Mordant's Need

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  ‘And one thing more, my lady.’ His tone and his gaze grew sharper. ‘I’ll find a way to get you back to your own world anyway, if King Joyse or Master Barsonage or somebody doesn’t decide to start treating you better soon.’

  Meeting his eyes, Terisa found that she believed him, in spite of herself. The whole idea was secretly amazing – that any man, however accident-prone, would look at her and make promises so seriously. To cover her astonishment, she turned a little away from him. Then, as distantly as she could, she said, ‘You’d better call me Terisa. I’m not anybody’s “lady.” I don’t want the King to get the wrong idea.’

  She felt rather than saw his approval. ‘Thank you. I think you’re doing the right thing. I have a good feeling about this.’ He put one hand tentatively on her arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  His attention was focused on her as though he wanted to make more promises. In reply, she gave him the polite, noncommittal smile she had perfected by the time she was a teenager – and groaned to herself because her response to him was so much emptier than his to her. But she went on smiling that way while she nodded her assent.

  He gestured past one of the pillars. ‘This way, then.’

  She was thankful that he let go of her arm as he guided her toward a door.

  The door was a massive wooden construction supported with iron struts and bolts: it looked like it had originally been intended to seal people out of this chamber – or seal them in. In, she decided when Geraden opened the door, swinging it outward. But its bolts were arranged so that it could only be locked from the inside.

  As he led her through the doorway, they met two guards in the corridor.

  The men were both large, rough, poorly shaved veterans with the look of hard service about them. They wore mail shirts and leggings over their leather clothes and close-fitting iron caps on their heads. Each had a longsword at his belt and gripped a pike in his right hand. One of them was marked by an old scar that ran from his hairline down his forehead, between his eyes, and beside his nose almost to his mouth. The other had lost several teeth.

  The one whose teeth were missing stared at Terisa in a way she didn’t find reassuring; but the other addressed Geraden like a familiar comrade, asking him if there were any Masters remaining in the chamber.

  When Geraden shook his head, the guard relaxed his stance. ‘Then we’re off duty for a while. Listen, Geraden. Argus and I have a small keg of ale waiting. What do you think? Would you and’ – he flicked a suggestive glance at Terisa – ‘your companion like to join us for a drink?’

  ‘I think, Ribuld,’ Geraden replied good-humoredly, ‘that you and Argus forgot how to think the day you decided to be soldiers. For your information, my “companion” is the lady Terisa of Morgan, and she isn’t likely to spend her time swilling ale with the likes of you. The King is waiting to meet her right now.’

  ‘Too good for us, is she?’ muttered Argus. But Ribuld gave him a solid elbow-jab in the ribs, and he stepped back, a look of apoplexy on his face.

  Grinning, Geraden drew Terisa on down the passageway.

  ‘Don’t let them worry you,’ he said softly as they walked. ‘Those two look terrible, but they’re good men. They trained with my brother Artagel. I’m going to try to get them assigned to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Why do I need guards?’

  ‘Because—’ he began. This time, however, he realized what he was doing right away. ‘For the same reason I’m not supposed to answer your questions. Mordant has too many enemies. The Congery has too many enemies. And King Joyse—’ Again he stopped, a look of unconscious pain on his face. ‘Whether you’re here by accident or not, you already have enemies yourself. As long as I’m responsible for you, I want to be sure you also have guards – guards who’re going to take you seriously. Ribuld and Argus will do that for me because I’m Artagel’s brother.’

  After a moment, he muttered, ‘Master Barsonage made a big mistake telling me not to answer questions.’

  In silence, she walked with him down the corridor.

  The corridor was built of the same gray blocks of granite that had formed the walls and ceiling of the Congery’s chamber; and it led to several turns, a few doors, a stair, and then into an enormous square hall large enough to be a ballroom.

