The Mirror of Her Dreams (63 page)

'Here, my lady.'

Carefully, the guard manoeuvred her into a chair, then pressed a goblet of wine into her hands. She drank deeply; for a moment she felt spikes hammering through her skull. After that, however, she began to feel better.

With an effort, she said, 'Thanks.' Now what she wanted was a nap. But there was some reason why she couldn't take one. What was it? Oh, yes. 'Did you say the King wants to see me?'

'Yes, my lady. When you're well enough to walk.'

She turned her head to look at him and smile. She didn't remember ever having seen him before. He was a relatively young man with a thin face and earnest eyes-perhaps not the most promising candidate to convey a message which would infuriate Castellan Lebbick. But he had carried out his orders. And she was grateful for his courtesy.

'We might as well try,' she said. 'Maybe the walk will do me good.'

Nodding encouragement, he assisted her to her feet. Then he gave her his arm to lean on. She took a few experimental steps and found that the condition of her head continued to improve. Incredible. Judging by appearances, it was actually possible to survive having a man like the Castellan furious at her. A man like her father. She could hardly believe it.

Moving cautiously, she let her escort guide her to the tower where King Joyse and his daughters had their suites. By the time she arrived at the high, carved door of the King's apartment, she felt reasonably stable-balanced between light-headedness and the after-effects of Lebbick's vehemence.

The King's guards opened his door without question: clearly they were expecting her. One of them announced her while the other bowed her inward. In a moment, she found herself standing for the second time in the richly furnished chamber where the king Joyse played his games of hop-board.

Lit by candles in candelabra and brass wall-holders, the thick blue-and-red rug contrasted warmly with the decorated blond wood panelling of the walls, bringing out the carving and the delicate black inlay-work. An ornamental mantel framed the fireplace. On the hop-board table, a game was in progress. No one was playing, however.

'My lord King,' the guard pronounced firmly, 'here is the lady Terisa of Morgan.' Then he withdrew, taking his companion and Terisa's escort with him and closing the door. But King Joyse didn't react. He sprawled in a gilt-edged armchair with his legs extended on a fat hassock and his head propped against the chairback. His purple velvet robe covered him like a shroud: it was starting to look as old and ratty as Adept Havelock's surcoat. A long sheet of parchment-an open scroll-was draped over his face; his arms dangled beside him, his swollen knuckles nearly scraping the rug. The floor around his chair was littered with more scrolls, some of them open, others haphazardly tied with string.

He was snoring decorously. The stiff parchment rustled whenever he breathed.

The King's Dastard wasn't present. Instead, King Joyse was being kept company by Geraden and the Tor.

Involuntarily, she gaped at them.

'My lady,' rumbled the Tor. 'It is a pleasure to renew your acquaintance.' His fat overflowed his chair, and his plump hands gripped a flagon of wine as if he couldn't function without it. His thin white hair straggled disconsolately from his pale scalp. But his voluminous black robe was clean; his jowls were decently shaved. Although his small eyes were bleary, they seemed marginally less blurred than she remembered them.

Geraden met her surprise with a grin. Almost at once, however, his expression changed to distress. He jumped out of his chair, approached her: lightly, he stroked the hot skin of her cheek. That unscrupulous bastard,' he whispered. 'He hit you.' Then chagrin overcame him. 'I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I didn't think he would go that far. I thought I would be fast enough. I ran all the way-all the way-'

'Enough, young Geraden,' the Tor interposed, peering morosely into his flagon. 'You are a son of the Domne. Have more dignity.'

'I don't understand.' Terisa felt that she had abruptly become stupid. 'What're you doing here?'

'As little as I can,' the Tor replied as though she had spoken to him. 'King Joyse keeps good wine and an excellent fire. I have no other needs.

'It was awkward, I admit,' he mused, frowning to himself. 'He refused to see me. After that cell, I felt as cold as my son. I wanted to be warm again. And I thought I would share a last flagon with my old friend the King of Mordant. Did I say that I would not leave him? I meant to say so. But he refused to see me. Very awkward.'

Unexpectedly, he smiled. Under other circumstances, it would have been a happy smile; but it didn't touch the sadness in his eyes. 'He underestimated me. I sat down outside his door and commenced howling. Not polite, deferential howling, I assure you, but howling to alarm the dead.'

'You did that?' Geraden grinned in spite of himself, surprised out of his contrition.

The Tor nodded. 'It is well that my family did not see me. They would not have thought better of me for it. But I succeeded.' He glanced towards King Joyse and commented, 'Since admitting me, he has found it impossible to make me depart.'

This didn't make much sense to Terisa. She shook her head to clear ft, but the movement had the opposite effect. She needed to sit down. Or lie down-

'But why?' She couldn't forget how the Tor had looked standing in the mud of the courtyard with his dead son in his arms, or what Geraden had told her about King Joyse's reaction to the Tor's son's death. 'All the other lords left. Why do you want to stay?'

The Tor grimaced.

'Revenge.'

Geraden was starred. 'Revenge?'

Tor most of my life,' explained the lord in a husky voice, 'I have been haunted by the knowledge that I did not give King Joyse my full support when he needed it. This would have been wise policy-if he had failed. But he succeeded, thereby making me a conniving ingrate in the eyes of all Mordant. I mean to be revenged for that.'

'I don't understand,' Terisa repeated weakly. Maybe the Tor was joking. But what kind of joke was it?

'The King needs a chancellor.' The lord didn't raise his head. 'Someone who can put two coherent commands together better than that mad Imager. As long as I sit here'-he flopped one hand on the arm of his chair-'and speak as though I have authority, I will be obeyed. Whether he wishes it or not, Joyse will no longer be a passive ruler. Either I will take action in his name, or he must take action to stop me.'

