A Man Rides Through (72 page)

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She took a shuddering breath. "I don't understand. How did I do it? I was on the wrong side of the glass. I didn't think it was possible for something in an Image to translate itself out."

Geraden tightened his hug. It was the mediator who answered, however.

"The Adept did that, my lady. The idea was Geraden's, but he can do nothing with flat glass.

"You are right. We know of no way for what is in an Image to translate itself out. Even for us—for Imagers of talent who have shaped the mirrors—entering a glass is nearly effortless, but bringing what is in the Image out requires gestures, invocations—a particular way of concentrating the Imager's talent. After all, the mirror itself is
here,
not where you were.

"Yet when the Image in this glass shifted from sand to darkness, we could hardly fail to notice the fact. And Geraden guessed that the shift was your doing. And Havelock is an Adept. We are fortunate"—Barsonage smiled sourly—"that he is in a mood which allows him to react to events reasonably. After Geraden had made himself understood, the Adept performed the translation which rescued you."

With startling clarity, Terisa felt Master Eremis springing toward her through the dark, remembered his attack. As if she were panicking, she broke away from Geraden. But she wasn't panicking; she may have lost the capacity for panic altogether.

Before Havelock could try to avoid her, she caught her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Just for a second, the mad old Imager's eyes came together; he grinned at her like an ecstatic boy. It was amazing, really, how easily she was able to forgive him for failing to help her against Master Gilbur.

Almost at once, however, his gaze split again; his nose jutted fiercely, like a promise of violence. Fortunately, he didn't try to say anything.

He didn't try to stop her when she turned back to Geraden.

Geraden was watching her hungrily. For the first time, she realized that he had tears streaming down his face.

This clear sight of him made her stop. He had known the danger she was in. While she was Eremis' prisoner, he had been here—cut off— She could picture him desperately trying to bridge the gap—

Abruptly, she locked an embrace around him. "Oh, love," she breathed, aching for him. "You changed a mirror. You must have gone crazy trying to reach me."

Geraden held her hard; but again it was Master Barsonage who answered. "Our Geraden has proved to be nearly as great a source of wonders as you are, my lady." He sounded steady, but behind his self-control she could hear a tremor of pride and vindication. "Of course, we knew of his ability to perform astonishing things with his own glass. For that reason, in some sense we were not surprised when Orison's enemies contrived the destruction of his mirror."

In shock, Terisa stiffened.
The destruction
—
?
Her link with her home was gone.

Then how—?

"Without his glass," the mediator continued, "we believed he would be helpless. But he has shown himself an Adept in his own right, at least where normal mirrors are concerned." Barsonage indicated a curved glass beside the flat desertscape. "He imposed an Image of Esmerel there and used it to search for you. Only the ploy of darkness prevented him from reaching you."

As she absorbed the mediator's words, her dismay lifted. "You can do that?" She was so pleased that she pushed back again to look into Geraden's anguish. "You're an Adept as well as an Imager? That's wonderful!" Suddenly, she was so furious that it felt like ecstasy. "Heaven help that bastard.
We'll tear him to pieces."

Her passion seemed to give him what he needed. She could see him shrug away his failure to rescue her, his helplessness to rescue Nyle. The lines of his face grew sharper; his eyes cast hints of fire.

"It won't be easy. Esmerel is two days away on a good horse. Prince Kragen thinks High King Festten has at least twenty thousand men. Not to mention all the abominations Eremis can translate. They can still use flat glass whenever they want—and we don't know how they do it." He wasn't trying to daunt her. He was simply bringing up problems in order to solve them.

"I don't care about any of that," she replied in the same spirit. "They've got Nyle. They've got the Queen. High King Festten is there. Eremis talked to him this morning. They've destroyed the Perdon.
Annihilated
is the word Vagel used. They're destroying Sternwall and Fayle. And it's just going to get worse." Tersely, she explained what the arch-Imager and Master Eremis had revealed about the speed, precision, and flexibility they had achieved with mirrors. While Geraden scowled at the information, and Master Barsonage blinked in consternation, she concluded, "We've got to stop him before he goes any further."

The mediator started to ask a question, then subsided. But Geraden accepted her explanation without wincing. When she was done, he said, "There's one more thing. King Joyse is gone."

Gone—?

"I mean really gone. Adept Havelock says he flew away." Geraden glanced dubiously at the mad old Imager. "I don't know what that means. But the last we heard no one's been able to find him."

"Then who's in charge?" Orison without King Joyse: the concept was strangely appalling. His absence was a pit yawning at her feet. "This whole thing was his idea.
He
wanted to fight Eremis this way. Who's giving the orders now?"

Geraden didn't flinch: he had regained his feet; felt as combative as she did. "We don't know. We've been down here most of the time. Probably nobody knows where to find us." He hesitated, then said, "With King Joyse gone and Castellan Lebbick dead, the whole place may be collapsing." Another flicker of hesitation. "They may have turned on the Prince."