  This place had a smooth floor, the stones closely fitted so that there were no gaps; balconies around the walls, where musicians might sit to play, or from which high lords and ladies might watch the dancing; several huge hearths for warmth. In each corner, broad stairways curved gracefully upward out of sight. But the place was lifeless. It had an atmosphere of disuse, even of neglect: the people and musicians, the excitement and color that might have given it gaiety had gone away. The hearths were cold; and the only light came from narrow windows high above the balcony on one wall, with the result that the hall was full of gloom. The windows permitted a glimpse of sullen clouds.

  Terisa shivered as Geraden headed her toward one of the stairways. ‘This isn’t the direct route,’ he commented. ‘But we wouldn’t be able to get across the courtyard without ruining your clothes.’ She was fortunate to be as warmly dressed as she was. What she could see of the sky through the windows looked like winter.

  The stairway took them up one level. From there, he led her through a sequence of passages, short stairways, and halls that created a haphazard impression, as if the massive stone pile through which they moved had been constructed randomly, by lumps. But his instinct for mishap didn’t include any uncertainty about where he was going: he knew this place intimately.

  As they walked, they began to encounter more and more people. Many of them were guards, on duty or on errands; but many more seemed to be the inhabitants of the building. Old men leaned on their brooms in the corridors, stirring small piles of dust with diligent inattention. Girls scurried here and there, carrying linens or buckets or mops. Boys sprinted past, probably pretending that they were involved in something urgent so that no one would stop them and put them to work. As for the men and women—

  Terisa found that she could easily estimate their rank by their clothes. Everyone was warmly dressed; but the sweeps and chambermaids wore woolen skirts, wool shawls over their blouses, and heavy clogs, where the ladies had on floor-length gowns of taffeta or satin and supple leather boots, with jewels in their hair or about their necks. The charmen and grooms dressed themselves as Geraden did, in jerkins, pants, and boots, perhaps with a long dagger sheathed at their belts, but the lords wore elaborately woven surcoats over flowing shirts and tight hose, with sabers in ornamented scabbards on their hips. And the intermediate degrees of station could be defined at once by the presence or absence of a sword or a décolletage, by the length of a gown or the embroidery on a surcoat.

  In spite of their elegance, however, even the finest lords and ladies didn’t look like they had ever been to a ball. Almost without exception, they comported themselves like people who lived under a shadow.

  Several of the individuals Terisa and Geraden encountered greeted him, either by name or by title.

  All of them stared at Terisa as openly as they dared.

  After a while, self-consciousness made her realize that they had probably never seen anyone like her before. The idea was startling – and unsettling.

  Shortly, Geraden led her up a series of stairs that doubled back and forth as if they occupied the inside of a tower. They led to a high, carved door with a guard stationed on either side. These men were better kempt than Argus and Ribuld, though they appeared no less experienced and dangerous; but they acknowledged Geraden with the same familiarity.

  ‘This is the lady Terisa of Morgan,’ Geraden said. ‘Will you announce us? I think the King will want to meet her.’

  The guards made halfhearted efforts to conceal the way they ogled her. One of them shrugged: it was his duty to ward the King, but he clearly couldn’t think of any reason to believe Geraden was dangerous. The other knocked on the door, let himself into the room beyond, and
closed the door behind him.

  A moment later, he returned. ‘You can go in. But be careful. The King and Adept Havelock are playing hop-board. If the Adept decides you’ve disturbed his concentration, he might do something unpleasant.’

  Geraden gave the man a sour smile. ‘I understand.’

  His hand lightly touching Terisa’s arm, he moved her toward the half-open door.

  The room they entered surprised her. It was the first richly appointed chamber she had seen in this place, and although it was about the size of her living room and dining room combined, it was warm. A thick rug, woven in an abstract pattern of lush blues and reds, covered most of the floor. Blond wood paneling had been set over the stone walls, and each panel was elegantly decorated, some with carving, others with fine black inlay-work. Candles burned in brass holders set into the walls; small five-branched candelabra stood on ornamental tables in the corners of the room and on both ends of the mantelpiece above the hearth. Hot coals glowed under the flames in the fireplace.

