THE DUNGEONS OF ORISON

THE EVENTS OF the next half hour had blurred edges and imprecise tones. Her nerves jangled like badly tuned strings, and her pulse refused to slow down: with so much adrenaline in her veins, she should have been more alert, had a better grasp on what was happening. But everything seemed to leak away as soon as she focused her attention on it. Reality had become like sand, trickling through her fingers.

'Get help,' Argus coughed in her direction. He hadn't moved from Ribuld's side; he was hunched there, barely able to hold himself up with his arms. 'If he comes back-'

That was probably intended to mean something. Hadn't she just been thinking the same thing herself? But now she was unsure of it.

Her instinct was to simply run away. Use the Adept's secret passage and! find her way back to Master Quillon. She wanted warm arms around her. She wanted someone who knew what he was doing to take care of her. Surely Master Quillon would be able to

comfort her? So she felt that she was doing the hardest thing she had done in years when she made her way around Ribuld and Argus to the bell-pull behind one of the feather displays. From there, she was exposed to the open door. But she didn't know how else to call for help.

She tugged on the satin cord of the pull as hard as she dared. Then she returned to her bedroom.

An impulse she didn't immediately understand made her rearrange the clothes in the wardrobe and then close the door, concealing the secret passage.

Before long-or perhaps after a long time, according to how she happened to feel at the moment-her summons was answered. But not by Saddith. The woman who appeared in the doorway had the look of a chambermaid; she was older than Saddith, however, blowzy with sleep and hasty dressing, and in no good humour. Nevertheless after one look at Ribuld and Argus, at the scattered feathers and the broken door, she forgot her irritation and fled.

For a moment, she could be heard squalling into the distance: 'Ho, guards! Help!' Tool woman,' Argus muttered through his teeth.

Ribuld was stirring. His hands rubbed at his face, then flinched away from his bruised forehead. 'Daughter of a goat,' he groaned. 'Who was that bastard?' Weakly, he propped himself up on one elbow and peered around the room. When he saw Terisa, he gave a sigh of relief and sank back to the floor again.

'I'm dying,' Argus whispered thickly. 'Hogswill unmanned me.' Torget it,' replied Ribuld in a prostrate tone. 'Won't change your life.'

Shortly, Terisa heard nailed boots hammering the stone of the outer corridor-a lot of boots. Brandishing his longsword, a man dressed like Ribuld and Argus sprang through the doorway. He had five companions behind him, all ready for a fight: they looked clenched for violence, like the three riders in her dream. But there was no fight available. They scanned the rooms quickly, then gathered around Terisa's defenders. 'What happened?' one of them asked, awkwardly jocose. 'Did you two lechers finally meet a woman tougher than you are?'

Before Argus or Ribuld could answer, another man stamped into the room. From his close-cropped, grey-stained hair to his out-thrust jaw, from his swaggering shoulders to his hard strides, he bristled with authority, though he was shorter than Terisa- nearly a foot shorter than any of the men around him. He was dressed as they were, with the

addition of a purple sash draped over one shoulder across his mail and a purple band knotted above his stiff, grey eyebrows. His eyes held a perpetual glare, and his mouth snarled as if it had long ago forgotten any other expression.

He glanced around the room, assessing the situation, then stalked up to Terisa and gave her a rigid bow. 'My lady,' he said. In spite of its quietness, his voice made her want to flinch.

'I'm Castellan Lebbick, commander of Orison and the guard of Mordant. I'll speak to you in a moment.'

At once, he turned on Argus and Ribuld. Without raising his voice, he made it sound like a lash. 'What's going on here?'

Uncomfortably, they tried to explain the situation. As a personal favour, Apt Geraden had asked them to keep an eye on the lady Terisa of Morgan, in case she got in trouble. He said he didn't know what kind of trouble. But they were off duty, so they decided to do what he asked. Nothing happened for a long time. Then the man in black appeared in the corridor. He walked up to them and told them to let him in, he had business with the lady Terisa. When they asked him what his business was, he snatched out his sword, broke the door open, and tried to kill her. After that, he gave up and ran away.

Listening to them, Terisa realized that neither Argus nor Ribuld knew she had been out of her rooms. In fact, neither of them had seen Adept Havelock. Because of this, they weren't able to account for her attacker's flight. Glancing at Terisa as if he believed she were responsible, Argus mumbled something about a light, then winced at the way Castellan Lebbick looked at him.

Ignoring her, the Castellan sent the six guards out of the room at a run to rouse the rest of the watch and begin a search for the man in black-'Although,' he muttered as they left, 'he's probably halfway to oblivion by now.' Then he returned his attention to Ribuld and Argus.

Tet me get this straight. He fought the two of you away from the door long enough to break it open. He got as far as the doorway to the bedroom. He knocked one of you out and crippled the other. Then he panicked and ran away. Doubtless he was terrified by how easily you were overcome. Maybe everybody who serves the King is like you. I'm surprised he didn't die of fright.'

Ribuld and Argus hung their heads. 'My lady?' Lebbick asked grimly.

Terisa didn't answer. Now she understood why she had closed the wardrobe. Havelock had taken the risk of angering both the King and the Congery by providing her with some of Mordant's history, and she didn't mean to betray what he had done for her.

'Very well,' the Castellan growled. 'Let that pass for the moment. Explain this, you ox- headed louts,' he demanded of Argus and Ribuld. 'Why didn't you tell anyone what you were doing here? By the stars, I've spent my life training lumps of dead meat to understand the importance of communications and access to reinforcements. If you believed Geraden enough to think the lady might be in danger, why didn't you take the simple precaution of arranging to be able to call for help?'

The bruise on his forehead gave Ribuld an excuse to raise his hand in front of his face. 'We didn't believe Geraden. You know him. We were just doing him a favour. For Artagei's sake.'

Tigswallow,' retorted Castellan Lebbick. 'I'll tell you why you didn't tell anyone. If you reported what you were doing to your captain in order to arrange reinforcements, he would report it to me-and I would report it to the King. Since the King didn't see fit to command guards for the lady himself, he might have been moved to wonder'-the Castellan's voice sounded capable of drawing blood-'what business it is of yours to meddle in his decisions.'

'We didn't mean any offence,' Argus protested. 'We were just-'

'I know. Spare me your excuses. I'll take care of Geraden. You report to your captain. Tell him about this-and count yourselves lucky I don't have you clapped in irons. Go on.'

Argus and Ribuld obeyed, hardly daring to groan as they climbed to their feet. Neither of them looked at Terisa. Carefully -but promptly under the Castellan's glare-they retrieved their swords and hobbled out of the room.

'Now, my lady.' Lebbick rounded on her. 'Maybe we can discuss this matter a bit more openly. I'm sure King Joyse will be relieved to hear you were able to drive off your attacker- alone and unaided-after two of my guards failed. But he might like to know how you did it. And I'm sure he'll want to know what it is about you that brings on that kind of attack in the middle of the night.'

He moved a step closer to her, his chin jutting. 'Who are you, my lady? Oh, I know the story-Orison doesn't keep things like that secret. Apt Geraden brought you here by an accidental translation. But who are you?' His eyes held hers, as piercing as awls. 'What game are you trying to play with my King?'

He sounded so angry that she started to tremble. Another step brought him close to her.

If he extended his right fist, pointed his heavy index finger at her, she knew exactly what would happen next. She would begin to babble:

I'm sorry I didn't mean it I won't do it again I promise please don't punish me I don't know what I did wrong.

Fortuitously, another guard sprinted into the room at that moment and jerked himself to a halt. He was a younger man, and his fear of Castellan Lebbick's temper showed all over him. 'Excuse me, Castellan, sir,' he said in a tumble. 'I didn't mean to interrupt. I have a message from the King.'

Lebbick took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if he were controlling himself with great difficulty. Then he turned his back on Terisa.

The guard swallowed heavily and stared back at the Castellan like a bird caught by a snake.

'A message from the King,' Lebbick rasped venomously. 'You said you had one. Try to remember.'

'Yes, sir, Castellan, sir. A message from the King. He has stopped the search.'

'What?' A flick of the whip.

The King has stopped the search, sir.'

'Well, that makes sense. In times like these, a potential assassin in the castle is a trivial problem. Did he give a reason for stopping the search?'

'Yes, sir.' The guard's skin was chalky. 'He said he doesn't like all this running around in the middle of the night.'

For a moment, Castellan Lebbick's shoulders bunched with outrage. Yet he spoke softly. 'Is that all?'