That was true. Terisa imagined riots storming through the upper levels of the castle; panic and bloodshed. It was conceivable that Orison might destroy itself.

She wheeled on Adept Havelock.

"Where is he? This was
his
idea.
Your
idea. Curse that old man, we need him."

A sick feeling rose in her stomach as she saw Havelock hunch forward with conspiratorial glee; his eyes nearly gyrated in opposite directions, rapacious and loony. He crooked a finger at her, summoning her near, as if he wanted to tell her a secret.

She didn't move; nevertheless he reacted as if she had come closer to hear him.

"I have seen an Image," he whispered, "an Image, an Image. In which the women are peculiar. Their tits are on their backs. Because of this, they look very strange. But it must be delightful to embrace them."

Grinning, he concluded, "He came to me and commanded.
Commanded.
What could I do? I don't know how to beg." His manner didn't change, yet without transition his tone turned fierce. "I have said it and said it. Hop-board pieces are
men.
Women make everything impossible."

Terisa wanted to swear at him—and give him a hug as if he needed comforting. Torn between anger and pity, she faced Geraden and Master Barsonage again. She included the mediator in what she was saying, but all of her attention and intensity were focused on Geraden.

"We've got to find out what's going on."

Both men nodded, Barsonage willingly, Geraden in passion and approval.

"Somebody has got to figure out what King Joyse intended to do now and make sure it gets done."

Master Barsonage hesitated. Geraden nodded again.

To the Master, she said, "We'll explain as soon as we get the chance. King Joyse set this all up. It's all deliberate." Then she took hold of Geraden's arm.

Clasping each other hard, they strode away into the passage which led to the storeroom, out of Adept Havelock's quarters.

Master Barsonage followed them quickly. The bristling of his eyebrows and the frown of his concentration gave him a look of unfamiliar certainty.

Behind them, Havelock picked up his featherduster and went back to cleaning his already immaculate mirrors. The particular glass he chose to work on now happened to show the Image in which he had found the flying brown cloud that he had used against Prince Kragen's catapults.

Like Castellan Lebbick, he had been abandoned.

He didn't seem to be aware that he was weeping like a child.

Terisa, Geraden, and Master Barsonage heard weeping, especially in the lower levels of the castle, where most of Orison's newer occupants had been crowded: small children; frightened women; helpless oldsters and invalids. They heard shouts of alarm and fear, cries of protest and distrust. They heard blows. Once they saw several guards raise the butts of their pikes to strike at men who wanted to break out of a closed corridor. The men cursed and pleaded as they were forced back; the rumor of Gart's attack had reached them, and they wanted to clear a path for their families out of Orison before Cadwal's army arrived from nowhere to butcher them all.

But there was no sign of a riot.

Instead of rioting, the castle was full of guards. They were everywhere, blocking the movement of people and panic, controlling access to crucial passages or stairs or doors, facing down farmers and merchants and servants and stonemasons who wanted to attack or flee with their loved ones because Orison had been penetrated.

"Who is in command?" Master Barsonage demanded of the guards. "Where is King Joyse?"

The answer was, Pissed if I know. Or the equivalent.

"Where did you get your orders?" asked Geraden.

That was easier. Norge. Castellan Lebbick's second.

For the moment, the fact that Norge was actually only one of the Castellan's seconds-in-command seemed unimportant. The point was that power still existed in Orison. It was being held together by someone from whom the guards were willing to take orders. Someone with enough credibility to be obeyed during an emergency.

Norge himself? What gave him precedence over the other captains?
Who
gave him precedence?

A Master of the Congery? Impossible. Never in the mediator's absence.

One of King Joyse's counselors? One of Orison's lords? Unlikely.

Prince Kragen himself? Inconceivable.

Artagel?

Was the situation so bad that no one could be found to take charge except Geraden's independent-minded and slightly crippled brother?

Terisa wanted to run. She would have run if Geraden hadn't held her back.

As she and her companions left the castle's lower levels, however, Orison's mood improved. Here the halls were under better control; less frightened by the possibility of an attack by Imagery. Soon a guard appeared who saluted the mediator. "Master Barsonage," he panted. Apparently, he had come running from the Imager's quarters. "Geraden. The lady Terisa?" He knew enough about the day's events to be surprised. "You're wanted in the King's rooms."

The King's rooms? Terisa and Geraden and Master Barsonage stopped in their tracks.

"The audience hall is no longer safe," explained the guard.

"Who
wants us?" demanded Barsonage instantly.

Breathing hard, the guard replied, "My lord Tor. He says he's taken command. In the King's absence. He and Norge. Norge is the new Castellan."

The
Tor.
Terisa felt a surge of energy. Bless that old man!

"What about Prince Kragen?" she asked.

The guard hesitated as if he were unsure of how much he should say. After a moment, however, he answered, "It's just a rumor. I was told my lord Tor offered him an alliance."

Geraden let out a fierce cheer.

Together, he and Terisa started into a run.

Master Barsonage took time to pursue the question. "What was the Prince's reply?"