The Mirror of Her Dreams (39 page)

Elega gave a soft snort of derision. 'Let him abdicate his rule when he loses his mind. Then we will respect him as our father without despising him as a failed king.'

Terisa noticed Lebbick glowering at them as if he heard and hated every word.

His glare struck such a chill into her that several moments passed before she realized that the doors to the hall had been closed.

Around the balcony, each of the guards unlimbered his bow and put an arrow to the string. Instinctively, Terisa clutched at Myste's arm. But the lady shook her head and smiled in reassurance.

Now the Castellan was on his feet. Facing the seated people, he said formally, 'My lords and ladies, attend.' He didn't raise his voice, but his tone cut to the farthest corners of the hall. 'You are commanded to this audience by Joyse, Lord of the Demesne and King of Mordant.'

On cue, King Joyse appeared from behind the tall construct of his seat. He had on what appeared to be the same robe of purple velvet he had been wearing when Terisa last saw him. His white hair was held in place by a circlet of gold; but his beard looked like he had slept on it and forgotten to comb it. Now, however, a brocade strap across his chest over his right shoulder supported a tooled leather sheath which held a longsword with a double-handed hilt and a jewelled pommel. The weight of the sword made him seem even more frail than before, more withered inside his voluminous robe. He was walking very slowly.

He was followed immediately by Adept Havelock.

The people in the hall rose to their feet and bowed while King Joyse ascended the pediment and sat down on his throne; then, responding to some signal Terisa missed, they raised their heads and stood in silence before their King.

At the same time, Adept Havelock walked into the open space before the seat and began to dance.

From one foot to the other he hopped, shaking his head,

gesturing with his arms, kicking up his heels behind him.

His dingy surcoat, tattered at the hem, and stained chasuble, his bare feet and the ratty tufts of hair protruding from his pate made him look like a derelict, a piece of human flotsam that had recently been retrieved from some gutter. His beak-like nose confronted the gathering with a fierceness which his unsteady, sybaritic mouth and confused eyes rendered foolish.

His expression was so lunatic that Terisa nearly laughed aloud. Luckily, she didn't. Everyone else stared at Havelock-or avoided staring at him-in misery, disgust, or horror. Somtone she didn't see muttered audibly, bitterly, 'Hail the King's Dastard.' Castellan Lebbick fixed the Adept with a glare which threatened to make his surcoat catch fire. Even Myste's tolerance wasn't equal to the way Havelock capered: she frowned and bit her lower lip, and her eyes were bright with anger or tears.

Nevertheless he revelled in the reaction he caused-or he was proof against it. In one hand, he carried a smoking silver censer shaped like a large baby-rattle, and he shook fumes of incense around him while he pranced. Soon his dancing took him close to the people standing in front of their pews. At that point, he began to single out individuals for special attention. He jumped up and down in front of them, flourished his censer until smoke made them cough, made their eyes water. And he shouted in a liturgical tone, as if he were intoning specific prayers for each of the people he faced: 'Rut in the halls!'

'Hop-board is the game which the gods play with doom!' 'Twelve candles were lit upon the table, twelve for the twelve kinds of madness and mystery.' 'All women are better clothed naked.' 'Dandelions and butterflies. We are nothing more than dandelions and butterflies in the end.'

King Joyse slumped in his seat, propping his elbows on the arms of the throne and supporting his head with both hands.

'Hail King Joyse!' Adept Havelock went on piously, still dancing in front of people, still forcing them to breathe his incense. 'Without him, half of you would be dead. The rest would be slaves in Cadwal.' He had chosen a pretty young woman to receive this utterance. 'If you are dead from the waist up, and the lower half remains alive'-he grinned savagely-'you will still be of service.'

The woman looked pale enough to faint. Instead of collapsing, however, she tittered nervously behind her hand.

At once, the Adept stopped. He peered at her in astonishment and indignation; with his free hand, he scratched one of the bald patches on his skull. Then he snorted, 'Bollocks!' and tossed the censer away over his shoulder. It cracked open when it hit the floor, and a block of incense fell on to the thick carpet. In a scalding tone, he snapped, 'Do not trouble to say anything more, my lady. I can see that I am wasting my time.'

Abruptly, he turned from her and stalked towards the place where he had made his entrance. 'Do you hear me, Joyse?' he shouted up at the King. His arms flailed fury at his side. '
I am wasting my time!'

A moment later, he disappeared behind the pediment. The hall of audiences was shocked, Apparently, the people of Orison still weren't accustomed to Havelock's quirks. In one or two places among the pews, a different kind of titter began; it was stilled immediately. The mediator of the Congery had a lost expression on his face. Master Quillon covered his eyes with one hand. A scowl of vindication twisted Master Gilbur's face. Elega's eyes flashed anger. Myste looked like she wanted to weep.

Behind the incense of the censer and the perfumed oil of the lamps, Terisa smelled the stink of burning fabric. Spilled incense was making the carpet smoulder.

King Joyse seemed to be shrinking inside his robe. The watery blue of his eyes was bleak.

Castellan Lebbick was the first to act. Bristling with anger, he stamped away from his chair, went to the burning patch in the carpet, and ground out the fire with his heel. Then he faced the King, his fists cocked on his hips.

'Perhaps you know the meaning of the Adept's display, my lord King.' He sounded savage. 'I don't. He would be more understandable to me if you had him
chained.'

At once, however, he regained his self-control. Without any pretence of transition, he said, 'My lord King, Prince Kragen of Alend has requested this audience. He says that he comes as ambassador from his father, Margonal, the Alend Monarch. Shall he be admitted?'