'No, sir. He also said'-the guard looked like he would have been happier if he could have fainted-'he wants you to leave his guests alone.' And winced involuntarily, as if he expected to be struck.

The Castellan swung his arm, but not to strike the guard. He slapped himself, hard, on the thigh. He growled far back in his throat. He made a loud, spitting noise.

Abruptly, he faced Terisa again. Like the guard, she winced.

'My lady, be warned,' he said. T'm the Castellan of Orison. I'm responsible for many things, but above everything else for the King's safety. He suffers from an unnatural faith in his own immortality. I'm not similarly afflicted.' His jaws chewed the words like gristle. 'I'll obey him as much as I can. Then I'll take matters into my own hands.'

Turning on his heel, he stamped away.

As he passed the guard, he paused long enough to say, 'I want the lady guarded. This time, do it right.' And at the door he stopped again. 'Keep this closed tonight. I'll have the bolt repaired in the morning.'

Then he was gone.

The guard gave Terisa a sheepish shrug-half chagrin at his own timidity, half apology for the Castellan's brusqueness-and followed his commander, pulling the door shut behind him.

As he left, he seemed to take all the courage out of the room with him.

Without warning, everything changed to alarm. Gripping her robe tightly closed, she hurried to the door to listen. She heard the voices of several men clearly outside her room: they were issuing the orders and making the arrangements to have her guarded. Still she felt vulnerable, helpless. A total stranger had tried to kill her. Urgently, she moved a chair to prop it against the door. Then she placed another chair inside her wardrobe to block Havelock's passage.

After that, she didn't know what to do.

For a long time, she couldn't relax or concentrate. High King Festten had his Monomach executed for failure when Adept Havelock betrayed the arch-Imager's followers. Havelock lost his mind when he tried to chase Vagel into a flat glass. Master Quillon was willing to tell her stories like these, even though both King Joyse and the Congery prohibited it. For some reason, Castellan Lebbick didn't trust her.

How could all this be happening to her?

But later, unexpectedly, she felt an odd upswelling of joy. Apparently, Geraden had brought her to a place where she mattered. The fact that she was here made a difference. Castellan Lebbick took her seriously enough to get angry at her. Master Eremis had looked at her. It was even conceivable that he thought she was lovely.

That had never happened to her before.

Eventually, she was able to sleep.

Sunlight from her windows awakened her the next morning. At first, she doubted everything. Wasn't this the bed in her apartment, the place where she belonged? But the light made the rugs on the floor bright, the peacock ornaments of the rooms, the feathers scattered by the man in black. That much of what she remembered was real, at any rate.

The indirect sunshine had the pale colour of cold. And the air outside her blankets was chill: she hadn't thought to build up her fires before she went to bed, and they had died down during the night. Holding her breath, she eased out of the warm bedclothes and hurried into the thick velvet robe she had worn the previous night. The stone felt like ice under her bare feet: with a small gasp, she hopped to the nearest rug.

When she looked towards the windows, she hesitated. She wasn't sure that she was ready to see what lay outside. The view might confirm or deny the entire situation.

On the other hand, she felt vaguely foolish for having postponed the question this long. Anybody with a grain of normal human curiosity would have looked outside almost immediately. What was she afraid of?

Unable to define what she was afraid of, she moved to the windows of the bedroom.

The diamond-shaped panes of thick glass-each about the size of her hand-were leaded into their frames. A touch of frost edged the glass wherever the lead seals were imperfect, outlining several of the diamonds. But the glass itself was clear, and it showed her a world full of winter.

From her elevation, she was able to see a considerable distance. Under the colourless sky and the thin sunlight, hills covered with snow rumpled the terrain to the horizon. The snow looked thick -so thick that it seemed to bow the trees, bending them towards the blanketed slumber of the hills. Where the trunks and limbs of the trees showed through the snow, they were black and stark, but so small against the wide white background that they served only as punctuation, making the winter and the cold more articulate.

When she realized how high up she was, however, her view contracted to her more immediate surroundings.

She was indeed in a tower-and near the top of it, judging by her position relative to the other towers she could see. There were four, including hers, one arising from each corner of the huge, erratic structure of Orison; and they contrasted with the rest of the

castle, as if they had been built at a different time, planned by a different mind. They were all square, all the same height, all rimmed with crenellated parapets-as assertive as fists raised against the sky.

Their blunt regularity made the great bulk of Orison appear haphazard: disorganized, self-absorbed, and unreliable, beset with snares.

In fact, the general shape of the castle was quite regular in its outlines. Orison was rectangular, constructed around an enormous open courtyard. Terisa could see it clearly because her windows faced out over one of the long arms of the rectangle. One end of the courtyard-the end away from her tower-was occupied by what she could only think of as a bazaar: a large conglomeration of shops and sheds, stalls and tents, wagons carrying fodder; all thoroughly chaotic; all shrouded by the smoke of dozens of cookfires.

The other end of the courtyard looked big enough to serve as a parade-ground-as long as the parade didn't get out of hand. There men on horseback, children playing, and clusters of people on their way to or from the bazaar churned the mud and snow.

Large as the courtyard was, however, the structure of Orison was high enough to keep it all in shadow at this hour of the morning. The open air must have been bitterly cold: Terisa noticed that even the children didn't stay outside very long.

The other regular feature of the castle was its outward face. Since her window looked over the courtyard, she couldn't see the details of the walls; but she could see that Orison had no outer defences: it was its own fortification. The whole edifice was built of blunt, grey stone, presenting a hard and unadorned face to the external world on all sides.

Within its outlines, however, the castle looked like it had been designed more for the convenience of its secrets than for the accommodation of its inhabitants. Mismatched slate roofs canted at all angles, pitching their run-off into the courtyard. Dozens of chimneys bearing no resemblance to each other gusted smoke along the breeze. Some sections of the structure were tall and square; others, squat and lumpish. Some parts had balconies instead of windows; others sported poles from which clotheslines hung. She couldn't resist the conclusion that King Joyse had attached the four towers to his ancestral seat, decreed the shape in which Orison was to grow, and then forgotten about it, letting a number of disagreeable builders express themselves willynilly.

Now, at least, she understood why she had found Geraden's and Saddith's routes through the castle so confusing. Truncated passages and sudden intersections, unpremeditated stairs and necessary detours were part of Orison's basic construction.

As far as she could make out, the only way into the courtyard from outside was along a road which led through a massive set of gates in the long arm of the rectangle below her. These gates were apparently open, admitting wains pulled by oxen to the courtyard. But her angle of vision didn't let her see whether the gates were guarded.

As she studied the scene, her breath misted the glass. She wiped it clear again with the sleeve of her robe. Then she touched her fingers to one of the panes. The cold spread a little halo of condensed vapour over the glass around each fingertip: a sharp, delicate chill seeped into her skin. That, more than the immense weight of Orison's piled stone, made everything she saw seem tangible, convincing. She was truly in this place, wherever it was -and whatever it might mean. She was here.

Shortly, her musing was interrupted by a knock at her sitting-room door. Because she didn't want to stand where she was indefinitely, thinking the same thoughts over and over again, she went to answer the knock. On her way to the door, however, she hesitated again. Did she really mean to open that door and admit everything which might be waiting for her? Someone was trying to kill her. He might be outside.

But what choice did she have? None, if she wanted to learn anything more about what was happening to her. Or if she wanted breakfast.

Her heart began to beat more like it should-more like the heart of a woman whose life was at risk-as she pulled the chair away from the door and opened it.

Two guards she hadn't seen before saluted her.

Saddith was with them, holding a tray with one edge propped on her hip.

A gleam in her eye and a saucy tilt to her head indicated the spirit in which she had been conversing with the guards; her blouse was buttoned to a still lower level, giving out hints of pleasure whenever she moved her shoulders. But as soon as she saw Terisa her expression became contrite and solicitous.

'My lady, are you all right? They said you were, but I did not know whether to believe them. That woman and I traded duties for the night. I did not know that you would be attacked-or that she would be such a goose. She should have stayed with you. I brought your breakfast. I know you are upset, but you ought to eat. Do you think you could try?

Terisa met the maid's rush of words and blinked. She was relieved to see Saddith again. Saddith was safe; she was real, 'Yes,' Terisa said when she paused for an answer. 'I am hungry. And I'm afraid I've let the fires go out. Please come in.'

With a nod and a wink for the guards, Saddith shifted her tray in front of her and

entered the sitting room.

