MASTER EREMIS AT PLAY

THE LADIES Elega and Myste struggled to engage Terisa in a desultory conversation while they ate lunch together, but they weren't very successful. Myste smiled as if she had a secret behind her faraway gaze; she asked Terisa polite questions about what she had seen and done in Orison. Elega masked a towering impatience by picking at her food and filling the silences with trenchant descriptions of the life Terisa could have expected to lead, had she been born and reared in Mordant-a safe life, insufferably protracted by her essential irrelevance to her own fate. Both of them were obviously not saying what they had in mind.

It was also apparent, however, that both of them were constrained, not by Terisa, but by each other. The quick, stark moment of their disagreement had been intense enough to shock them, make them retreat from her as well as from each other. She felt an active relief when Myste at last suggested that Saddith be summoned to conduct Terisa back to the peacock rooms.

In a state of pronounced awkwardness, the three women awaited an answer to their summons. Fortunately, Saddith's arrival was prompt. A few moments later, Terisa had said a stiff farewell to the ladies Myste and Elega and was on her way back to her rooms.

Saddith had kept her eyes lowered in the presence of the King's daughters. Now, however, she studied Terisa frankly. At first, there was uncertainty in her eyes; but it slowly gave way to a look of spice and humour.

When she and Terisa had passed the King's rooms, and were out of earshot of the guards, she said in a cheerful, probing tone, 'Well, my lady. You have met the lady Elega and the lady Myste.

They .are the two highest ladies in Orison. What do you think of them?'

I think, Terisa mused, they're both miserable. But she didn't want to say anything like that to Saddith.

Terisa's silence seemed to confirm the maid in her opinion. To hide a smirk, she glanced down at her unbuttoned blouse, the cloth stretched open by the pressure of her breasts. 'I think,' she said with satisfaction, 'that they have forgotten who they are.'

'What do you mean?' As she walked, Terisa found herself watching the faces of everyone who passed by, looking for some sign of the man who had attacked her. That was preferable to thinking about what she had seen in the mirrors of the laborium.

They are the highest ladies in the land,' explained the maid. They have position and wealth, rich gowns and rare jewels. All the finest men of Mordant are theirs by right. But what use do they make of their opportunities? The lady Elega scorns suitors. She does not wish a man-she wishes to be one. And the lady Myste will not leave behind her a nursery-girl's dreams of romance and adventure.'

Saddith laughed softly. 'They are properly clad and placed to be who they are. But they are too bloodless for it. Neither of them is woman enough to rule the King's court as it should be ruled.

'Someday, my lady,' she added confidently, 'I will stand among them. I will be as high as any of the ladies of Mordant.

The contrast will not be to their advantage.'

The maid's bluntness was strange to Terisa: she wasn't accustomed to servants who spoke so freely. Curiosity impelled her to ask, 'Don't you like what you're doing now?'

At that, Saddith glanced sharply at Terisa as if to gauge the intent of the question. Whatever she saw, however, reaffirmed her faith in Terisa's innocence; she relaxed at once and replied candidly, 'It is well enough for what it is, my lady. Before I became a maid, I was a scullion in the kitchens of Orison. And before that, I served ale in a tavern

near where the army of Mordant is encamped. And before that'-she grimaced-'I fed chickens and swept floors in the village where I was born-one of the lesser villages of the Demesne. The place of a lady's maid in Orison is well enough, indeed. For what it is. But it is not enough for me.'

Terisa considered this. 'What do you mean?'

Saddith replied with a lubricious grin, and her eyes sparkled. 'My lady, it is in their beds that men put aside their pretences and become the enslaved children which they are in their hearts. When I learned this, the village of my birth could no longer hold me. A soldier of Mordant could not bear to be parted from me, and so he found me a place in the tavern near his camp. A cook of Orison could not bear that my body should suffer the grimy hands of soldiers, and so he found me a place in his kitchens. The dear son of an overseer could not bear to displease me, and so I was given the work of a maid. The beds of men have lifted me this high, and they will lift me higher.

'Do you remember, my lady, that I spent last night with a Master? Already, my position in Orison rises.'

Her complacency made this information sound to Terisa like an announcement in a foreign language. Under no circumstances would she have revealed to anyone that Master Eremis had touched the curve of her bosom.

'He believes,' Saddith continued, 'that he took me to his bed to reward me because he had asked for a service and I had met it well. But that is only his pretence to himself, by which he preserves the illusion of will and power. He bedded me because he could not do otherwise. He has begun to share his confidence with me. Soon he will find that his pretence disappears in public as it does when we are alone. Then he will find some place for me, to raise me closer to himself. But it will be a place of my choosing, not his-and I assure you, my lady,' she concluded with relish, 'that I will choose a place which will open my way to the strong sons of the lords of Mordant.'

