The Mirror of Her Dreams (44 page)

As quick as a slap, astonishment stretched his face, and he recoiled a step. 'Killed-?'
His eyes flashed from side to side, hunting for comprehension. 'Me?
What
enemies? Why would anyone-?' Questions burst from him in fragments: he couldn't frame them quickly enough to keep up with them. 'And you-? They did
that
to you? Who are-?'

Abruptly, he took hold of himself with an almost visible grip of will, forced down his confusion. In a clenched voice, he murmured, 'You poor woman. You know something I don't, and you know I need to know it, but you think it might cost me my life if you tell me. And if I tell you I don't have any enemies-I can't
imagine
having any enemies-you won't know who to believe.'

She nodded. If he kept going, she was going to weep. Without warning, he did something that amazed her down to the ground. Nothing in her father's dour unlove or Rev Thatcher's weakness or Master Eremis' desire had prepared her for the way Geraden unknotted his throat and swallowed his distress and gave her a smile like a gift. 'You know, Terisa, a tour sounds like a grand idea to me.' He met his danger with a sparkle in his eyes. Dimly, she realized that he was using her name at last. 'I would love to show you around Orison. I don't know any of the secret passages everyone keeps talking about, but I think I've explored almost everything else.'

She was so relieved and glad that she went to him without thinking, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek.

At once, his pleasure became so bright that she started laughing.

They were still chuckling together when they left her rooms a moment later to begin the tour.

It took considerably longer than she had expected. In fact, it spread out over several days. Geraden was familiar with a bewildering combination of routes which stretched through Orison from end to end and top to bottom. He had never been able to win admittance to the Congery and its secrets; but he could tell the story behind each of the pennons hanging outside the hall of audiences (each one was the standard of some commander who had been beaten by King Joyse in battle). Most of the high-ranking men and women he and Terisa met in passing either didn't know him or recognized him with amusement bordering on disdain; but every guard, maid, scullion, cook, sweeper, wine steward, armourer, apprentice, plumber, stonemason, and merchant from the deepest storerooms to the highest rafters of the castle seemed to be a friend or acquaintance, either of his own or of his family's. And his relationship with all those people was like his knowledge of Orison: he was as clumsy as a puppy, tripping on stairs or his own feet, bumping into walls, dropping things, and falling all over himself with enjoyment whenever someone made a particularly acute jest; yet he held his own among the scullions and armourers and sweepers, in spite of his instinct for mishap, by displaying an unfailing insight and humour which made many of them look at him with affection indistinguishable from respect.

Nearly exhausted after a few hours-and determined not to show it-Terisa asked him how long he could afford to stay away from his duties. 'If they can't catch me,' he replied with a shrug and a laugh, 'they can't tell me what to do. And they can't punish me.' Then he closed the subject by leading her away into one of the huge, hot kitchens where Orison's food was prepared-or perhaps (she couldn't remember after a while) it was into one of the long dining halls crowded with trestle tables where many of the people who worked for the castle ate their meals-or perhaps into one of the warrens of stone rooms and apartments, as crowded and complex as tenements, but scrupulously clean (kept that way by Castellan Lebbick's orders and under his supervision because he was determined that Orison would never fall siege to disease), where the people who served and maintained the castle lived.

Along the way, Geraden chatted amiably with her for a long time. Eventually, however, he became curious enough to wonder aloud why she wasn't asking more questions. 'I've probably made it clear,' he commented, 'that I'm not going to let anybody tell me what to do where you're concerned.' He was trying to sound casual. 'I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

She understood him. He was trying to find out how much she knew already. And where she had learned it.

His offer frustrated her. She didn't want to betray what Master Quillon had already done for her. Because she was in a hurry to say something-and because Master Quillon made her think of Adept Havelock, who reminded her of the arch-Imager Vagel and his cabal-she replied, Tell me about the High King's Monomach.'

That was such an odd response that Geraden stopped and peered at her. 'Gart? Where did you hear about him?'

She winced at the blundering way she forced herself to prevaricate. In an effort to keep the falsehood to a minimum, she said vaguely, 'One of the Masters mentioned him. They were talking about Vagel and Cadwal.'

For a difficult moment, the Apt continued studying her. Then, fortunately, he shrugged and started walking again, deliberately accepting her explanation at face value.

'Cadwal is a strange country.' His answer was typically rambling. 'With its ships, it has more contact with the rest of the world than Alend does-and we've never had any. That trade brings in wealth like you'll never see here. But wealth isn't good for anything except to buy food, pleasure, or power. Well, food they get from us at reasonable prices-or they did until they started harassing Perdon's borders. Now they rely on brigand commerce. And in other ways power hasn't done them much good since King Joyse established Mordant and the Congery. So the Cadwals buy a
lot
of pleasure.

'On the other hand, the country is bitterly harsh. Most of it's ragged rocks and desert, and the regions with water also have the kind of winds that tear your skin off your bones. Conditions like that teach harshness-they teach anybody who can survive them to be strong and cruel,

The strange thing is the way the Cadwals combine pleasure and harshness.' Geraden thought for a moment before he explained, 'The High King's Monomach is Festten's traditional champion-a personal defender and assassin. He's supposed to be the greatest fighter in the country-the strongest and cruellest product of the harshest circumstances and training. In fact, the Cadwals like to say the men who fail as the High King's Mono-mach's Apts are so strong that Carmag is built on their bones. But the reward they give the greatest fighter in the whole country isn't wealth or power-or even freedom. It's just pleasure. That, and the chance to get killed serving-or displeasing-the High King.