As Terisa closed the door, she heard the guards chuckling together.

Saddith heard the sound as well. Those two,' she said in good-natured derision while she pushed aside the supper dishes to clear room for breakfast. 'They doubted me when I told them that the sight of you would make their knees melt-whatever it did to the rest of them. Now they know I told the truth.'

Then she indicated a chair beside the table where she had set her tray. Tlease sit down and eat, my lady. The porridge will warm you while I build up the fires again. Then I think we must find you something better to wear.'

Terisa accepted the chair. Neatly arranged for her delectation, she found grapes, brown bread, a wedge of deep yellow cheese, and a steaming bowl which appeared to contain a cracked wheat cereal. Remembering the previous night's meal, she began to eat quickly, pausing now and then to relish the combination of the tart cheese and the sweet grapes.

But Saddith didn't stop talking as she worked at the nearest hearth. 'What was he like?' she asked, 'this man in black who attacked you.' She seemed to be excited and pleased about something. 'Orison is full of rumours already. He was taller than Ribuld, and so strong of chest that my arms might not reach around him. He had a hunter's face, and a hunter's glee, with enough power in his hands and thighs to batter Ribuld and Argus as if they were boys.' For a moment, she hugged her breasts.

Then she sighed wistfully. 'So the rumour goes. What was he really like, my lady?'

Slowly, unsure of what she was going to say until she said it, Terisa replied, 'He was terrifying.'

'Perhaps if I had not traded duties I might have chanced to see him.' Saddith thought about that for a moment with a quizzical expression on her face. Then she laughed. 'No. I was better where I was,'

Terisa had spent enough time listening to Rev Thatcher to know a hint when she heard one, so she asked politely, 'Where were you?'

Gaiety sparkled in Saddith's eyes. 'Oh, I should not tell you that.' At once, she strode energetically into the bedroom to rebuild the fire there.

But almost at once she stuck her head past the doorway to ask, 'Do you remember what I said last night, my lady? 'Any Master will tell me whatever I wish-if I conceive a wish for something he knows.' Perhaps you thought I was boasting.' She disappeared

again. For a minute, Terisa heard her working over the fire. Then she came back into the sitting room. 'I will be truthful with you, my lady. I did not trade duties with anyone. I asked that woman you saw to care for you, so that I might have the night to myself

-without interruption.

'I assure you that I did not waste the opportunity.' Saddith grinned. 'I spent the night with a Master.'

Terisa had never heard anyone talk like this before; the novelty of the experience made her ask, 'Did he tell you what you wanted to know?'

It was Saddith's turn to be surprised. 'My lady, I did not share his bed because I lacked knowledge.' She giggled at the idea. 'I shared it because he is a Master.'

With a toss of her head, she went back into the bedroom.

Unexpectedly, Terisa found that she couldn't concentrate on breakfast. The maid's frankness disturbed her. It reminded her that she knew next to nothing about men-about the things they did to women; about what pleased them. She had never been an object of desire or tenderness.

Pushing the tray away, she went into the bathroom and made as much use as she could stand of the soap and cold water. Then, her skin tingling under the robe, she joined Saddith in front of the wardrobes to search for appropriate clothing.

Apparently by chance, Saddith chose the wardrobe which didn't contain a chair blocking its back panels. Almost at once, she selected a simple but striking scarlet gown that looked long enough to sweep the floor.

Hesitantly, Terisa said, 'I'm not sure I can wear that colour. Wouldn't it be better if I just used my own clothes?'

'Certainly not, my lady,' replied Saddith, firmly but not unkindly. 'I do not know how these things are considered where you come from, but here it is plain that your clothes are not becoming. Also you do not wish to insult the lady Myste, who has been very generous. Here.' She draped the gown in front of Terisa. 'It is not the best of all colours for your eyes,' she commented analytically. 'But it does well with your skin. And it accents your hair to great advantage. Will you try it?'

Feeling at once a little excited and a little foolish, Terisa shrugged.

Saddith showed her the series of hooks and eyes which closed the gown at the back. Then Terisa put aside her robe and pulled the heavy scarlet fabric over her head. It was a

snug fit: Saddith's earlier observation that the lady Myste 'has not some of your advantages' seemed to mean she had smaller breasts which weren't so much exposed by the gown's deep neckline. But it was warm. And it felt flattering in a way that Terisa couldn't define.

She wanted a mirror. She wanted to see herself. The look in Saddith's eyes-half approval, half gauging uncertainty, as if Terisa now appeared more attractive than the maid had intended or wished-that look meant something; but it didn't have the same effect as a mirror.

For Terisa's feet, Saddith produced a pair of fur-lined buskins with firm soles. They didn't exactly complement the gown; but they, too, were warm, and the gown was long enough to hide them.

She was just starting to thank the maid when she heard another knock at her door. Saddith went to answer it, Terisa following more slowly.

When the door was opened, it revealed Geraden outside.

He had a pinched, white look around his mouth and eyes; a bright red spot marked each cheek, like embarrassment or temerity aggravated by fever. At first glance, he appeared miserable: he must have had a bad night. But when he saw Terisa, his face broke into the helpless, happy smile she remembered from their first meeting.

For a long moment, he gazed at her; and she gazed back; and he grinned like a puppy in love. Then he cleared his throat.

'My lady, you look wonderful.'

Her reaction was more complex. She was glad to see him: partly because, like Saddith, Adept Havelock, and the others, he had come back, demonstrating his capacity for continuous existence; partly because she thought she liked him (it was hard to be sure because she had so little experience); partly because he was one of the very few people here who seemed to care about what she thought or felt. In addition, she was immediately worried by his appearance of distress. And by his presence outside her door. King Joyse hadn't just ordered the Apt not to answer her questions: he had also said, You will have no more reason to see or speak with the lady Terisa. Geraden had already shown himself loyal to his King-and yet he was here in direct disobedience.

And nobody had ever told her that she looked wonderful before.

Flustered, she felt herself blushing. With a gesture at her gown, she said, 'I feel like I'm

going to a costume party.'

Glancing back and forth between Terisa and Geraden, Saddith gave a quiet laugh. 'What is 'a costume party', my lady?' she asked to disguise her amusement.

Terisa tried hard to get her confusion under control. 'It's a party where people dress up in fancy clothes and pretend to be somebody they aren't.'

For some reason, her response brought the strain back to Geraden's eyes.

'La, my lady,' Saddith said at once as if that were the reaction she had been waiting for, 'it must be greatly amusing. But if you will excuse me, I will return your trays to the kitchens. Please call for me at need. If you do not call before then, I will come whenever the lady Elega or the lady Myste ask to see you.

'As for you, Apt Geraden,' she said in a tone of kind mirth as she gathered the dishes together and carried them towards the door, 'a word of friendly advice. Women do not generally admire a man who gapes.'

Laughing, she left the room, hooking the door shut with her foot.

But Geraden ignored Saddithf s exit. Gazing at Terisa now with an intensity that matched the colour in his cheeks, he asked softly, 'Are you pretending to be somebody you aren't, my lady? What are you pretending?'

She turned her head away. 'I thought I told you to call me Terisa.' This was absurd. Why was she in such a dither? And why was he asking her such silly questions, when he must be risking some kind of serious punishment by defying the King? 'I'm not pretending anything. I'm just wearing this dress because the lady Myste offered it and Saddith said she would be insulted if I turned it down.'

Then she faced him. 'Geraden, what are you doing here? King Joyse told you not to see me. You'll get in trouble.'

At that, a pained smile made his mouth crooked. 'I'm already in trouble. It probably won't get any worse.

'You've met King Joyse. These days, he doesn't punish anyone. I don't think he has the heart for it. Or maybe nothing matters to him that much any more. The worst thing he might do is turn me over to Castellan Lebbick.' Geraden sighed. 'I guess Lebbick is a good man. Artagel says he is. But he isn't exactly gentle. And he's already started on me. Because I asked Ribuld and Argus to guard you.' That was the source of his distress: Castellan Lebbick must have abused him severely. 'He spent half the night at it. I kept

wanting to apologize, even though we both knew I was right.'

Abruptly, he shrugged. 'At least now I'm not afraid of him any more. After last night, all he can do is lock me up. But he isn't likely to do that to a son of the Domne-not without a better reason.' Slowly, he made the tight lines of his face relax, and his smile improved. Tor a while, anyway, I don't have anything to worry about.'

Her heart twisted for him: she could guess what being scathed by the Castellan might be like. 'But why?' she asked. 'Why did he do that to you? What does he think you did wrong?'