They were nearing the tower where the peacock rooms were. For a moment, Terisa said nothing, though she was conscious of Sadditrfs gaze on her, half expectant and half amused. She wanted to ask, Does it really workl Can you live like that? Can you be happy? But the words stuck in her throat. Without quite intending to speak aloud, she said, 'I've never met anyone like you before.'

That is plain, my lady.' The maid tried to reply gravely, but she was almost chortling. 'Yet you may rely on me to assist you,' she went on, speaking now more like a kindly sister. 'If you wish it, we will make of you a formidable woman'-she smiled behind her hand-'eventually.'

Terisa ascended the stairs to her rooms with her head full of haze. She had apologized to the King's daughters. For what? For not being a powerful Imager, come to save the world? Or for simply not being substantial enough to deserve their interest in her, their friendship or alliance?

Did she want Saddith to help her become formidable?

'I'll think about it,' she murmured belatedly as she and Saddith approached the guards standing outside her door. This is all so new to me. I need time to think.'

'Certainly, my lady.' Saddith spoke as a proper servant; but the looks with which the guards regarded Terisa conveyed the impression that Saddith had winked at them. 'Let me help you undress, and then you will be alone as long as you wish.'

One of the guards made a sound in his throat as though he were choking. Helpless to do otherwise, Terisa blushed again as Saddith ushered her into her rooms. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to see if Castellan Lebbick had kept his word.

He had: the bolt was fixed.

The rooms had also been cleaned and tidied. The strewn peacock feathers of the previous night were gone. A decanter of wine and a few goblets had been set on a table near one wall.

She was relieved when Saddith unfastened the hooks at the back of the gown, and the pressure around her chest was released. Her lungs felt tight, as though she hadn't taken a decent breath for hours. Gladly, she dressed herself in her flannel shirt, corduroy pants, and moccasins. Then she waited as patiently as she could until Saddith had built up the fires, replenished the lamps, and made her departure.

At once, Terisa bolted the door. Then she went to the wardrobe with the concealed door and made sure her chair was still propped securely against that entrance. It was impossible that she would ever be formidable. She didn't want any man to look at her as Master Eremis did.

Unless Eremis himself did it again. Just once. So that she might have a chance to learn what it meant.

But when she went to one of her windows to gaze out over the winterscape of Orison and try to make some sense of her emotions, the face which she remembered most vividly was Geraden's-his expression flat and neutral, held rigidly blank because she had hurt him and he didn't intend to show it.

During the afternoon, as the sun westered towards the cold white hills, she was watching a squad of guards exercise their mounts in the courtyard when she chanced to see a figure that looked like the Perdon stride out into the wet snow and mud. Men on horseback were waiting for him, their shoulders wrapped in heavy cloaks against the weather. He sprang onto a beast they held ready for him. With as much speed as the horses could manage on that footing, they rode out of Orison.

To her, he looked like a man who had made up his mind.

After breakfast the next morning, she gave herself a bath, put on her own clothes, and tried to decide what she was going to do. For some reason, she hadn't been troubled by the sensation that she was fading-even though she had spent the evening alone with her fears and the strangeness of her situation; even though her existence seemed to be more doubtful than ever; even though there were no mirrors anywhere, no kinds of glass in which she could see herself reflected. Nevertheless her problem remained. The mirror which had brought her here was false. She wasn't an Imager-and Mordant needed help at least as powerful as an Imager's. A man in black had tried to kill her. She had seen men torn apart like raw meat by creatures out of nowhere, People who counted on her were going to get hurt.

She had to do something about it. Well, what, exactly?

She still had no idea.

For that reason, she jumped up and ran to answer it when she heard a knock at her door. It sounded like an offer of rescue.

Unbolting the door she pulled it open. Master Eremis stood outside.

He had Geraden with him.

'Good morning, my lady,' the Master said cheerfully. 'I see that you have slept well. Your eyes are altogether brighter this morning-which I had not thought possible. I must confess, however'-he leered at her-'that I prefer yesterday's apparel. But no matter. I have come to escort you to the meeting of the Congery.'

This was too sudden. Her heart was still pounding in reply to his unexpected presence.

'The Congery?' she asked as if she were deaf or stupid. 'Am I invited?' Instinctively, she turned to Geraden for an answer.

The Apt's face was deliberately blank. He looked like a man who had taken an oath to stifle his emotions. Apparently, he still felt hurt, but didn't want to show it. Or was he just trying to keep his reactions to Master Eremis under control? She couldn't tell.

Nevertheless he was the one she trusted to tell her what was happening.

He didn't quite meet her gaze. 'Actually, neither of us is invited,' he said neutrally. 'But Master Eremis wants us to go with him anyway.'

'I do, indeed,' said the Master. 'I have told you that I mean to show my friendship towards you. And today the Congery will attempt to decide what action the lady Terisa's presence and Mordant's need require. Surely that discussion will be of some interest to you, my lady?'

