A Man Rides Through (35 page)

"No." Elega shook her head, not in denial, but in exasperation. "You suppose too much too quickly. How can it possibly be 'vital' to Father that Prince Kragen trusts me?"

"Elega,
think.
You have already come so close to your own answer. What did Father accomplish by refusing to reinforce the Perdon, when the Perdon came to Orison and demanded help?"

"What did he
accomplish?"

"Or put it another way. What would have happened when Cadwal marched if the Perdon had been supported by several thousand guards? As you have observed, the Perdon would have retreated
here,
to preserve his forces and defend his King. And High King Festten could not have permitted an enemy that strong to disengage, to maneuver freely. He would have been forced to follow.

"By refusing to reinforce the Perdon, Father made it possible that the Cadwals would not come here directly.

"Do you still not understand, Elega?"

"Time," Elega breathed. At last, she seemed to be catching up. "Since Cadwal is not here, Alend can afford to wait. By refusing to support the Perdon, he gained time."

"Yes!" Myste whispered.

"And by pushing us where we are, he also gained time. He made it possible that I might use my influence with the Prince to encourage inaction. But primarily"—Elega was amazed by how convincing she found this—"he pushed us to be where we are so that if the Prince attacked fiercely you would defend Orison—and so the Alend attack would be frustrated—and because you and I are sisters we might find a way to keep the violence between our forces to a minimum."

"Yes," repeated Myste. Her manner began to relax.

"But
why?"
Elega didn't know whether to laugh or shriek.
"Why
does he need time? What is he
doing?
What is his plan? How can he believe that Mordant will be saved by the things he has done to destroy it?"

Apparently, Myste felt no need to shriek. Chuckling softly, she said, "If I knew
that
—if I could so much as make an intelligent guess—I would tell it to Prince Kragen myself."

Unexpectedly, Elega also began chuckling. "So this is all talk? You can think of no reason why Father might need time—therefore no reason to believe he actually does need time—therefore no reason to trust any of your speculations?"

Myste shook her head cheerfully. "None."

"Except," Elega murmured after a moment, "for the fact that it all seems too tidy to be accidental."

Myste's smile was so complete that it made even the burn on her cheek look like a mark of beauty.

Elega sighed. Slowly, her inexplicable humor faded. "I must say, Myste," she commented, "that I have a powerful wish to make you tell all this to Prince Kragen anyway. Unfortunately, he would make you a prisoner. He would want to use you as a lever against Father— or against your champion."

"In that case," Myste replied, "Darsint would come for me. I doubt that he would be inclined to let me be used as a lever."

"And Alends would be killed," added Elega. "And the force in his weapons might be exhausted. And nothing would be gained."

"That"—Myste grinned sharply, like a woman who had learned to enjoy risks—"is the reasoning I used to persuade him to let me come to you."

As a final surprise in an evening full of surprises, Elega found that she had never liked her sister as much as she did at this moment. "In that case," she drawled, "it behooves me, I think, to help you leave the camp before any word of your visit reaches Prince Kragen. Come, get your cloak. We will take a few skins of this wine with us and go out the back."

Before they left, she and Myste shared a hug as if they had recognized each other for the first time.

The next morning, after he had received the night's reports from his captains, Prince Kragen called Elega out of her tent.

She had never seen him so angry. Even his moustache seemed to have been waxed with outrage.

"My lady," he said, "last night a woman entered the camp. She claimed to be your sister. She was taken to your tent."

Elega faced him boldly, hiding the fright in her heart. "Yes, my lord Prince. My sister Myste."

"The one who disappeared after the Imagers translated their champion." That may have been all he knew about her. "Where is she now?"

Remembering that she was a bad liar, Elega held his gaze and replied, "We talked for a long time. Then I helped her to depart without bothering the sentries."

"King Joyse's daughter. One of the most valuable women in Mordant. You 'helped her to depart.'" The Prince's tone made every soldier within earshot avert his head. "Why?"

Elega did her best to smile the way Myste had smiled, as if she enjoyed risks. "Come into my tent, my lord Prince. I have a story to tell you that will make you doubt your reason."

That
was why she loved him. Despite the fact that she was the daughter of his enemy—that she had betrayed her own father and might therefore be capable of betraying anyone—that she had helped another of the King's daughters escape—Prince Kragen went into her tent and heard her story.

At roughly the same hour, Artagel was given permission to leave his bed for the first time. His side was healing well, and he had been free of fever long enough to reassure his physician. In addition, ever since his delirious visit to the dungeons he had been a model patient. So he was advised to get out of bed for a little mild, repeat,
mild
exercise.

He smiled at his physician's severe manner. He smiled at the gap-toothed kitchen maid who brought his meals. He smiled at the sweep who cleaned his rooms. But he didn't actually try to stand and dress himself and walk until he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted.

He didn't want any witnesses while he tested himself to see how weak he was.

The effort of putting on a loose shirt and trousers made him sweat. Bending over to shove his feet into his boots made him lightheaded. Simply lifting the weight of his longsword made him tremble. With every movement, his injury pulled as if it were about to tear open.

