A Man Rides Through (14 page)

"He has a secret way into the dungeon. It comes from his workroom in the laborium. You ought to be able to find it without too much trouble."

When she said that, Castellan Lebbick flinched backward. He didn't loosen his grip on himself, but his eyes betrayed a vast accumulation of pain.

"If he came here," he asked, still breathing hard, "why didn't you go with him? Why didn't you escape?"

For some reason, that question cracked her mad calm. She seemed to feel herself shattering, like an eggshell. Without transition, she went from lucidity to the edge of hysteria.

"Because—" Her voice broke, and her heart hammered as if it couldn't bear the strain any longer. "Because he wanted to use me against Geraden. The same way he used Nyle."

A muscle began to twitch in the Castellan's right cheek. The twitch spread until the whole side of his face felt the spasm. He was losing control.

"So if you're telling the truth"—for the first time since she had met him, he sounded like a man who might weep—"Geraden has always been true to King Joyse.
True,
when almost nobody else is. And you're true to Geraden. And I've been hurting my King by distrusting you—by trying to protect him from you."

Dumbly, Terisa nodded.

Without warning, the Castellan whirled away. "I've got to see this 'secret way' for myself." Slamming the cell door so hard that flakes of rust scattered to the stone, he started down the corridor.

Almost at once, he broke into a run. His voice echoed across the sound of his boots as he shouted as if he were calling farewell to her—or to himself—"I am loyal to my King!"

Stricken numb and hardly able to care what happened to her at the moment, Terisa pulled the torn seam of her shirt closed as well as she could. Grief threatened to overwhelm her: her own; the Castellan's; the hurt and sorrow of anyone who had to bear the consequences of King Joyse's decline. No,
decline
wasn't the right word. He still knew what he was doing. He had brought Mordant and Orison to this dilemma deliberately. Dully, she thought about that to keep herself from considering how close she and Castellan Lebbick had come to destroying each other.

When she finally looked up from her futile attempt to make her shirt decent—or at least warm—she saw Master Quillon inexplicably standing outside the bars of her cell.

"That was bravely done, my lady," he said in a distant tone. "Unfortunately, it was a mistake."

She looked at him, gaped at him; her mouth hung open, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Master Eremis lied to you. He has no passage from his workroom into the dungeon. He came to you by translation.

"When the Castellan learns that no passage exists, he will not believe another word you say. His rage will be so great that I fear he will be unable to hold himself back from killing you."

It was too much. Fear and loneliness filled Terisa's chest, and she started crying.

THIRTY-ONE: HOP-BOARD

After a while, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She was crying hard; but the touch was unexpected, and it startled her. She looked up to find Master Quillon beside her. His nose was twitching, and his eyes were gentle; clearly, he intended to comfort her.

"My lady," he murmured, "it has been painful for you, I know. And it must seem unjustified. You asked for none of this. And though we did not choose you, we have not hesitated to use you. I will give you all the help I can."

Help, she thought through her tears. All the help I can. It was too late. The Castellan was too strong. He had too much power. She couldn't prove anything against Master Eremis. Nobody was going to be able to help her.

But Master Quillon was standing beside her. With his hand on her shoulder. Inside her cell. When she blinked her eyes clear, she saw that the door was open.

The Imager glanced where she was looking and commented like a shrug, "Fortunately, the Castellan was in such dudgeon that he forgot to lock it. I doubt that any of the guards would be willing to open it for us when he is at this level of outrage."

By degrees, the open door and Master Quillon's unexplained presence fixed her attention. The pressure of sobs receded in her chest; her breathing grew steadier. Without meeting the Master's gaze, she muttered, "Did Havelock send you this time?"

"Indirectly," Quillon replied. "I am here for his benefit—and for the King's. To save all Mordant. But primarily"—his grip on her shoulder tightened a bit—"I have come to let you out of this prison."

Let me out
—
?
Her eyes jerked to his: she stared at him, unable to control the way her face suddenly burned with yearning and hope. Her mouth shaped words she couldn't find her voice to say out loud: You're going to set me
free?

Abruptly, Master Quillon took his hand from her shoulder and sat down next to her on the cot. Now his gaze studied the floor instead of meeting hers. "My lady," he said to the stones, "it pains me to see you so surprised. And it pains me even more to know that we deserve your surprise. I do not like some of the things we have done to you. And I lack King Joyse's talent for risks. We deserve any recrimination you might make against us."

Then his tone became more sardonic. "The truth is that we deserve to be betrayed—by you as well as by Geraden, if by no one else. But a blind man could see now that you are faithful to him, and so you will not betray us. In that we are exceptionally fortunate. Perhaps our good fortune is as great as our need."

Because she was too confused to follow what he was saying, she asked, "Is this going to be another lecture?"

He winced; perhaps he thought she was being sarcastic. But he didn't back down. "Not if you do not wish it, my lady. If you wish me to keep my mouth shut, I will simply take you away from here and let you do whatever you choose without argument—or explanation. But I tell you plainly"—then he did look at her, letting her see the pain on his face—"that you will wound me if you do not permit me to explain. And I think you will increase the difficulty of your own decisions."