Geraden's eyes gleamed appreciatively; but Terisa said, 'Wait a minute.' She was too slow: she had to catch up. She had believed that the Apt was abandoning her when he left her to Lebbick. 'You're giving orders in the King's name.' She turned to Geraden. 'You came here-you ran here-to get King Joyse to stop Castellan Lebbick.' Geraden nodded. She glanced over at the King. 'Does he really want to see me?'

With the exaggerated care of too much wine, the Tor scanned the room as if searching for eavesdroppers. Then he said, 'No.' At once, one plump finger jumped to his lips to hush himself. In a thick whisper, he added, 'But he would if he had any sense. He was asleep, so I took the liberty of speaking for him.

'Young Geraden is right,' he continued sententiously. The good Castellan should not be allowed to make decisions where women are concerned.'

She felt that she hadn't stopped gaping at him. She wanted to say several things at once. What do you hope to accomplish? Oh, Geraden, I'm sorry! Do you really think he'll let you get away with this? But that wasn't the point, of course. The point was to make King Joyse declare himself-to make Mordant's sovereign take a stand which would reveal his true intentions. So she didn't ask any of her questions. Instead, she said sincerely, 'I'm glad you did it. I needed rescuing.'

The Tor gave her a lugubrious wink. To Geraden, he commented, 'You see? Already my revenge begins to bear fruit.'

'
My father tells a lot of stories about you, my lord,' said Geraden. 'I don't think they do you justice.'

But Terisa wasn't done. She turned to Geraden. Because she had become brave enough to tell lies-and even to speak insults -she was brave enough to say, 'I'm sorry. When you left, I thought you were running out on me. I should have known better.'

He met her gaze sharply, and his shoulders straightened. That's right.' His tone was earnest. 'You should have known better. I would rather cut my hands off than run out on you.'

Almost at once, however, he relapsed to self-consciousness. 'I'm glad I did something right.' His smile was embarrassed and happy. 'Please don't count on it. It doesn't happen that often.'

Tush, young Geraden,' the Tor interposed. 'You malign yourself.' He drained his flagon and waved it until the Apt found a decanter and poured more wine for him. 'Your difficulty is quite simple. You have not found your true abilities. As the King's chancellor, I dispense advice freely to all. Born swordsmen make very clumsy farmers, as I am sure your brother Artagel would agree. Give up Imagery. A son of the Domne should not spend his life providing jokes for Imagers.'

Geraden's face darkened, not with anger, but with pain. 'I would if I could.' The quick distress in his voice went straight to Terisa's heart. 'I'm a disappointment to my whole family. I know that. But I can't-I cannot give it up.'

The Tor studied his wine with the air of a man who didn't want to meet Geraden's eyes. 'At least you are your father's son. Take comfort in that. He, too, is stubborn. I have heard King Joyse say that he would rather break his head on a stone wall than argue with the Domne.'

Privately, Terisa thought that if Artagel had been present he would have denied being disappointed in his brother at all.

Abruptly, the King made a snorting noise. A twitch of his head dislodged the scroll, and the parchment slipped aside, curling around itself among the others on the rug. Blinking, he raised his hands to his chest and flexed them as if they had gone numb. The Domne,' he muttered at the ceiling. 'Stubborn man. Rather break my head on a stone wall.'

In an effort to push himself upright, he fumbled at the arms of his chair; but he seemed too stunned with dreams-or too weak-to succeed.

'My lord King.' Geraden went to him and helped him.

With awkward hands, King Joyse tried to rub the sleep off his face. Seen in this way, his old skin and watery eyes had a vulnerability which pained Terisa. He didn't look like a perverse or half-mad ruler who refused to defend his kingdom: he looked like a frail semi-invalid, nearly crippled by arthritis and age, who had lost most of the people he loved and now could barely keep his grip on reason.

But when he saw her-when he got his eyes into focus and saw who she was-he answered her unspoken concern with a smile of clean, uncluttered joy.

That was where the lady Myste had come by her look of sunshine: she had inherited it from her father. Terisa tried to distance herself from his transparent pleasure; but she couldn't. If he had simply smiled at her like that and done nothing to change the way she felt about him, she would have done anything for him.

Unfortunately, he spoke.

'My lady, have you come to offer me a game? How kind of you. I have a problem here'-he gestured towards his hop-board table-'which defies my poor brain.'

Her disappointment was so acute that she had to turn her head away.

He levered himself upright in a way which suggested his legs weren't as weak as his arms. 'Havelock set it up for me. If I understand him-which isn't always easy-he once found a solution. These are his notes.' King Joyse nudged a nearby scroll with one foot. 'Since I haven't been able to design a solution for myself, I've been reading his notes, hunting-' His voice trailed away as he lost the thread of what he was saying. His gaze shifted towards the Tor and Geraden as if he couldn't quite remember who they were. Then he looked back to Terisa and resumed, '-hunting for his answer.' He shrugged. 'Without success. Maybe you can give me some fresh ideas.'

Memories of her game with Prince Kragen made her stomach twist. King Joyse had lured her into that situation with his smile. She didn't want to find herself in a similar mess again. Carefully, she said, 'I'm sorry. I didn't come for that. The Tor'-she hoped the lord would forgive her for putting him on the spot-'had your guards bring me here.'

'Ah, my old friend the Tor.' King Joyse grimaced as though his mouth were full of bile. 'He is one of the few mummers in this masque who defies prediction.' He seemed to drift between colloquial and more formal diction according to his mood. 'Who could have foreseen that he would feel compelled to force his service upon me, after all the indignities I have required him to suffer?' He didn't glance in the direction of the old lord. 'This is not in the rules. It is enough to drive me mad, my lady.'