Grinning unsteady defiance, he left his rooms—mild exercise,
mild
—and went to see Castellan Lebbick.

He had a number of reasons for wanting to talk to the Castellan. One was that Lebbick had tried to see
him
a few days ago, and had been turned away because of his fever. Another was that—if he could be persuaded to talk—the Castellan was the best available source of information about several subjects which interested Artagel keenly: the siege; King Joyse's plans; the Congery's preparations; the search for Geraden.

Thanks to the fact that most of his friends were guards, a number of whom had come to see him while he was ill, he knew that the siege had been passive since the first day. But that could mean almost anything; he wanted to know what it
did
mean. Of course, Master Eremis' solution to the water problem was common knowledge. In addition, Artagel had heard that Master Quillon was dead, that Master Barsonage had resumed his place as mediator of the Congery. He had heard that Terisa was gone. He had even heard that there was a connection between Quillon's death and Terisa's disappearance. And just once someone—probably Artagel's physician himself—had mentioned that questions were still being asked about Underwell.

Curiosity about such things might have been enough to make Artagel visit the Castellan. He and Lebbick were old friends, after all—to the extent that the Castellan could be said to have friends. In fact, he had been Artagel's teacher and commander until Artagel had reached the point where it was no longer reasonable for anyone to tell him what to do. Because of this, he was widely believed—at least among the castle's active defenders—to be the only man in Orison who could go to the Castellan and ask him questions and actually get answers.

As it happened, however, Artagel had two additional reasons for wanting a conversation with the Castellan, reasons more compelling than any of the others.

First, he had thought long and searchingly—not his favorite form of exertion—about his last conversation with the lady Terisa, and he didn't like any of the conclusions he reached.

Second, he had heard from no less than six reliable friends that early in the morning after Terisa's disappearance Castellan Lebbick had returned to his quarters and found a woman in his bed.

Terisa's former maid, Saddith.

He had beaten her nearly to death.

Even now—what was it, five days later?—her physician wasn't sure she would ever use her hands again. And as for her face— Well, no
one wanted to describe her disfigurement.

Since then, the Castellan hadn't been out of his rooms. He directed the defense of Orison entirely through an intermediary— through the one man he had chosen to bring him information and carry
his instructions.

By a coincidence so odd that it made Artagel's guts knot, the man Castellan Lebbick had chosen was Ribuld, the scarred veteran who had occasionally helped protect Terisa as a favor to Geraden, and who had lost his best friend, Argus, in a failed attempt to trap Prince Kragen.

Why
Ribuld,
of all people? Lebbick had never put him in a position of responsibility before. In fact, Ribuld would have said that the Castellan never noticed him except when he did something wrong.

Even though the effort of walking made his heart labor and his bones ache, Artagel was determined to confront Castellan Lebbick and get some answers.

He didn't like remembering the way Terisa had cried at him,
Are you out of your mind? Geraden is your brother.
At the time, he hadn't understood her. Well, he had been delirious, emotionally and morally sick at what had been done to Nyle. But now her words stuck in him like an accusation.

When he arrived at Lebbick's quarters, he was a little surprised to find the door guarded. The Castellan had never felt the need for protection in his own rooms before. Nevertheless Artagel didn't hesitate. He went up to the guard on duty, a man he had known for years, and asked, "He still refusing to see anybody?"

The man nodded. Despite his evident pleasure that Artagel was out of bed at last, he commented, "And he isn't going to make an exception in your case, either."

Artagel smiled. It was probably a good thing he hadn't tried to bring his sword. He would have looked like a fool pulling it out— and then letting its weight stretch him flat on the floor. As if he'd never been ill, however, he said, "I want to go in there. You aren't really going to stand in my way."

"You're going to get past me?" the guard snorted.
"In your
condition?" But then he put up his hands. "Well, since you force me— Somebody's got to get sense out of him. Might as well be you. After what he did to that woman— If he doesn't answer for it soon, we're going to have trouble on our hands. Too many people who don't have anything better to do are getting ugly about it.

"If he hits you, give a croak, and I'll carry you back to your rooms."

Artagel faked a bow with one arm. "Thanks ever so much. It always feels good to have a man like you behind me."

"I know," the guard replied. "As far behind you as possible."

Chuckling, he opened the door.

Convinced that he really wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet much longer, Artagel entered the Castellan's quarters.

The front room was ill-lit, unswept, and undecorated—which hadn't been the case when Artagel was last here, some time before Lebbick's wife died. Although he wasn't given to luxury, the Castellan had claimed an extensive suite for himself and his wife; he had insisted for decades that they meant to have children, regardless of the damage she had suffered as an Alend prisoner. And she had humored him by keeping up their quarters like a home where children would be welcome. But since her death he had stripped the walls and floor to the bare stone; he had moved a hard cot into the front room and sealed the rest of the doors—even in Orison's overcrowded state, those rooms stood empty. And since Terisa's disappearance he had obviously given up all pretense of housekeeping. The one lamp on the table beside his cot gave just enough light to show that the room was filthy.