  Two old men sat opposite each other at a small table in the center of the room. One of them wore a purple velvet robe that covered him like a tent. He appeared lost in it, as if it had been made for him when he was young and powerful, and no longer fit him now that his frame had withered. That impression was reinforced by his stark white hair and beard, by the faint blue tint his veins gave his skin, by the arthritic swelling of the knuckles of his hands, and by the watery azure hue of his eyes. A thin circlet of gold held his hair back from his face.

  ‘King Joyse,’ Geraden whispered to Terisa.

  The other man had lost most of his hair, and what was left of it stuck up from his pate in unruly tufts. His hawk nose gave his face a fierceness which was belied by the constant trembling of his fleshy lips. His eyes seemed to be looking in slightly different directions. He wore a plain, dingy surcoat, which had once been white, with – as far as Terisa could tell – nothing under it. But over his shoulders was draped a yellow chasuble.

  ‘Adept Havelock,’ breathed Geraden. ‘Some of the Masters call him “the King’s Dastard.”’

  Both men were concentrating intently on a playing board set between them. It was composed of alternating red and black squares, but only the black squares were in use. On them sat small round counters: the King’s were white; Havelock’s, red. As she noticed the board, Terisa saw Havelock make a move, hopping one of his men over two of the King’s and removing them from the board.

  They were playing checkers.

  A jolt of recognition went through her, upsetting her disproportionately. After all, it was only a minor game – one of the few she had ever played. One of her father’s valets had taught it to her in his spare time when she was ten years old; and they had played together at intervals for nearly a year, until he lost his job. He had been a square-cut young man with an odd kindness in his eyes and an infrequent grin. The truth was that she had never really enjoyed the game itself: she had played so eagerly because she had a tremendous crush on him. His attention and his little courtesies to her had charmed her completely. When the man was fired, she had somehow mustered enough courage to ask her father why, but he had refused to give any explanation. ‘It’s none of your business, Terisa. Go and play. I’m busy.’

  Remembering that valet now, she felt an unexpected sense of loss, as if in her small world she had just suffered an important bereavement. The life she was used to had been taken away from her as easily as one of her father’s whims, and nobody would tell her why.

  The game disturbed her for other reasons as well, however. It was something familiar in a place where nothing was familiar. What was it doing here? What was she doing here? Precisely because it was familiar – because it didn’t fit – it seemed to make what was happening to her less real.

  Geraden took a step forward, but neither King Joyse nor the old Adept looked up from the game. After a moment, he cleared his throat. Still neither of the players took notice of him. He glanced back at Terisa and shrugged, then ventured to call attention to himself.

  ‘My lord King, I’ve brought the lady Terisa of Morgan to you.’ He hesitated briefly before adding, ‘I’ve told her you must meet her.’

  Adept Havelock remained hunched over the board, unheeding of everything except his game. But the King raised his head, turned his moist blue gaze toward Geraden and Terisa.

  He seemed to take a moment to focus his eyes. Then, slowly, he began to smile.

  Terisa thought immediately that he had a wonderful smile. It contained none of the artificial good humor or calculation she might have expected from a ruler. Instead, it lighted his face with a clean, childlike innocence and pleasure: it made him look like a young boy who had unexpectedly found a secret friend. Irrationally, she felt that her entire life would have been different if she had seen anyone smile like that before. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him – and didn’t want to.

  With a slight quaver of age in his voice, he said, ‘If you have told her that I must meet her, Geraden, then surely I must. It would be unforgivably discourteous if you spoke anything less than the truth to such a lady – and so it would be equally rude if I failed to make what you have told her true.’

  Carefully, he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. His movements were unsteady; standing, he appeared more than ever lost in his voluminous robe. But his smile remained as pure as sunlight. ‘My lady Terisa of Morgan, do you play hop-board?’

  Terisa was fixed on King Joyse, but at the edge of her attention she thought she saw Geraden wince.