Because she had hurt him-and because she had no idea where she stood with Master Eremis or the Congery-she tried to find some way to ask Geraden what she should do. But the words wouldn't come: Eremis' smile seemed to stop them in her throat.

Geraden scanned the room. Still neutrally, he said, 'It may not be pleasant. At least half the Imagers are going to be offended when we show up without being invited. But Master Eremis doesn't seem to care about that. And the opportunity is too important. I don't think we should miss it.'

Listening to him gave Terisa the odd impression that he had aged since the previous day.

In an effort to show him how much she appreciated his reply, she said, 'All right,' without a glance at Eremis. 'I'll go.' Then she stood still under the Master's quick frown of vexation, although it made her heart quake.

Unfortunately, Geraden's gaze didn't rise above her knees; he didn't see that she was trying to apologize.

Master Eremis got even with her by giving her an exaggerated bow in the direction of the door and saying, 'If you will so graciously condescend, my lady?' His mockery was plain; but his quick smile took the sting out of it. The way he looked at her reminded her of his finger's touch on the curve of her breast. Before she was altogether sure of what she was doing, she returned a shy smile of her own. Somehow, she accepted his arm, and he escorted her out of the room.

Geraden followed without expression.

At once, one of the guards stepped forward to call attention to himself. 'Master Eremis.'

Eremis paused, cocked an eyebrow. 'Yes?'

'Castellan Lebbick's orders. We're supposed to know where the lady is at all times.

Where are you taking her?'

Terisa was a bit surprised. No mention of those orders had been made the previous day, when she had left her rooms with Geraden. She glanced at him and saw that he, too, was surprised: his blankness lifted, and he concentrated as if he were thinking hard. The exertion improved his appearance considerably.

But this discrepancy in the guards' behaviour was something that Master Eremis obviously knew nothing about. 'I have invited her to a meeting of the Congery,' he answered smoothly-acid under a satin surface. 'Doubtless Castellan Lebbick-by which I mean King Joyse-will also wish to know what the Congery means to discuss in her presence.' He wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'And doubtless his spies will tell him shortly after the event. Come, my lady.'

As though she were dressed for a formal ball, he took her grandly down the stairs.

His route towards Orison's former dungeons was the same one Geraden had used yesterday. As they walked, he bent his tall form slightly over her, at once deferential, proprietary, and courtly: they must have looked like they were sharing secrets. She didn't have anything to say, however; all the talk was his. She was looking among the people they passed in the halls for any face that might remind her of the man who had attacked her. So he caught her completely off guard by commenting casually, The Perdon and I discussed you at some length yesterday, my lady.'

She was too startled to respond. Surely she wasn't the kind of woman men discussed at length! He chuckled as if she had said something clever. 'He has a- what shall I call it?'-he savoured the word in anticipation-'a vast experience of women, but he and I disagreed as to which of your many attractions would prove to be the most delectable. I have promised to give him an answer when he returns to Orison.'

The idea made her shiver. What did he mean? Something intimate and presumptuous- but what? Her mind remained stubbornly blank on the question. How would he touch her? What emotions would he draw out of her? She was too ignorant: ignorant of men, of course; but also of herself.

Unconsciously, she held his arm as though she were cold and needed warmth.

Crossing the disused ballroom with Geraden behind them, they took the corridor which went down to the laborium of the Congery. Again, she lost her bearings immediately among the doors and turns; but at last she recognized the straight passageway leading to the former torture-chamber which the Imagers now used for their debates. The guards outside saluted, then opened the massive wooden door for Master Eremis, Terisa, and Geraden to enter the meeting-hall.

From its perimeter, beyond the four heavy pillars which supported the ceiling, the large, round chamber seemed to clench around the Masters who had already gathered there. But when Eremis took Terisa towards the curved circle of benches and the better light of the lamps, her perspective changed; the space began to feel a bit less oppressive, a bit less like a crypt buried under a pile of old stone,

There were at least ten Imagers staring at her and Geraden as Master Eremis led them forward. A few of them sat on the benches, leaning towards or away from the carved railing which circled the centre of the chamber; the rest stood around the dais. Two days ago, that dais had held the mirror of her translation. No mirrors were present now, however. As a result, the dais looked more like what it had once been: a raised platform to display the interrogation of prisoners.

Terisa had no trouble identifying Master Barsonage: she remembered his bald head, his eyebrows like tufts of gorse, his face the colour and texture of cut pine, his wide girth. And two or three of the other Imagers she recollected vaguely: they must have been standing nearby when Geraden had pulled her out of the glass. But most of the Masters had a strange and hostile appearance, as though they were prepared to judge her sight unseen. To put her to the question without mercy.