'Well,' mused Geraden, 'I suppose he does have a point. He wants to know why I thought you might be attacked when the idea apparently never occurred to anybody else in Orison. It's his job to know everything that happens here. What do I know that he doesn't?'

'What did you tell him?'

He snorted quietly. The truth. Mordant is under siege by Imagery. King Joyse won't let the Congery fight back-but even if he did, the Imagers are so divided they might not be able to accomplish anything. Cadwal and Alend are drooling for a chance to strike at us. And in the meantime the King has taken to acting like a man who left his head in the other room. Who in his right mind would not want someone as important as you guarded?'

Again, the Apt mustered a crooked smile. 'Castellan Lebbick didn't like it when I said all that.'

He was putting up a brave front; but the rest of his face still looked as pale as wax around the hot spots of colour in his cheeks. Wanting to comfort him, Terisa said, 'I can imagine what that must have been like. He was here for a while last night. After everything was over.'

'I know.' Without transition, his expression became morose, almost grim. That was something else he wanted me to explain. How did you manage to save yourself, after both Argus and Ribuld were beaten? And why didn't you answer the question when he asked it?

'He has a point there, too, my lady.' He began to pace in front of her without looking at her. 'Even Artagel couldn't beat both Argus and Ribuld at once. They may not look like much, but they're really pretty good. And you got rid of a man who beat them all by yourself. Do you have any idea what kind of conclusions Lebbick draws from that?'

'No,' she breathed. 'I don't have any idea about any of this.'

'Well, I'll tell you. He thinks you're in league with that man. Or rather, that man is in league with you. He fought his way in here to meet you for some reason-maybe to give you a message, or to let you know what preparations are being made by your allies. But it doesn't have to go that far. Maybe you aren't allies. You still got rid of him without being hurt. That took power.' The whole notion se'emed to offend him to the point of nausea. 'I tried to tell him it was impossible. I wanted to protect you. But when you get right down to it'-he stopped pacing and faced her squarely, his trouble in his eyes-'I don't have any reason to think it's impossible. Except you keep saying it is.'

'What do you mean?' she protested. 'Of course it's impossible.' She had only wanted to commiserate with him: she hadn't intended to admit anything which might force her to betray Adept Havelock and Master Quillon. 'I don't know anything about Imagery-or Mordant-or'-she saw again in her mind a wild grin, as sharp as hate, and a nose like the blade of a hatchet, and yellow eyes-'that man who tried to kill me.'

'My lady,' he countered, 'I found you in a room full of mirrors! And it was a room where no known translation could have taken me-unless it was you who did the translating. You were sitting in a chair right in front of the glass, and you were staring at me, concentrating on me. I thought I could feel you calling me.

'My lady,' he repeated in misery and appeal, 'I want to believe you. I want to trust you.

But I don't know how.'

Terisa hadn't had much time to adjust to the new rules and emotions of her situation: the sheer seriousness of Geraden's reaction took her by surprise. She was unprepared for the way she was affected, not by his argument, but by his distress.

'I'm sorry. I didn't know you would feel that way about it. Come here.'

Turning, she walked quickly into the bedroom, towards the wardrobe with the hidden door.

She still didn't intend to betray Adept Havelock and Master Quillon. She had no way to evaluate any of the conflicting factions or exigencies that she had already met in Orison, no way to know which side she might actually want to be on. But what Havelock and Quillon had done for her was better than the treatment she had received from either the Congery or the King; and she didn't mean to repay kindness with exposure.

When Geraden joined her, she pulled open the wardrobe and showed him the chair she had wedged there. Then she removed the chair to let him see the secret door.

'Oh,' he said uncomfortably. 'You've got one of those.'

'I didn't know it was here when they gave me these rooms,' she began. 'But in the middle of the night'-she swallowed hard, hoping she would be able to say enough without saying too much -'Adept Havelock came through that door. I don't think he wanted to scare me, but he talked about hop-board and'-she faltered for an instant-'and lust until I wanted to scream. So he was here when the man attacked. And he had a piece of glass that let out an intense light. When that man was done with Argus and Ribuld, he came to me. But Adept Havelock shone the light in his eyes. He was blinded. He had to forget me and get away.'

She met Geraden's astonishment as well as she could. 'I probably should have said something to the Castellan. I certainly wasn't trying to get you in trouble. But Adept Havelock saved me. And he seemed to want to keep what he was doing secret. When I found out Argus and Ribuld hadn't seen him, I decided not to tell anybody he was here.'

Then, changing the subject promptly, she went on, 'And I'm not an Imager. Where you found me, mirrors don't do what they do here.' She couldn't have borne the embarrassment of trying to explain why she had decorated her apartment in mirrors; but she had another argument ready. 'When you arrived in my room, you must have noticed the broken glass. It was all over the rug. You even had some in your hair. You did that.'

His mouth hung open. 'I?'

'Two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time,' she recited. 'Your translation put you in the same space as my mirror. If I was trying to translate you, it was a failure. The glass was ruined, and I wasn't going to be able to send you back, or go with you. But glass isn't like that where I come from. There's nothing magic about it. When you arrived, it just broke.

'Do you see? I'm telling the truth. The translation was from your side. I've been telling you the truth all along.'

For a long moment, he frowned intently while he absorbed what she had said. Then, slowly, starting at his mouth and rising to his eyes, a grin lit his face. 'Of course,' he breathed, beaming wonder at her. 'I shouldn't have questioned you. Of course I saw the broken glass. Why didn't I think-?' With every sentence, his distress lifted, and the weight of worry on him seemed to grow lighter. 'I should have figured it out for myself,'

Exuberant with relief, he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled himself close to her to kiss her cheek. But his enthusiasm tipped him off balance; he missed, knocking his cheekbone against hers instead.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' he babbled in immediate chagrin. Backing away, he waved both hands as if to assure her that he meant no harm. 'I'm sorry, my lady. Please forgive me.' Then he raised one hand to his mouth. 'Oh, shatter it all to slivers. I bit my tongue.'

Terisa rubbed her cheekbone; the blow had startled more than hurt her. Secretly, she wanted him to try to kiss her again. She was as lost as he was, however. The best she could do was to say with mock severity, 'Apt Geraden, if you don't start calling me Terisa I'm going to tell Castellan Lebbick that you forced your way into my rooms and tried to knock me unconscious.'

At that, he began to laugh. His laugh was strong and clean, and it blew most of the chagrin out of him. 'My lady,' he said finally, 'I've never called a woman like you by her given name in my whole life. I've got at least three brothers who think I'm still young enough to spank-and I'm sure they would try it if they heard me call you anything except 'my lady', no matter how badly you threaten me. Be patient. You can probably tell I've still got a lot to learn.'

She, too, had a lot to learn. But she knew enough to say, I'll try, and smile at him as if she knew a great deal more.

She was relieved to see him looking happier-and to have ecaped the subject of Havelock so easily.

For a moment, he stood and gazed at her in silence, enjoying what he saw-her smile, the tumble of her hair against the scarlet fabric on her shoulders. Then he shook his head and recollected himself. He ran an unselfconscious hand through his hair, touched his own cheekbone, and said, 'Actually, I do have one official reason for being here. I was just supposed to send you a message, but I can stretch a point by delivering it myself. If anybody asks, that's why I came.

The Congery wants you to know you won't have to attend their meeting today. That's a polite way of saying you aren't invited. They want to talk about you, and they don't want to be' -he grimaced humorously-'inhibited by your presence while they do it. In fact, I'm not invited either. They don't want to have to spend the whole meeting arguing with a mere Apt.'

As he spoke, his tone and manner became more serious. When he paused, he did so with an air of hesitation, as if he were unsure of how she would react to what he wanted to say. 'My lady,' he went on slowly, 'I'm already disobeying the King-as you pointed out. And I really don't think I can get into any worse trouble. So I thought'-his gaze dropped to the floor as though he were forcing himself not to stare at her-'since all the Masters will be in their meeting-and nobody else is likely to stop us'- involuntarily, his

eyes rose to hers again, and she saw trepidation and suspense in them-'I might try to answer some of your questions by showing you the laborium. Where the mirrors of the Congery are kept.'

His audacity made her catch her breath. It was dangerous to flout authority: she knew that intimately. People who disobeyed were punished. In a rush as she forced the air out of her chest, she asked, 'Are you sure that's a good idea?' Then, feeling her apparent ingratitude, she added, 'I mean, it's too much. Too many people are angry at you already. If you do that for, me-'

She stopped.