For a while, King Joyse didn't reply. Then he sighed. 'My old friend is wiser than I. All this is a waste of time. But since it must be faced, let us do it and be done.' He made a tired gesture. 'Admit Prince Kragen.' A moment later, he added, 'And sit down, all of you. You exhaust me.'

Lebbick glanced up towards the balcony and nodded. Then he returned to his chair.

Obeying her father promptly, Myste sat down. Terisa followed her example; the Castellan himself took his seat. Shortly the rest of the gathering did the same.

Elega was the last: she remained on her feet for a few seconds, staring up at the King as if she were trying by force of will to make him behave as she wished. He didn't meet her gaze, however, and after a moment she, too, resumed her seat, muttering darkly to herself.

At the same time, the high doors swung open. From somewhere, a cornet sounded a fanfare. Everyone looked towards the doors as three men came striding into the audience hall.

One of them led the way, with the others a step behind him on either side, and Terisa at once took him for the Prince. His bearing was confident, and his stride expressed regal self-assertion. His black hair curled out from under his spiked helmet; his black moustache shone as if it had been waxed; his black eyes gleamed with vigour. In contrast to his swarthy skin, his ceremonial helmet and breastplate were of polished and gleaming brass, and a sword in a fine brass sheath was belted to his hip. The silk flowing around his limbs picked up the same contrast, giving off glimpses of light and dark as he moved.

He looked like a man who wouldn't hesitate to demand an audience of anyone.

Judging by the fact that the two men behind him looked more wary as well as less assured, Terisa guessed that they were bodyguards. The Prince ignored the archers poised around the balcony above him: his companions didn't.

He strode forward until he was close enough to the throne to show that he considered himself King Joyse's peer, but not so close that the guards would take him for a threat. There he stopped. He gave King Joyse an elaborate bow-which his well-trained companions matched-then announced, 'Hail, Joyse, Lord of the Demesne and King of Mordant. I bring you greetings from Margonal, the Alend Monarch and Lord of the Alend Lieges, whose ambassador I am.' Like his smile, his tone was perfectly courteous. 'Great matters are afoot in the world. The times are perilous, and it well befits rulers to consult with each other as brothers, to meet the danger. My father has sent me to Orison to ask many things-and to propose a few which may be of interest.'

King Joyse didn't stand or in any way return the Prince's salutation. Gruffly, he muttered, 'Kragen, is it? I know you.' The tremor of age in his voice made him sound petulant.

The Prince's smile shifted a few degrees. 'Have we met, my lord King?'

'Yes, we have, my lord Prince.' King Joyse articulated the title sourly. 'You should remember. It was seventeen years ago. You led several squadrons of Alend horses to protect one of your Imagers from me. When I beat you, I had to have you bound to make you accept defeat-yes, and gagged to make you keep your insults to yourself. You were an over-eager puppy, Kragen. I hope that seventeen years have made you wiser.'

Now Prince Kragen wasn't smiling. His men weren't smiling. One of them whispered something Terisa couldn't hear. Nevertheless Kragen's manner remained suave and sure. 'My thanks for the reminder, my lord King. I doubt that I am much wiser, since I have always been too ready to forget my defeats. For that reason, I am not bitter. Howsoever, it is well that I have come as an ambassador instead of as an opponent, is it not? Since I am an ambassador, you will not need to have me bound and gagged in order to save yourself from an over-eager puppy.'

At that, Castellan Lebbick made a noise between his teeth which could be heard across the hall. Though he sat back in his chair with his arms folded, he gave the impression that he was ready to spring at Prince Kragen's throat.

King Joyse scowled. 'I have often said,' he answered the Prince slowly, 'that a puppy is more deadly than a dog. A dog learns from experience. A puppy has none, and so his behaviour cannot be predicted.'

The Alend ambassador's eyes had a yellowish cast like a tinge of anger. Yet his manner remained unruffled. His stance suggested that he was incapable of quailing. 'My lord King, do you keep hunting dogs? I do not know if you enjoy the sport. It is one of my passions. Among my people I am not considered a poor master of the hunt. I can assure you that it is never the puppy that brings down the stag.'

The King's hands gripped the arms of his throne. That,' he snapped, 'is because dogs hunt
in packs.'

'Oh, father,' Elega groaned softly.

The indignation of Prince Kragen's companions was becoming stronger than their training-or their good sense. One of them put a hand on his sword: the other turned his back halfway to the King and whispered hotly in Kragen's ear. But the Prince stilled them both with a sharp cut of his hand. He appeared determined not to take public offence.

'My lord King, it seems that you harbour some enmity towards me-or perhaps towards the Alend Monarch himself. If that is true, it may have a bearing on my mission. I am prepared to discuss it openly, if you desire. But would not a more private audience be better? That was my request, as you will recall.'

That was your
demand,
as
I
recall,' rasped the Castellan.

'Nevertheless,' King Joyse said as though he were following a different conversation, 'I apologize for calling you a puppy. You have become wiser than you admit. In that, you resemble your father.'

In response, Prince Kragen brought back his smile.
'
Oh, I think you misjudge the Alend Monarch, my lord King,' he drawled, 'He has become openly fascinated with wisdom over the years. My mission to you is evidence of that.'

The Castellan continued to glare at Kragen, The Alend Monarch,' he said in an acid tone, 'has caused more death in Mordant than any man except the High King of Cadwal. Come to the point, my lord Prince, and we'll judge your father's wisdom for ourselves.'

For the first time, Prince Kragen shifted his attention away from the King. Still smiling, he said, 'You are Castellan Lebbick, are you not? If you do not keep a civil tongue in your head, I will have you garrotted.'