'What is this, Master Eremis?' Master Barsonage asked darkly. 'Did we not explicitly determine that neither Apt Geraden nor the lady should take part in our discussions?'

Geraden studied the groynes of the ceiling.

'You did, Master Barsonage,' replied Master Eremis in good humour. 'But I am prepared to persuade the Congery otherwise.'

The mediator frowned sternly. This does not please. It is frivolous. Our survival-and indeed the fate of all Mordant- hinges on the choices we must make. We have not the time'- he faced Eremis squarely-'and I have not the patience to reopen finished decisions.'

Several of the Imagers nodded, muttering assent. Eremis didn't appear popular among

them.

'Let us not be hasty,' a familiar voice put in, as if the speaker were meek and disliked calling attention to himself. Tor my part, Master Barsonage, I am willing to hear Master Eremis. Perhaps he has too little concern for the dignity of the Congery, but surely he is not frivolous.'

Until she heard his voice, Terisa didn't realize that Master Quillon was sitting on one of the benches halfway around the circle from her. His grey robe and nondescript demeanour blended into the stone background. Involuntarily, her gaze leapt to him, at once glad to see someone she thought of as a friend and fearful that in his presence she wouldn't adequately keep his secret. But he didn't meet her look. His bright eyes watched the other Masters, and his nose twitched alertly.

'In any case,' drawled Master Eremis, 'it is my right to bring whatever I see fit before the Congery. That is one of our rules, Master Barsonage, as you well know.'

An Imager said, 'That's true.' Another agreed.

Master Barsonage made a snorting noise; but he didn't trouble to argue the point.

Turning away, he resumed his conversation with the Masters standing near him.

For a moment, Master Eremis grinned at the mediator's back. Then he drew Terisa towards an empty bench and seated her there, the railing between her and the centre of the chamber. With a gesture, half brusque, half cheerful, he commanded Geraden to the bench as well. Eremis himself remained on his feet, however. From her seat, Terisa received an exaggerated impression of how much taller he was than any of the men near him.

The room didn't seem as cold as it had been two days ago.

Alone or in small groups, more Imagers arrived. She noticed now that two or three of them were young enough to be recently elevated Apts-as young as Geraden. Among the others was someone else she recognized: heavy-set Master Gilbur, a scowl cut deeply into the thick flesh of his face under his black-flecked white beard, his crooked back counterbalanced by the power of his hands. She remembered his voice, as guttural as the bite of a saw. But young or old, familiar or otherwise, they all stared at her and frowned at Geraden. Apparently, none of the Masters had improved his opinion of the Apt and her. As he passed, Gilbur rasped rhetorically, 'What foolishness is this?'

Shortly, she heard Master Barsonage murmur, 'Well, we are here. Let us begin.' Imagers shuffled themselves to the benches, their yellow chasubles dangling. There was no escape: all the doors were closed. And they were strutted and bolted so that they

could only be opened from inside. The Congery valued its privacy. If Master Eremis hadn't brought her here so confidently, she would never have come. She had nothing in her that might enable her to outface twenty-five or thirty antagonistic men.

As soon as all the Masters were seated, and the mediator was alone beside the dais, he said abruptly, 'Be brief. Master Eremis. We have more important questions to confront.'

In response, Master Eremis resumed his feet. His smile appeared easy, impervious to insult; but his skin had an underhue of blood, and his pale eyes glittered dangerously. 'Master Barsonage,' he said in a conversational tone, 'with deference to your age, place, and experience, I doubt whether your questions are more important than mine.

'No one here has failed to note that I have brought with me two persons expressly prohibited from this meeting-Apt Geraden and the lady Terisa of Morgan.' He didn't glance at either of them: he was playing to the Masters. They are the questions we must confront. He is the issue of power, for we still have no understanding of how he contrived to find her in a mirror focused upon our chosen champion.'

Geraden lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.

'She represents action-the action we wish to take for our own preservation and the saving of all Mordant. Who belongs in our discussion, if they do not?

'First let us consider Apt Geraden-'

Taugh, Eremis!' Master Gilbur interrupted rudely. 'All this has already been said. A child could make the same arguments. Come to the point.'

The point, Master Gilbur?' Eremis waggled his eyebrows. 'Do you wish me to forgo the fine speech I have prepared for this solemn occasion? Very well. I will trust to your penetrating good sense and make no further defence of my proposal.

'I propose'-suddenly, he raised his voice until it rang around the stone walls-'that Apt Geraden be granted the chasuble of a Master!'

While his shout died away, the Imagers gaped at him. Geraden's head jerked up: his eyes were wide with emotion. Terisa thought, I mean to show my friendship towards you. So this is what he meant. Master Eremis had been planning to gain recognition for the Apt, to see that he was finally rewarded for his years of devotion. She couldn't understand why the expression in Geraden's face was neither pleasure nor gratitude, but rather a kind of fear.