She could hardly believe what she heard. To be helped, to be offered explanations, to be offered
freedom
—! Far from resenting him, as he apparently expected, she was hard pressed to restrain herself from weeping again in gratitude.

But she had to have more self-command than
this.
Otherwise it would all be wasted on her. She would go wrong. So she didn't jump to accept his offer. Instead, she did her best to
think
again, to make her brain resume functioning. Tentatively, groping for what she wanted to understand first, she asked, "How do you know Master Eremis doesn't have a secret way in here? How do you know what he said to me?"

"I
heard
him," Master Quillon retorted with sudden sharpness. He didn't seem to like what he had heard. "I have been secreted down here since noon, when Prince Kragen stopped bringing up catapults against us. I heard your conversations with both the Castellan and Eremis—and with the Castellan again." He made an effort to speak more softly. "That is how I became certain of your loyalty to Geraden."

As if he thought she wasn't asking the right questions—not being hard enough on him—he said almost at once, "You will ask why I did not intervene when the Castellan threatened you. My lady, please believe that I would have done so. You found your own answer to his violence, however. Because he must not know my part in all this, if that can be avoided, I left you to deal with him alone."

"No," she said reflexively, abstract with concentration. He was right: that was something she wanted to ask him, a subject she wanted to pursue. But not yet. "Tell me about that later." First things first. She had to pull her mind into some kind of order. "He said he built a secret way from his workroom into the dungeon. How can you be sure that isn't true?"

The Master rubbed his nose to make it stop twitching. "It would be impossible to do such work secretly, with so many Apts everywhere in the laborium. Regardless of that, however, I know Eremis did not use a passage to come here. I saw him arrive and depart. He was translated."

"You mean—"
He
can pass through flat glass, too, and not lose his mind? Can
everybody
do it? "You mean he has a mirror with this dungeon in its Image?"

How is it possible to fight people who can pass through flat glass without going mad?

"I fear so, my lady. I suspect it is the same mirror which translated those hunting insects against Geraden. The passages of Orison are confusing, I know, but actually we are not far from the translation point they used—and Gart used when he attacked you and the Prince. There is considerable stone between this cell and that corridor, but of course stone would be no obstacle to an Image, if the focus of its glass could be shifted that far.

"Incidentally, you may wonder why your enemies do not send more of those insects against you while you are here and helpless." Actually, she hadn't wondered anything of the kind, but Master Quillon went on anyway, "It is the Adept's opinion that they must be given the scent of their victim before they will hunt. For anyone associated with the Congery, it would be easy to obtain something belonging to Geraden—a small possession, a piece of clothing. But opportunities to loot your rooms or wardrobes have been kept as near to nonexistent as possible. Without your scent, the insects cannot be sent against you."

Involuntarily, Terisa shuddered. She didn't want to think about those hideous—

Master Quillon saved her. He continued talking.

"Considering that Eremis wants you—perhaps as a hostage, perhaps as a lover—wants you enough to risk coming here, it is an interesting question why he has not used his mirror to translate you away. You would be entirely in his power then. But I suspect that the focus of his mirror has already been shifted as far as it will go.

"He must find it quite exasperating that the perfect solution to his dilemma is denied him by the small fact that you are
here
rather than eight cells farther down the corridor. As I say, we have been more fortunate than we deserve."

The Master had done it again, gone off at a tangent, distracted her. Sudden frustration welled up in her. "Then why don't you
stop
him?" She turned toward Quillon, demanding an answer with her whole body. "Get the Castellan to arrest him. Lock him up somewhere safe. He's going to betray
everybody.
You've got to
stop
him."

"My lady"—Master Quillon's voice was soft, and his eyes studied her as if he wondered how much of the truth she would be able to bear—"it is too soon."

Too
soon?
Too
soon?
She gaped at him, unable to speak.

"We do not know where his strength is located. We do not know how this trick of translation is done. We do not know how far his alliances extend, or how many powers he is prepared to bring out of his mirrors against us. We do not know what his plans are—how he means to destroy us. Until his trap is sprung, we have no effective way to strike back at him."

Still she gaped at him. Her head was spinning. With an effort, she asked thinly, " 'We'?"

The Master smiled slightly, sourly. "Yes, my lady. King Joyse, for the most part. And Adept Havelock, when he is able. I follow their instructions." He paused while she went pale with shock; then he admitted, "Not a very impressive cabal, I fear. There is no one else."

A moment later—perhaps because she couldn't stop staring at him—he seemed to take pity on her. "We cannot afford allies," he explained. "It is the essence of the King's policy to appear weak. Confused in his priorities. Unable to achieve decisions. Careless of his kingdom. And it would be impossible to create that appearance if his intentions were not kept secret. If Queen Madin knew the truth, would she turn her back on her husband in his time of gravest peril? If the Tor knew the truth, how well would he play the part of the forlorn and hectoring friend? If Castellan Lebbick knew the truth— No, it would be disastrous. He has no subterfuge in him. And no one would believe that King Joyse had lost his will or his wits, while Lebbick remained confident."