'I'm willing to take the chance.' His open face projected a sober intensity which suggested that he didn't make his offer lightly-that he had thought through the implications of what was involved more clearly than she had. 'I started thinking about it when King Joyse called off the search. If he can't even be bothered to let his guards try to find a man who attacked you-' His voice trailed into an uncomfortable shrug. In the set of his features, she saw how deeply his King had disappointed him. 'Anyway, it's not as dangerous as it sounds. After all, I'm not offering to give you the kind of information you could use- if you were an enemy of Mordant. If you're an Imager, you'll already be familiar with everything I can show you. And if you aren't, you won't be able to do anything with what you learn.'

Then why-?'

'Because I owe it to you. I'm the one who brought you here. If you're the wrong person-or even if you are the right person but you don't want to help us-it's my responsibility to get you back where you came from. I want you to understand enough about Imagery to know what that means.'

He paused, took a grip on his courage, and continued. 'But that's not all. Even if you want to go back-and I want to take you back-the Masters won't permit it. Even if they decide you actually are the wrong person, they won't be able to ignore the importance of what you represent. They won't want to let you go. 'Right now,' he said carefully, 'while they're in their meeting,

might be our only chance to get to the right mirror and try to take you home.

'I don't want you to go,' he added at once. 'I believe you're exactly the one we need. I don't know how or why-but you are. If you want to go, I'll beg you to stay. But,' he sighed, 'you have the right to go, if you want to. It would be immoral to keep you here against your will.'

He amazed her. The question of whether it would be possible for her to return to her apartment, her job at the mission, her infrequent dinners with her father hadn't seemed particularly substantial to her. Other matters dominated her attention. But behind the relatively tentative surface of his offer, he was asking her something fundamental.

She glanced down at her gown-at the rich scarlet fabric against her skin, at the snug neckline. Already? she protested. It's too soon. I'm not ready.

Nevertheless, the risk he was willing to take in the name of her right demanded a different answer.

'I'll go with you,' she said, although her pulse was heavy in her throat and she felt light-headed. 'It might be a good idea if I knew what my choices were.'

Geraden smiled bleakly. 'In that case, we should probably go now. If we delay, we might miss our chance. There's really no telling how long that meeting will last.'

Terisa wished that she could take hold of his arm to steady herself. She had a mental image of women in gowns clinging closely to the arms of strong young men and looking happy there, supported and secure. But he gestured politely for her to precede him; she complied by walking towards the door.

He held the door for her, then closed it after her. Outside, he greeted her guards by name, and they replied in a tone of friendly commiseration, as if they knew all about his ordeal with the Castellan. But they didn't move to follow her.

Feeling a resurgence of fright, she hesitated, looked back at them.

'Don't worry,' Geraden answered her concern. 'Nobody is going to attack you in Orison in broad daylight.' On this point, he sounded confident. 'Nobody would dare.'

She wanted to ask him how he could be sure. But this was his world, not hers. She ought to trust what he told her.

Carefully, she moved towards the stairs.

For a while, she and Geraden didn't speak. As he guided her through the halls, she seemed to recognize the route Saddith had used yesterday. Based on what she had seen from her windows, she guessed that Geraden's destination was on the opposite side of the huge open rectangle of Orison: in order to reach it without traversing the mud and snow of the courtyard, he had to take her around through the halls. Once again, they encountered any number of men and women of every rank. But now, instead of staring at Terisa, they deferred to her and bowed their respect, as if her gown marked her as a

great lady whom they didn't happen to know.

Every salutation made her more self-conscious. She wasn't accustomed to being noticed so much. To distract herself, she asked Geraden if assassins commonly roamed Orison at night.

'Actually, no.' Sensitive to the tone of her question, he treated it humorously. 'It isn't common at all. If it were, Castellan Lebbick would have piglets. He takes his duties very seriously.'

Then why did King Joyse call off the search?' As she spoke, she remembered the oddness of the orders which had been reported to Lebbick. The King didn't like all this running around in the middle of the night. And yet he had known exactly what to expect of his Castellan-and had thought enough of Terisa to protect her from Lebbick's zeal. 'I got the impression attacks were something that happened all the time-not worth the trouble of trying to prevent.'

Geraden shook his head at once, scowling. 'Orison has always been safe-ever since King Joyse conquered the Demesne. I would have expected him to call out the entire guard, instead of letting that man get away.' A moment later, however, he admitted, 'But this is an impossible place to search. It has too many rooms. I don't think anybody knows how they all interconnect. And then there are the secret passages. As long as he had a head start, it would take a miracle to find him.'

Even after Havelock blinded him? she wondered. But she didn't raise the question aloud.

'What I want to know,' Geraden went on after he had worried for a while, 'is-how did he know where to find you?'

That wasn't something which would have occurred to Terisa. 'How did Argus and Ribuld find me?'

That's not the same thing. They knew you would have someone to look after you, so they asked around the maids until they heard Saddith had volunteered. Then all they had to do was locate her. Nobody was trying to keep where you were secret. But how did he learn where that was? He's an assassin hiding in Orison. Who did he talk to? He must have talked to someone. He must,' Geraden said more slowly, 'have an ally living here. Someone who could ask questions without making anyone suspicious. Or else-'

They took a stairway down to a lower level, turned through the base of one of the towers, and continued on around the courtyard. 'Or else,' he rasped, 'he's one of the

people of Orison himself. He lives here like anybody else-and presumably serves the King-or acts like he serves the King-and then at night he sneaks around trying to do murder. He might be someone I know.'

'Is that possible?'

He shrugged stiffly. 'Orison is a big place. And it's open all the time, especially to anybody who lives in the Demesne. Nobody keeps track of all the people here. Although Castellan Lebbick tries, of course.' His thoughts were elsewhere. 'My lady, you had better keep your eyes open. If you see anybody who resembles him at all, tell someone right away.'

Frightened by the prospect, she spent a few tense minutes staring hard at every face she saw, searching it for signs of yellow eyes and scarred cheeks and violence. But slowly she talked herself into calming down. The man would be a fool to show himself where she might encounter him. And if he did, she wouldn't have to make a special effort to recognize him. She could see him again any time she wished, simply by closing her eyes.

Then another stair took them down to the huge, empty hall, the ballroom fallen out of favour, which they had crossed the day before. There were several entrances to the hall; but she recognized the corridor that led down to the meeting room of the Congery.

The air grew colder.

'In the old days,' Geraden commented as he guided her into the corridor, 'before King Joyse unified Mordant-and before Orison was built as big as it is now-these used to be the dungeons. Back then, half of every castle must have been dungeons. But King Joyse gave all the torture chambers, most of the cells, and a hall that used to be a kind of guardroom to the Congery. All that space became the laborium.' There was a note of pride in his voice. 'You've seen the old examination room. That's where the Masters hold their meetings. We'll stay away from there.'

Terisa remembered the downward stair; but she quickly became lost among the doors and turnings that followed. She had no idea where she was when he opened another of the stout, iron-bound doors which characterized the dungeon, and a glare of light and heat burst out at her.

This must have been the former guardroom: it looked large enough to sleep a hundred people. Now, however, it contained no beds. Instead, it was crowded with two large furnaces built and roaring like kilns; firewood stacked in cords; piles of finely graded sand; sacks of lime and potash; stone conduits and moulds in many shapes polished to a

metallic smoothness; worktables supplied with scales, pots, small fires, retorts; iron plates and rollers of arcane function; and shelf after shelf affixed to the walls and laden with any number of stoneware jars in a plethora of sizes and colours.

Working about the room were several young men dressed like Geraden: they tended the furnaces, polished pieces of stone, measured and remeasured tiny quantities of powders from the jars, cleaned up the messes they created, and generally sweated in the heat. One of them saw him and waved. He waved back, then closed the door, sealing the noise and fire of the hall out of the corridor.

'You don't want to go in there,' he said. 'You'll ruin your gown. But that's where we make the glass for our mirrors. The Apts do most of their work there. If a boy wants to be an Imager, but he just doesn't have the power for it in his blood, his inability usually shows up here, before the Masters teach him any of their real secrets. Beginners do the menial chores, like keeping the furnaces at a steady temperature. The more advanced ones learn to mix tinct and prepare moulds.'

Ts that what you do when you aren't disobeying the King?'