  For the moment, his reactions were irrelevant to her. Buoyed by the King’s smile, she replied, ‘I haven’t played since I was a girl.’ That was true – if she didn’t count all the games she had played against herself in the years after the valet was fired, games she had played in an effort to be content with her own company. ‘We called it checkers. It looks like the same game.’

  ‘“Checkers”?’ King Joyse looked thoughtful. ‘That seems an odd name.’ Then he smiled again. ‘But no matter. Perhaps when Havelock has finished giving me his customary drubbing, you will consent to play a game or two with me? I would be delighted to be able to hope – however briefly – for an honest victory.’

  ‘My lord King.’ Geraden sounded tense and worried, as if his introduction of Terisa to King Joyse were going seriously wrong. ‘I told the lady Terisa you would want to meet her because she came here by translation.’

  Geraden’s interruption appeared to sadden the King. His smile changed to lines of fatigue and melancholy as he looked toward the Apt. ‘I see that, Geraden,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not blind, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Geraden murmured. ‘I just meant that she’s important. I had to bring her to you.’ He was hurrying. ‘The Congery sent me into the mirror this morning to try to get the champion they wanted. But I didn’t find him. I found her instead. She might be the answer to the auguries.’

  Adept Havelock continued to ignore Geraden and Terisa. Scrutinizing the board, he reached out finally and moved one of the King’s men, hopping one of his own. Then, triumphantly, he responded by demolishing a whole line of opposing pieces and arriving at the last row, where he crowned himself with severe emphasis.

  Grimly, forcing himself to speak in spite of his embarrassment, Geraden went on, ‘She proves you’ve been right all along. The mirrors don’t create what we see. The Images really exist.’

  King Joyse studied Geraden for a moment. Then he sighed wearily and turned to Terisa. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘please pardon me. It appears that this urgent young man will not allow us the freedom to play hop-board just now.

  ‘Be reasonable, Geraden,’ he continued, shifting his attention back to the Apt. ‘You know that I agree with you. But what does her presence here truly prove?’ The quaver in his voice persisted: he sounded like he was rehearsing an argument so old that he would no longer have gotten any satisfaction out of winning it. ‘Surely it’s possible that you found her
instead of the champion you sought because of one of your unfortunate mishaps? Or perhaps you’ve touched on an unsuspected strength in yourself, and you found her instead of the champion because she was what you wished to find? In what way does her translation demonstrate the fundamental nature of Imagery – or of mirrors?’

  Geraden looked first startled by the King’s argument, then vaguely nauseated. ‘But I saw—’ he protested incoherently. ‘It wasn’t the same.’

  King Joyse watched him mildly and waited for him to pull his thoughts together.

  With an effort, Geraden said slowly, ‘I made that mirror myself. I saw the champion I was supposed to find in it. He was right there in front of me when I stepped into the glass. But during the translation everything changed. I arrived in a room that was totally different from the Images. She is totally different. What you’re saying is that I made her up – by some kind of accident, either because I didn’t know what I was doing or because I didn’t know my own strength. How is that possible?’

  In reply, the King shrugged – a bit sadly, Terisa thought. ‘Who can say? Centuries ago, no one believed that Imagery itself was possible. Even a hundred years ago, no one believed that Imagery might threaten the existence of the very realms which made use of it.

  ‘Geraden,’ he said to the pain on the Apt’s face, ‘I don’t claim that she does not exist. I only observe that her presence here doesn’t settle the question.’

  Geraden shook his head and tried again. ‘But if you think that way – and you push it far enough – you can’t prove anything exists. You can’t prove I’m here talking to you. You can’t prove you’re playing hop-board with anybody but yourself. You might not be playing it anywhere except in your own mind.’

  At that, the King smiled, then grimaced humorously. ‘Unfortunately, I’m confident that my games of hop-board are real – and my opponent as well. The drubbings I receive are too painful for any other explanation.’