Then through the silence she heard a faint sound like muffled laughter. Scanning the

circle, she saw Master Quillon biting the side of his hand to keep himself quiet.

Several other Masters were less successful. One of them let out a guffaw like the burst of a ruptured wineskin, and half the chamber broke into chuckles and hoots of laughter.

Slowly, Geraden's skin turned red until it looked hot enough to catch fire.

Master Eremis' grin was like his gaze-at once sharp, ominous, and vastly amused.

The mediator didn't laugh. He faced Master Eremis, his chin out-thrust. Without effort, he made himself heard through the glee of the Imagers. 'Master Eremis, it is not kind to humiliate the Apt in this way.'

'Humiliate, Master Barsonage?' returned Master Eremis instantly in a tone of protest and outrage, though he didn't lose his grin. 'I am entirely serious.' More laughter greeted this assertion. In response, he began to shout at all the Masters together. 'Apt Geraden has accomplished something that no Imager before him has ever achieved! Even the arch-Imager Vagel could not use glass as he has! Will you laugh at him? By the pure sand of dreams, you will not!' His voice quenched the mirth around. 'Geraden is as worthy of the chasuble as any of you, and I will have my proposal answered!'

Still he didn't lose his grin.

'Oh, forsooth,' said Master Gilbur before anyone else could speak. ''I will have my proposal answered.'' His sarcasm was as heavy as a truncheon. 'You dream, Eremis. You have put your head into a flat mirror and brought it out as mad as Havelock. Make Geraden a Master? Must I explain even this to you?'

'You must indeed,' Master Eremis replied like sweet poison, while the rest of the Congery watched him in various states of uncertainty and annoyance. 'I ignore the offence, but I must have the explanation.'

'Have it then,' Gilbur growled. 'We could not accept him to the Congery, were he the greatest Imager in recorded time. We do not have his loyalty. While his body serves us, his heart and mind belong to King Joyse. It is no secret that when he left with her two days ago he took her straight to that old dodderer. But what did he say to her along the way? Ask him that, Eremis. What did he say of us to the King? Ask him that. And how has he served our interests with her since then? Master Barsonage commanded him not to reveal anything to her until the Congery had made its decisions. I will wager that command was broken before Apt Geraden and the lady left this chamber.'

The muscles at the corners of Geraden's eyes flinched at every word. Yet he didn't lower his head or look away. Instead, he grew pale, as though his emotions were being

honed out of him, leaving him focused and sharp. Holding her breath for him, Terisa thought that at any moment now someone was going to mention the flat glass which had changed. Then he would be asked to explain what he and she had been doing there.

'Apt Geraden.' Master Barsonage was gazing at Geraden, his eyes level and solemn. 'You must reply to this.'

Geraden's jaws knotted, and he jerked to his feet. His deliberate blankness had failed him like an inadequate mask. 'Master Barsonage,' he said, biting down on his voice so that it wouldn't shake, 'I am loyal to King Joyse-as all of us should be. He created Mordant. He gave us peace. He made the Congery to be what it is. But he'-his voice snapped for a second-'he has no allegiance to me. I kept your command, Master Barsonage, while I took the lady Terisa of Morgan to the King. But when I reached him. he paid as little attention to me as you have. He gave me your same command. And he dismissed my responsibility for the lady.

'Master Gilbur implies that I'm a spy for my King.' Acid leaked past his control. 'I'm not. What purpose would it serve? If I tried to tell him the secrets of the Congery, he wouldn't listen.'

Stiffly, he sat down.

Terisa heard his hurt and his need. At the same time, she remembered her dream of winter, in which three horsemen rode to kill her, and a young man dressed like Geraden fought to save her. She had remained motionless in that dream, as passive as she had been all her life.

Remembering, she stood up.

'He's telling the truth.' She was trembling, but she didn't let that stop her. 'He obeyed you. And King Joyse dismissed him. He told him not to answer any of my questions.' Then, impelled by a secret flash of anger or adrenaline, she added, 'The King didn't give me any answers either. He feels the same way you do. He doesn't trust me.'

Master Quillon stared vacantly at nothing.

For a second, Geraden's face shone with relief and gladness. The vitality that made him so likeable was restored. But the smile Master Eremis turned on her looked as gentle and friendly as the strike of a hawk.

Abruptly, her courage failed. She sat down and bowed her head, trying to hide behind her hair.

Thank you, my lady,' Master Barsonage said quietly. 'Apt Geraden, it is my opinion that you are owed an apology-by Master Gilbur, if no one else.'

Master Gilbur made a hoarse spitting noise and muttered, 'Do you consider that dogswater the truth?'

'Since it is unlikely'-Master Barsonage whetted his tone- 'that Master Gilbur, or any other Master, will do so, I must apologize for them. Any son of the Domne deserves better treatment than you have received.'