He grimaced, then fell into a wry grin. 'It was. The one advantage of being older than all the other Apts is that I already know everything they're being taught. I just can't seem to do it right. So now I'm sort of a formal servant for the Masters. I normally attend all the meetings, not because they care what I think, but so I can run errands, take messages, things like that. They don't trust me to carry glass'-Terisa heard a tone of sadness behind his smile-'so they do that themselves.'

He didn't let himself brood, however, on the consequences of his awkward instinct for mishap. 'Come on,' he said in a brighter voice. 'I want to show you some mirrors.'

He touched her arm; and again she wanted to take hold of his, for encouragement and support. The excitement he seemed to feel at the prospect of mirrors affected her strangely: it made her want to hang back-made her reluctant to face a risk that might be more dangerous than either of them knew.

'What do the Masters do?' she asked wanly.

'Research, mostly.' His eyes watched the way ahead and sparkled. They're supposed to be finding proof that Images really do or really don't have an independent reality. But some of them would rather figure out how to predict what Image a particular configuration and colour of glass will show. Most research is just done by trial and error. Unfortunately, the Congery hasn't been any better at predicting than at proof. As a more attainable goal, Imagers like Master Barsonage are trying to determine how much one

mirror has to vary from another before it shows an entirely unconnected Image.

'But the Congery does practical research, too. That's also King Joyse's idea. He wants Imagery to be useful for something besides war and ruin. Not so long ago, some important progress was made-' Geraden swallowed, frowned to himself, and admitted, 'Actually, Master Eremis did it. He shaped a glass that shows an Image where nothing seems to happen except rain. Nothing at all. The Congery checked the water, and it's fresh. So now we have a good local solution for drought. That mirror can be taken anywhere crops are dying and provide water.' Being fair to a man he didn't like, the Apt pronounced, 'It's quite a discovery.

'More recently, of course,' he added with even less enthusiasm, 'we've spent most of our time worrying about King Joyse's collapse.'

Perhaps to shake off uncomfortable thoughts, he guided Terisa forward with a quickening stride.

Down the corridor, along an intersecting passage, they soon came to a heavy door like the door of a cell. Her step faltered: the door was guarded. But he gave her a reassuring smile, saluted the guards casually; and one of them bowed appreciatively to the lady in the scarlet gown while the other opened the door, ushering her and Geraden into a small, well-lit room like an antechamber, with doorways in the massive walls leading to other rooms.

'These used to be cells,' he explained, 'but the Masters had them rebuilt to make a place where mirrors could be displayed -as well as protected.'

When the guards had closed the door behind him, she whispered, 'Why didn't they stop us?'

He grinned. 'As a matter of protocol, the laborium is under the command of the Congery. Master Barsonage didn't give orders to keep us out because it never occurred to him I might bring you here.

'Come on.'

His excitement was growing. Turning to lead her through the nearest doorway, he caught his toe in the long hem of her gown and fell towards the wall as though he meant to dash his brains out against the stone.

At the last instant, however, he contrived to tuck his dive into a roll. He hit the wall with an audible thud; but the impact wasn't enough to keep him from bouncing back to his feet at once-or from apologizing profusely.

'Don't worry about me,' she said quickly, expressing concern to keep herself from laughing. 'Are you all right?'

He stopped himself with an effort. 'My lady, if I got hurt every time I did something stupid, I would have died by the time I was five. That's the worst part about being such a disaster,' he went on ruefully. 'I do any amount of damage to everybody and everything around me-but I never really hurt myself. It doesn't seem fair.'

For a moment, she did laugh. Then she swallowed it. 'Well, you didn't hurt me. I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself.'

He gazed at her as if the sight made him forget why they were here. 'Thank you, my lady,' he said softly, earnestly.

But he recollected himself almost at once. 'Let's try this again.' With elaborate care, he turned away and walked through the nearest entry into the chamber beyond.

Following him, she found herself in a room which had been enlarged by joining it with three or four other cells. The light came from plentiful oil lamps, which didn't smoke. Aside from the lamps, however, and the slim pedestals which held them, the room contained nothing-no decorations on the walls, no rugs on the floors-except three tall objects hidden under rich satin coverings.

Happily, Geraden pulled off the nearest cover, revealing a glass.

Like the only other mirror she had seen in Orison-the one which had brought her here- this one was nearly as tall as she was; the glass wasn't quite flat or quite clear, and it wasn't perfectly rectangular; it was held in a beautifully polished wooden frame which gave it a secure base on the floor and still allowed it to be tilted from side to side as well as from top to bottom.

In addition, the glass reflected nothing of the stone or the lamps in front of it. It didn't even show Geraden.

What it did show was a fathomless seascape under a bright sun. For an instant, she could have believed that the Image was simply a painting brilliantly contrived to create the illusion of three dimensions. But the waves of the sea were moving. They rolled towards her out of the distance until they came too close to be seen. Small caps of froth broke from their crests and dissolved away before her eyes.

The Image was so real that it made her stomach watery.

'Master Barsonage shaped that one several years ago,' Geraden explained. 'It's the kind

of mirror King Joyse wants the Congery to concentrate on. Something useful, practical. Master Barsonage was searching for a world of water-an Image Mordant could use in case of drought. Or fire. The story is that he extrapolated this glass from a small mirror Adept Havelock once had. If that's true, it's an amazing achievement-to reproduce exactly every inflection of curve and colour and shape on such a different scale-' With his fingers, he ran a stroke of admiration down the side of the frame. As he recovered the glass, he added, 'Unfortunately, the water is too bitter for our soil and crops.'

Shaking her head in gingerly astonishment, as if her brain were a bit loose in her skull, she followed him into the next room.

This chamber was roughly the same size as the one they had just left. It was similarly lit with lamps on pedestals. But it contained four satin-covered mirrors.

'I don't mean to lecture you,' he was saying. 'If you really are an Imager, I'll bore you.

And if you aren't, I'll just confuse you. Stop me if I get carried away.' He considered for a moment, then selected a mirror.

When he uncovered it, she gasped involuntarily and stepped back. From the glass stared a pair of eyes as big as her hands.

They glared at her hungrily; and the teeth under them seemed to drip poison as the mouth gaped in her direction. She had an impression of a body like a gargantuan slug's hulking behind the eyes and the mouth-an impression of a dark, cavern-like space enclosing the body-but she couldn't look away from those eyes to confirm the rest of the Image. They were eyes that wanted, insatiable eyes, consuming-

Geraden stooped to the lower corner of the mirror and nudged the frame. At once, the eyes receded a few dozen feet, and Terisa found herself blinking her horror at them from a safer distance. Now it was plain that she was looking at some kind of huge, slug-like beast in a cave.

This is how we adjust the focus.' He nudged the frame again: the Image retreated farther. Then he pushed lightly on the side of the frame, and the Image panned in that direction, revealing the mountainside where the cave opened. The range is limited, of course. But once a true mirror is made-one that works, instead of just throwing distortion in all directions-we can look at its whole Image-in this case, the whole mountain-by adjusting the focus. If we have that much patience.'

He stood up and tugged the cover back over the glass. She hardly noticed the darkness gathering in his mood. The story is that King Joyse captured this mirror during his wars

for Mordant's independence. The Imager who made it had already translated that'-he shuddered-'that abomination, and it was busy eating an entire village, hut by hut.

'But that was in the days before Adept Havelock lost his mind. When King Joyse captured the glass intact, Adept Havelock was able to reverse the translation.

The Congery was founded to keep Imagery under some kind of control. So that no more mirrors like this one would be made.'

Terisa's arms and legs felt weak, and her head was full of air. 'How-' she asked faintly. 'How could something like that get through?'

'Oh, size is no problem. Imagers discovered long ago that once a mirror reaches a certain size-about the size of the ones you've seen-it can translate anything. Nobody knows quite how that works. But if you had a glass focused at the right place at the right time, you could bring an avalanche through it.

'Come on.'

Without looking at her, he strode into another room.

Viscerally expecting the slug-beast to lift its own cover and come after her, Terisa followed him. Mordant was being threatened by things like that? There were people at work here mad or malicious enough to translate things like thatl Then he was badly mistaken. Mordant didn't need her. It needed the champion in Master Gilbur's mirror. And all the armoured men who fought under him. And all the weapons from his ship.

She trailed right on Geraden's heels because this whole situation was crazy and she had to get out of here.

He led her into a chamber larger than the previous ones: apparently, an extra cell or two had been used to make it. Six covered mirrors stood on the smooth stone floor; but four of them had been set back against the walls, leaving room in the centre for the remaining two. Those two were the same size. Under their coverings, they seemed to have the same shape.