Tor some reason, power and wealth in Cadwal-and control over pleasure-have always belonged to the sybaritic side of their culture. High King Festten doesn't have an ancestor in the past ten generations who ever lived in a tent in the desert, or survived the wind that cuts the rocks, or measured his life with the edge of his sword. And yet his hold over Cadwal makes the Alend Monarch look like the mediator of the Congery.' He flashed Terisa a grin. 'As far as I can tell, the High King has always wanted to rule Mordant simply to save himself the cost of food, so he'll have more wealth free to spend on pleasure.'

Carried along by what he was saying, Geraden seemed to forget the incongruous fact that she wasn't asking questions. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reflected that both the Congery and King Joyse had good reason to try to protect what they knew from strangers. For instance, if by some wild stretch of the imagination she were in league with Gart, this tour might prove priceless to her. During the second day, Geraden showed her the prodigious reservoir where rainfall, melting snow, and the waters of the small spring which fed Orison were accumulated and stored. That was information any enemy would have known how to use.

This realization increased her appreciation for what the Apt was doing for her. She knew she was perfectly harmless-but he couldn't be equally sure. His trust itself was a risk.

She began to feel that keeping secrets from him wasn't a very satisfying way to thank him. She didn't want him hurt.

The next day, however, he didn't arrive to continue the tour. Instead, he sent a message to let her know that Master Quillon had commandeered him once more. Somewhat to her surprise, she went back to bed and slept through most of the day.

But her dreams were of Master Eremis, and she was restless all night. When morning came she found herself hoping that Geraden would return. If he didn't, she might be tempted to take her questions and decisions in search of the man who had kissed her so intimately.

Where was he? Why had he left her alone? Didn't he want her any more? Was she so unappealing that he had already lost interest in her?

Fortunately, Geraden knocked on her door soon after breakfast.

He had procured a thick sheepskin coat and boots for her similar to the ones he was wearing himself. Today,' he said sententiously, a grin shining in his eyes, 'the battlements.' When she had wrapped the coat around her grey gown, he bowed her out of the room with a mock-courtly flourish.

As she was able to see from her windows, Orison didn't have a defensive outer perimeter: the same stone served for the rooms and halls inside and their protection outside. But that wall, as Terisa saw when Geraden took her through it, was tremendously thick; its outward faces were lined with battlements wide enough to carry supply wains, high enough to make archers effective without exposing them to counter-attack, and massive enough to resist catapults and battering rams; and it contained (so she was told) storerooms, guardrooms, and passages. Now she was more baffled than ever by the fragment of augury which had shown Orison with a smoking hole torn in its side and a look of death about it. What kind of force was powerful enough to do such damage to a wall like this?

From the battlements, Geraden took her up to the top of the tower which held her rooms.

The air was as sharp as splintered glass, and her nose and ears were still chilled. At this elevation, the breeze seemed harsher than it was. The heavy clouds of recent days had lifted slightly, but the increased clarity made the cold worse. The snow packed into the crenellations and corners of the parapet looked old and rotten, gnawed upon but not consumed by the occasional touch of the sun. Her breath steamed in front of her face; she hugged her arms inside the sleeves of her coat and shivered. But she didn't try to persuade Geraden to forgo this exposure. It offered her the best view she had ever had of the countryside surrounding Orison.

The position of the sun enabled her to verify that the long rectangle of the castle ran roughly from northwest to southeast. She and Geraden stood atop the eastmost tower. Churned mud showing through the snow marked the road which left the gates in the northeast-facing wall and branched within arrow-shot of the castle, one limb turning towards the south, the Broadwine River, and the Care of Tor (as Geraden had explained several days ago), another paralleling the Broadwine northeast into the Care of Perdon, and a third swinging northwest towards the Care of Armigite. The river, he assured her, could be seen in the distance at other times of year; but in winter white snow and ice made it blend among the hills. Nevertheless it was the same river which she had seen in one flat mirror, the river which ran out of the narrow defile that he had called 'the Closed Fist'. It came down through the centre of Domne, divided Tor from both Termigan and Armigite, separated a portion of the Demesne from Perdon, and finally split Perdon into its North and South regions before joining the Vertigon on the border of Mordant.

It was odd, she thought as she shivered, how much safer this scene looked here than it did in the glass which had let her, Geraden, and Master Eremis witness the attack on the Perdon, Under the open sky, it became almost impossible to believe in savage monsters and fierce death. Surely, things like that only existed in mirrors?

She didn't absorb much of what he was telling her: she would need a map to get it all straight. Still her eyes devoured Orison's surroundings. The castle dominated the snow-cloaked hills im-

mediately around it, but those farther away were higher, more rugged, and more interesting. Trees lined the roads after they branched and went their separate ways; yet the hillsides around Orison were so bare that she thought they must have been cleared. Geraden confirmed this: Castellan Lebbick wanted space in which to exercise his men; and Orison's rulers had never wanted cover to hide an approaching enemy. There were woods in the distance, however, trees as thick, black, and secretive as the ones in her dreams. And the roads seemed to lead to places so far away that they must be wonderful.

She wanted to say, Take me to Domne. Take me to Termigan and Armigite and Fayle. Take me away from here. But the weather was too cold; the snow too deep. And she wasn't Prince Kragen or one of his men: she couldn't travel under these conditions. When she saw a group of riders coming up towards Orison from the south, she remembered that she had never been on a horse before.