'It's not important,' murmured Geraden. Then he raised his voice. 'I would be satisfied if the Congery simply decided to treat the lady Terisa with more consideration.'

'Very good,' Master Gilbur whispered harshly. 'He is not content with an apology from the mediator of the Congery. Now he must try to teach us our priorities and duties.'

'Have done, Master Gilbur!' snapped Barsonage at once. 'This does not become you. Apt Geraden's manners are not what we must decide here. It is his elevation to the chasuble of a Master.' Master Gilbur replied with a glare that would have split a wooden plank.

The mediator faced him for a long moment. But what Master Barsonage saw seemed to unsettle or alarm him: he was the one who looked away. The silence in the chamber became strained as he frowned into the distance, looking for self-possession.

'You have made your proposal, Master Eremis. Do you wish to speak further?'

'I will let Apt Geraden's evident merit speak for itself,' replied Master Eremis. Bowing to the Congery, he sat down.

'Very well. Masters!' Barsonage called out formally. 'You have heard the proposal.

Shall it be accepted? What is the will of the Congery?'

Terisa was beginning to understand, partly from Master Gil-bur's irritation, but mostly from Master Eremis' strange fierceness, that there were more things going on here than she could identify. Ulterior motives were at work. She watched in unexpected suspense as the Imagers voted by show of hands.

For a moment, she thought that Geraden had won. A number of hands were favourably raised, though most of them-with the exception of Eremis'-appeared to be reluctant. Master Quillon's was not among them, however. He was watching Geraden, and his eyes held a look of understanding and empathy; but he only raised his hand to vote against the proposal.

He was in the majority. When Master Barsonage had finished counting, he announced that the proposal was defeated.

Oh, Geraden, Terisa said to him silently. I'm sorry. But she didn't have enough nerve to speak aloud.

'Masters,' Eremis enunciated softly but distinctly, 'you will regret this.' Master Gilbur replied with a snarl of derision.

'Apt Geraden,' said the mediator in a way that suggested his self-possession was still in doubt, 'the vote has been taken. I must ask you to leave us now.'

To Terisa, Geraden had never looked more like a man with whom the Congery would have to reckon. 'Master Barsonage,' he said as he rose to his feet, 'you must make the lady Terisa a party to your decisions. It is her right to know and understand what is done here.' Perhaps she had hurt his feelings the day before; that didn't appear to affect his sense of justice. 'And it's folly to deny her. If she's simply a woman accidentally translated, then she can't do any harm. And if she's an Imager secretly-if she's the augured champion of Mordant's need-then you're wrong to risk angering her against us.'

His assertion still in the air of the chamber, he turned sharply away from the Imagers and left the meeting-hall.

Master Eremis shook his head and sighed. He was smiling at no one in particular.

Geraden's departure twisted Terisa's stomach. She was already in knots when she realized that no mention had been made of the flat glass with the impossibly shifting Image.

'Master Barsonage,' rasped Gilbur, 'may we dismiss this woman also and go about our work? There are reasons for haste. And I do not enjoy spending entire days in debate.'

'You are in haste, Master Gilbur,' put in Master Quillon unexpectedly, 'but you are also hasty. We must not be too quick to set aside the questions Apt Geraden has raised.'

'Masters,' Eremis said, 'I will give you good reason why we must accept the lady Terisa of Morgan among us. It has come to us from her own mouth. King Joyse desires her ignorant. If that is his policy, then surely it must be ours to inform and enlighten her. Why else do we have these debates, if not to break the mute inaction which our King imposes upon us?'

'Master Eremis'-Quillon's voice had an edge which he usually kept hidden-'do you propose that we commit treason?'

'If it is treason,' the tall Master responded, 'to fight for our survival-and for the defence of all Mordant-then I will propose it. But for the moment I advocate only that we permit the lady Terisa to remain during our debate.'

'You make all matters complex,' said Master Barsonage stiffly, 'I do not like the direction in which you take us. But with Master Gilbur I wish to reach the meat of the question, so that I will no longer have to guess what is in your mind.

'Masters, you have heard the proposal. Shall it be accepted? What is the will of the Congery?'

This time, Quillon and Gilbur were on opposite sides of the vote. Once again, however, the former was with the majority. By a significant margin, the Congery elected to let Terisa stay.

Suddenly, there were too many eyes on her, too many men looking to see how she would react. She lowered her head to hide her disconcertion. It was Geraden who should have been allowed to remain.

'Very well.' The mediator sounded tired. 'Now we turn to the matter which must be decided today.'

'At last,' breathed Master Giibur.