As he considered the mirrors, his face clenched into an unself-conscious scowl. 'We usually keep the flat mirrors here,' he said towards one of the side walls. This is the largest display room, and we have a number of them. But the Masters had some moved out to make room for these two. The Congery does a lot of experimenting with flat glass, trying to find some way to use it-or at least understand it.'

Abruptly, he moved towards one of the mirrors against the wall. 'Here,' He sounded

angry; she couldn't tell why. 'I'll show you what happened to Adept Havelock.' With a rough jerk, he pulled the cover off the glass in front of him.

Involuntarily, she winced. Nothing terrible happened.

The mirror did in fact appear to be flat. Its colour, the sand from which it was made, the slight irregularity of its edges-she guessed that these things determined what Image the mirror showed. But because it was flat its Image existed in this world rather than somewhere else.

Something about the scene looked vaguely familiar.

'It's dangerous,' muttered Geraden. 'I don't know who shaped it, but if it was an accident it was dangerous to make. And even if it wasn't an accident, it's dangerous to keep.'

She was looking at what appeared to be a place where roads came together. The roads were deeply packed in snow, of course, and were only marked by the wheel tracks cut into them by passing wagons. But lines of stark, winter-stripped trees made the roads more obvious than they would otherwise have been against the piled white background. The Image was so vivid that she could see cold aching among the outstretched limbs of the trees.

On the other hand, she had no idea why it was dangerous.

Had she seen those trees or that intersection from her windows this morning?

Apparently so. 'You can see that place from your rooms,' Geraden explained. That's where the one road out of Orison branches south towards the Care of Tor, northeast towards Per-don, and northwest towards Armigite. But why would anybody bother to shape a glass that shows a place we can already see from here? If someone is coming it doesn't exactly give us a lot of warning. As I say, it could have been an accident. Or else whoever did it was trying to produce a mirror that would show Orison itself-and only missed by that much.'

'Who would do that?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'Someone who wanted to spy on King Joyse.

'But what makes this dangerous-more dangerous than most flat mirrors-is that we're so

close to being able to see ourselves in it. If we took this mirror out to that spot and stood in front of it, we would see ourselves in the Image. And we would be lost forever, erased-caught in a translation that took us away without shifting us an inch from where we stood.'

He dropped the cover to the floor and stepped back to consider the glass. 'I guess we're lucky that didn't happen to Adept Havelock. He was lucky, anyway. He's just crazy-he hasn't been erased. But if we tried to use this glass now-if we tried to translate ourselves out to the branching of the roads-we would end up like him. The stress would destroy our minds.

'Nobody knows exactly why.' He began to sound more and more irritated, vexed with himself. The people who believe that Images don't exist-that mirrors create what we see- argue that the stress comes from being in a created place which exactly resembles a real place. You expect reality and don't get it, so your mind snaps.'

'And what if Images are real?'

Then it's the translation itself that does the damage. I guess you could say translation is too powerful to be used so simply. If you want to get from here to there'-he gestured at the scene in the mirror-'you need a horse, not Imagery. Because you aren't using the true power of translation, it rebounds against you instead of taking you safely where you want to go. Anyway, something like that happened to Adept Havelock.'

Geraden turned his back on the glass; and now she caught the flash of anger in his eyes. That's why the Masters want to understand flat mirrors. They're so dangerous-and fundamental.

'Come on,' he growled. 'I've dragged my feet long enough.' Brusquely, he moved to the two mirrors in the centre of the room.

Now she understood him. He was angry because he was conflicted: he was acting against his own wishes as well as the King's, forcing himself to do what he thought was right despite his belief that Mordant needed her.

And he was risking the accusation that he was a traitor in order to give her a chance to go home.

Despite the warmth of her gown, a chill went through her as he pulled one of the covers off, and she recognized the glass which had stood in the Congery's meeting room the day before -the glass which had brought her here.

Its Image was both different and unchanged. The fighting had stopped. The metallic figures had enlarged their defensive perimeter and were holding it unchallenged. But the alien landscape, red-lit by its old sun, was unaltered, as was the tall ship in the centre of the scene.

Like his men, the armoured figure who dominated the Image had moved: he now walked the perimeter, pausing briefly at each defensive station as if to check how his forces were placed. Again, his power was almost palpable across the distance between the worlds. He looked like a man who conquered whole continents almost daily, as a matter of course.

Geraden gave her a glance, measuring her reaction. Then he lifted the satin from the second glass.

She saw at once that it was identical to the first. The shape was the same; the tint was the same; the curvature was the same. Even the curved and polished wooden frames were indistinguishable. And yet the Images weren't the same. Under a red-tinged light, against a stark background, a colourless metal helmet with an impenetrable faceplate looked in her direction as if the eyes hidden in it were studying her coldly.

A moment passed before she realized that both mirrors showed the same scene: the first reflected the ship from some distance while the second depicted the commander of the defence in extreme closeup. Looking at both mirrors, she could see that each portrayed exactly the movements of the commander's helmeted head: only the perspective was different.

Softly, Geraden muttered, 'It's too bad we can't hear thoughts through the glass. It would even help if we could hear language. But of course most of the Masters believe there aren't any thoughts or language in there to be heard.'

He adjusted the focus of the second mirror carefully until it duplicated the first. Then he stepped back to stand beside Terisa. Still he avoided her gaze.

'I made one of those,' he said. The one we used yesterday. It's a duplicate. Master Gilbur created the original. I couldn't use his. Imagers learned a long time ago that there's some kind of essential interaction between a mirror and the talent of the man who shapes it. So I made a copy.' He snorted sourly, 'It took me a long time because I kept doing things wrong. Can you tell which is which?'

She shook her head. The question didn't matter to her. She cared only about his distress and her opportunity. It might really be possible for her to go back to her world, to her apartment and her job and her father-

-and the man with her wanted her to stay. He wanted it so intensely that the bare thought of letting her go hurt him.

'Actually,' he murmured, 'nobody else can. But Master Gilbur and I don't have any trouble. Any Imager can always feel his own work. The one I shaped makes my nerves tingle,' He pointed to the glass on the left. That one.

'My lady.' At last he forced himself to face her. He held his arms clenched over his chest, as if to keep them from reaching out. His scowl had become a knot of worry and pain. 'Are you sure you want to do this?'

'Geraden-' Now that he was finally willing to meet her gaze, she wanted to look away. She had never learned how to refuse other people. If she did what was expected, or asked, or even suggested of her, she could at least fit herself to her circumstances. But she didn't belong here. It made no sense.

As well as she could, she said, 'Please understand. I'm no Imager. None of this could possibly have anything to do with me. You didn't force me to come with you. You just asked me to come, and I came. I don't know why,' she admitted. 'I guess I just wanted to believe my life didn't have to be the way it was. I didn't want to just sit there- But now I know I made a mistake. You don't need me. You need that champion. I think the best thing for me to do is just go back where I came from.'

'It's your right.' Behind its dismay, his voice held a note of dignity and even command which she remembered vividly. The importance of what he was saying lit his eyes. 'But you are needed here. Mordant's peace will be the first good thing to be lost- and the smallest. In time, the Congery will be destroyed, and Orison will be torn down stone from stone, and what remains of the realm will be reduced to nothing but bloodshed and treachery.'

Somewhere in his voice, or his words, she heard a reminder of horns, calling out to her heart in dreams and changing everything.

'You give us hope,' he continued. 'You say you aren't an Imager. Maybe you aren't. And maybe you just don't know yourself yet. Maybe you just don't know yet that you're more powerful than any champion.

'I can't explain it-but I believe you're here because you must be here.

'And'-all at once, he relapsed to normality, and his gaze clouded-'you make sense out of my life. As long as I can believe in you, it's all been worthwhile.'

His insistence should have repelled her, frightened her. It was so unreasonable. She

was necessary? She had power? She made sense out of his life? No. It was easier to believe that she had already lost herself, faded away into dreams. Or that she had never existed-that the translation had created her-

Nevertheless what he wanted and offered moved her. His appeal and the reminder of horns moved her.

'Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves?' she said unsteadily. 'We don't know yet whether this is going to work. We should find that out first, before we worry about anything else.'

He studied her hard, trying to gauge her emotions. Then he nodded. 'You're right, I suppose.' Suddenly decisive, he said, 'Here-hold my hand. I'll go first, just in case something goes wrong.' At the same time, he stepped closer to his mirror.

