she whispered, “What’re we going to do when she comes?”
“Stop her.”
She poked at his ribs through his coat. “I know that, idiot. How are we going to stop her?”
“Not so loud,” he cautioned. “Water carries sound.”
She wished she could see his face. He sounded tense and far away, caught up in his responsibility for what happened to Orison. Stopping Elega was like stopping Nyle for him: she was his King’s
daughter, a childhood friend, and his former betrothed. Precisely because the situation was so painful for him, he couldn’t afford to fail.
Almost in spite of herself, Terisa understood his allegiance to King Joyse and Mordant.
“She’ll have a light,” he went on softly. “She doesn’t expect to be caught. And she needs to see what she’s doing.” Like his attention, his voice seemed to be aimed out into the dark. “When we see her light we’ll try to sneak up on her.”
Terisa nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Her head nestled against his shoulder; his coat warmed her cheek. Was it really better for him to remain loyal to the people and ideas he loved? Was that preferable to facing the truth when those people and ideas failed him? preferable to doing what Nyle and Elega were doing – what Master Eremis had been trying to do all along? How are you planning to live the rest of your life without loyalty or self-respect? Of course it was always better to face the truth. Wasn’t it? Nyle and Elega and Master Eremis had all faced the truth. But she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that what Geraden was trying to do was harder.
For that reason, it was a good thing he hadn’t been able to return her to her old life. Maybe the sense of unreality that had dogged her for so long was the result of living in the wrong world: maybe she truly had never been a solid being until she came here. Or maybe her evanescence was the result of striving for the wrong things – despite what Reverend Thatcher might have taught her – of not understanding what Geraden understood so well. It was even possible—
Across the water, she saw a wink of light.
Geraden stiffened.
It was no larger or brighter than a candle flame – it flickered like a candle flame. But it flickered because it was moving, passing behind the timbers on the opposite side of the pool. When it stopped, she saw that it was a small lantern.
The hand that carried it set it down on the flat stone near the lip of the pool. The light shone on a woman’s features. She seemed to be cloaked in midnight: nothing of her was visible except her hands and face.
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 68