'I will not remind you of the debate which brought us to this point,' Master Barsonage went on. 'It is enough to say that we must choose a policy-or a course of action-to meet the unexpected outcome of Apt Geraden's attempt to translate our chosen champion. We decided on that attempt because it was demanded by our circumstances-and because it appeared to be supported by augury. And we decided to send Geraden into the glass out of respect'-here Master Gilbur snorted again-'out of respect, I say,' the mediator snapped, 'for our King's belief that what is seen in mirrors is not created by Imagery, but rather has its own existence outside our knowledge.

'But that has gone entirely awry. And we have realized that it is impossible for us to know what role the lady Terisa of Morgan will play in the fate of Mordant. Therefore we must now choose where we will stand. Will we accept the consequences of what we have done and await its outcome? Or will we choose some other policy or action to meet our dilemma?

'Masters, you must decide.'

Without rising, Master Eremis said immediately, 'l say that we must accept the consequences of what we have done and await its outcome.' Now he spoke as if he

wanted to avoid provoking an adverse reaction. 'As I have observed repeatedly'-he permitted himself no sarcasm-'the lady Terisa represents an enormous and unprecedented display of power, which we do not understand. We must not take further risks until we have learned more of her.'

'Is this you, Master Eremis?' a younger voice interposed. The speaker was an Imagerof about Geraden's age; he didn't hesitate to be sarcastic. 'You sound craven. We have already determined that we cannot know what the lady represents. So we cannot make our choices on that basis. In our peril, it does not matter that Apt Geraden did something unprecedented. It matters only that he failed. The augury itself is sound. It must be, or we have no understanding of Imagery. Only the Apt failed. We must try again.'

A flash of passion showed in Eremis' eyes; but he didn't retort.

Quietly, Master Barsonage asked, 'And did you never fail when you were an Apt?' 'I did not make a lifetime of it,' retorted the young Imager, 'as well you know.'

'In any case,' Master Gilbur cut into the discussion, gathering force as he spoke, 'whether Apts are prone to error is not at issue here. I agree that we must try again. I will try again. Using the original glass, of which Apt Geraden's is a copy, I will translate our chosen champion to us'-abruptly, he shook his huge fist at Master Quillon-'and be damned to the King's scruples, whatever they are! He will sit and play hop-board with that madman Havelock until the ground cracks under him and all Orison is swallowed in ruins. If Mordant is to endure, we must have power!'

'Well said, Master Gilbur!' two or three of the Imagers applauded. But Master Barsonage faced Gilbur with undisguised dismay.

Terisa felt a jolt like a moment of vision as she saw the armoured figure again in her mind: though the landscape he faced was alien to him as much as to her, he confronted it as though he were in the habit of victory; and his strange weapons gave him all the strength he needed.

Then you also,' another Master said, 'advocate what Quillon calls treason? Or do you mean to enter the glass and ask the champion to come to us?' A pause. 'He will shoot you.'

'I do not fear 'what Quillon calls treason',' Master Gilbur returned. 'Do none of you understand the reason we are in such peril? It is not Mordant which is truly threatened. It is the Congery. We are in peril because all men who have ever hated King Joyse or ioved power covet what we represent-all the resources of Imagery in the world we know. And they dare act on what they covet because King Joyse has abandoned us. He created the

Congery-and he shackled it with rules which serve no purpose but his own-and now he has cut it adrift. We must fend for ourselves or die.'

'I agree.' Master Eremis continued to speak carefully. 'But how must we fend for ourselves? That is where we differ.'

'Master Eremis,' Gilbur grated, 'you differ from everyone. You have no sense.'

Tentatively, as though he wished to avert hostility, Master Quillon asked, 'Would it help, perhaps, if we looked again at the augury?'

'Would that help you?' Master Gilbur answered in a nasty tone. 'Have you forgotten what it shows? Or do you believe it may have changed?'

Quillon seemed unwilling to take offence. 'I would like to be sure that it has not.' 'As would I,' said another Imager.

'In addition,' Master Quillon went on, 'there is the question of interpretation. Perhaps the experience of the past few days will teach us to read the augury more clearly.'

A handful of men around the circle promptly indicated their assent.

Master Barsonage sighed. 'It will take a moment to have the glass brought here. Masters, we do not vote on this. Any of you has the right to make such a demand-if the demand is seconded.'

'I wish to see the glass,' one of Master Quillon's supporters said at once. 'And I,' said another.

'Very well.' The mediator nodded towards someone Terisa couldn't see; the sounds of the door as it opened and closed carried distinctly through the chamber.

No one spoke while the Congery waited. Perhaps this was part of the Masters' protocol. Or perhaps none of them wanted to commit himself until Quillon's request had been satisfied. Master Barsonage stared beyond the circle. Master Gilbur ground his big hands together as if he were practising breaking things. Master Eremis leaned back on the bench and gazed nonchalantly at the ceiling like a man whose good manners kept him from whistling. Master Quillon appeared to be making a conscious effort not to twitch his nose; but he didn't succeed. The other Imagers exhibited varying degrees of impatience, curiosity, assurance, and alarm.