She became increasingly conscious that the air in the room was cold. She looked at his hand, the glass, the hard lines of determination on his face. Now that she had gained her point, she found herself hesitating. 'Don't we have to go through some kind of ritual first?' Her ambivalence felt absurd, but she couldn't control it. As soon as she made anything which resembled a choice, she lost confidence. 'There must be magic powders- or spells-or something? Aren't there?'

'Is that how Imagery is done in your world?' he demanded with a glare.

'No, of course not. I mean, we don't have Imagery. I keep telling you. We don't have magic.' Self-consciousness flushed her cheeks. 'I just thought you must need preparation.'

He made a visible effort to unclench himself a bit. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Imagery is in the way the glass is made and shaped and coloured. That's the preparation. Then it either works or it doesn't, depending on whether the person who tries it has the power. If we wanted to translate something out to us, that would be different. There are words and gestures that help the process. But we aren't going that way. Right now, ail we have to do'-he attempted a smile which didn't succeed-'is do it.'

Again, he extended his hand to her. This time, she took it.

What she was doing made her feel sick.

He drew her to the mirror and braced his free hand on the frame to keep it-or himself- steady. 'First I'll just stick my head in,' he murmured, thinking aloud, 'take a look around.

Then I'll come back, and you can decide what to do next. Hold on tight,' he added to her. 'As long as we've got a grip on each other, you can pass in and out of the glass as well as I can.'

Abruptly, he dashed his forehead at the surface of the mirror.

And his head vanished, cut off as cleanly as a knife-stroke at the neck. Beyond the glass plane, the Image of the back of his head blocked part of the landscape and the ship.

Instinctively, she braced herself against his weight. He had pushed himself forward too hard: he was losing his balance, starting to fall. His hand pulled on the frame of the mirror, shifting the focus of the reflection. As he toppled forward, she saw one of the armoured defenders aim a hot shaft of light at him.

Somehow, she jerked him back. He pitched out of the glass and stumbled away from it, then caught himself with his feet splayed and his knees locked.

All the colour was gone from his cheeks: he was as white as flour paste. Panic and astonishment stared out of his eyes.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

'He shot at me,' whispered the Apt hoarsely. 'He almost hit me.' 'I saw him. I saw the back of your head.'

'Glass and damnation.' He swallowed repeatedly. 'If I had gone there the first time.

Instead of finding you. They would have killed me before I could open my mouth.'

Her heart began to hurt as the implications struck her. The mirror which had impossibly taken Geraden to her when it should have put him in front of the champion now did what it was supposed to do. 'I don't believe it.' That mirror was her only doorway home. She was stuck here. 'I want to try.'

'My lady!' His surprise and fear turned instantly to dismay. 'You'll be shot! They might not miss twice.'

'Come on.' Without thinking, she grabbed one of his hands and tugged him towards the mirror. She was stuck here forever. There was no other way she could get back to her own life. 'I've got to try.'

He twisted out of her grip, then clapped his hands to her shoulders and shook her. 'No!' He was shouting at her. 'I'm not going to let you kill yourself!'

'I've got to try!' she yelled back at him. It was quite possible that she had never yelled like that at anybody in her entire life. 'Let me go!'

Wrenching away from him, she swung around towards the mirror-and tripped on the hem of her gown. Helpless to stop herself, she fell as if she were diving straight at the glass.

Apparently, he got one hand on her just in time to make the translation possible.

Instead of shattering the glass, she passed into it.

The transition felt shorter this time: it didn't have as much impact on her as the one which had taken her out of her apartment. It was quick and timeless, vast and small, as if eternity had winked at her while she went by; but this time its familiarity made more of an impression on her than its strangeness.

Then she landed hard enough to jar her breath away on a hillside of thick, rich grass dotted with wildflowers.

More precisely, her body from the waist up landed on the grass. She must have been lying with her stomach across the bottom edge of the mirror's frame, because she was cut off at the navel: everything beyond that straight, flat severance was gone. She could feel her legs. They gave her a sensation of movement. Someone was holding them. But she had left them in another world.

This world was warm and tangy with springtime. A low breeze made the bright heads of the wildflowers dance and cooled the touch of the open sunlight on her hair; the sky was so blue it looked whetted. The hillside sloped down to her right towards a fast stream almost big enough to be called a river. The water ran like crystal over the gold background of its rocks and sand and gurgled happily to itself as it rushed past.

She saw now that she was in a valley that closed sharply as the ground rose ahead of her. A few hundred feet away, the valley became a narrow defile, almost a chasm, mounting towards the mountains in the distance; and this cut was given both a marked entry and a guard by the tall, rugged, ponderous stone pillars like sentinels which the hills had set on either side of the stream. Shaded by the steepness of its walls, the defile looked dark and secretive-and also inviting, like a place where it would be possible to hide and be safe.

Her heart went out to it at once. Because she had grown up in a city, she had seldom seen a place so beautiful before. For a moment, she simply stayed where she was and inhaled the scent of spring grass, the tang of wildflowers.

Soon, however, she thought of Geraden. This wasn't an alien landscape where men in

armour shot beams of fire at people. She wanted to show it to him.

Too full of wonder to call out, she began to crawl backward.

As she did so, more and more of her body disappeared past the plane of translation. And Geraden was unceremoniously trying to help her. Her chest vanished; then her shoulders.

Shortly, she found herself on her hands and knees in front of the mirror.

The stone under her palms felt cold. The air in the room was cold. Even the lamplight seemed cold.

The scene in the glass had scarcely changed at all. The commander was conferring with the defender who had fired at Geraden. Perhaps they were trying to understand the man's head which had unexpectedly appeared and then vanished before their eyes. Perhaps they thought they were faced with some new trick by the people they were fighting, the natives of the planet.

'My lady,' Geraden panted as if he had been fighting for her life, 'are you all right? What happened? I couldn't see you. I didn't see them shoot at you. They didn't seem to know you were there. What happened?'

'Geraden-'

She was so shaken and cold that she could hardly lift her weight off her arms, hardly get her legs under her. The change was too abrupt, too complete. It left her gasping, disoriented. Springtime -? A stream dancing in sunlight-? No, not here. Not in this converted stone dungeon. And not in the mirror, where men of violence discussed their work.

Somewhere inside her, the translation was still going on, still happening. Now, however, she knew what it meant. Doubt accumulated in her nerves: she was on the verge of failure. It was the sensation of fading, of losing existence, concentrated to crisis proportions; it was the pure moment in which she lost her hold on herself, on actuality, on life. This was what she had been failing towards ever since she had begun to be unsure of her own being.

It was happening to her now.

Although Geraden hovered beside her, urgent to know what she had seen, she couldn't shift her attention to him. She was staring at the glass he had left uncovered-the flat glass that showed a snow-clogged meeting of roads-

The Image in that mirror had changed. The way she stared made him turn.

When he saw the mirror, he gasped. 'That's impossible. How did you-?'

He fought to control his amazement. 'I know that place. I've been there-I practically grew up there. We used to play there when I was a boy. We called it the Closed Fist. It's in the Care of Domne. It can't be more than five miles from Houseldon.' Through his confusion and surprise, his voice shone with pleasure. That valley is a jumble of rocks inside. A great place to climb. And there must be a hundred little caves and secret places to hide. We had the best games-'

She believed him: she had just been there herself. She recognized the contours of the ground, the shape of the valley. The hillside was blanketed in snow; ice choked the stream; the pillars wore frost like thatches of white in their grey hair. But the scene was the same. Only the season had changed. Spring had become winter.

Now Geraden was gazing at her as if she had done something wonderful. 'My lady,' he said in awe, 'I don't know how you did that. It isn't possible. Mirrors can't change their Images. But you did it. Somehow. You're an Imager. You're certainly an Imager. Nothing like this has ever been done before. It's a good thing for us you're here.'

The colour was back in his cheeks.

She had no idea why he had jumped to the conclusion that she was the cause of this impossible change. But at the moment that was secondary. She couldn't think about it yet. Other things staggered her.

She had just seen the same scene in two different mirrors. A scene he said was real. But she had seen it in two different seasons. One of the mirrors was wrong. This was winter, not springtime. The mirror which showed the Closed Fist in springtime was wrong.

Fading drained her heart. It was Geraden's mirror. The mirror that had brought her here. That glass reflected Images which didn't exist.

When she realized that she also was an Image that didn't exist, she nearly collapsed to her knees again.