Terisa had the impression that she ought to be more worried. There were undercurrents in this debate which she was able to sense but not define. They might be dangerous. People were plotting-and plots meant harm. What she felt, however, was a small, hesitant eagerness. She wanted to see the augury which had led Geraden to her.

It was brought into the chamber by two Apts, carrying it between them on a beautifully polished wooden tray nearly five feet on a side. As the Apts passed near her on their way towards the dais, she saw that the tray was covered with pieces of broken glass. These pieces had all been laid flat on the wood, and none of them touched each other; but they didn't appear to have been arranged in any other way.

So softly that no one else could hear him, Master Eremis murmured to her, 'Perhaps Apt Geraden neglected to explain how auguring is done, my lady. There are two arts-to create a flat glass of the proper kind, accurately focused-and to interpret the outcome. In simple terms, a flat mirror is made that shows some person, place, or event from which the augury is to be extrapolated. For example, if we wished to determine whether our future contained a war with Cadwal, we might attempt to create a glass focused on Carmag-a glass in which High King Festten could be seen. Mirrors show places, but it is people who cause wars. Then the mirror is dropped. If it has been correctly made, it breaks into pieces which show pieces of what will come from the Image on which it was focused.

This glass was created by Master Barsonage.' He smiled sardonically. Tor that reason, none of us ask whether it was correctly made.' Then he added, 'The other difficulty, as you will see, is to interpret the results. I have always suspected, my lady, that augury exists primarily in the mind of the interpreter.'

Once the Apts had set their burden down on the dais, most of the Masters left the benches and crowded around it. Only Gilbur and his most outspoken supporters apparently felt no need to look at the broken glass again. Everyone else cast at least a glance at the augury. Taking her arm confidently, Master Eremis guided Terisa among them until she stood at the edge of the dais.

The Apts had stepped back: the tray of glass was clearly displayed in front of her. The mirror had broken into dozens of fragments.

Each of them showed a different Image.

And all the Images were moving. When she first looked at them, they seemed to be groping blindly towards each other, as if they aspired to some kind of wholeness.

Pieces of what will come.

The sight made her momentarily dizzy: it seethed like migraine. She felt that she was going to fall. But she closed her eyes and pushed down her queasiness. When she looked again, she held herself steady by concentrating on one or two Images at a time.

-of what will come.

At first, she was startled by how many of them she recognized -and by how precise they were, despite their small size. In one, King Joyse hunched over a game of hop- board, a game which had collapsed into chaos, the men scattered everywhere. He stared at it as if he were determined to make sense of the confusion, and his hands moved aimlessly over the board. In another, Geraden had begun to step into a mirror; but his body blocked the Image within the Image. In another, he appeared again, this time standing surrounded entirely by mirrors, all of them reflecting scenes of violence and destruction against him. And in yet another, the armoured warrior in the alien landscape fired his weapons past the edge of the glass.

But in fact those were only a small handful of the Images. The others reached beyond her experience. One shard showed a castle-she guessed it to be Orison-with a smoking hole torn in one side and a look of death about it. Several pieces of glass held Images of battle: men on horseback hacking at each other so vividly that she could see the blood in the wounds; figures that looked like kings rampaging; soldiers on foot spitted by spears; corpses trampled; carnage. Smoke blotted out the sun. And other Images were of things which could only have come into existence through Imagery: rocks falling from the sky as if off the side of a mountain; monsters so hot that whatever they touched caught fire; devouring worms. Villages were razed; castles fell; crops burned; men, women, children died.

And yet here and there in the squirming mosaic were scenes of peace, perhaps even of victory: a plain, purple pennon fixed on a hillside; a celebration that might have been a wedding, taking place in a high ballroom; farmers planting a field still scarred by battle.

Then another Image caught her eye-

Three riders. Driving their mounts forward, straight out of the glass, driving hard, so that the strain in the shoulders of their horses was as plain as the hate in the keen edges of their upraised swords. Fixed on her across the gulf of augury and translation, and riding hard to hasten the moment when she and her future would come together.

The riders of her dream. Of course.

At once, a wonderful and ludicrous calm came over her. It lasted for only a moment;

but while it endured she lifted her head, half expecting to hear the heart-tug of horns. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

Not the riders. She didn't know what they meant. She hardly cared. But the future. Mirrors didn't simply span distance or dimension: they had the capacity to span time as well. Pieces of what will come. That was why she had been able to see the same Image in two different seasons, the same scene in spring and winter: time. What she had witnessed wasn't proof that the mirror which had brought her here was false; she had seen only another demonstration of the potential which made augury possible.

And that meant-

From across the dais, Master Quillon asked blandly, 'Does this shed any light for you, my lady?' as though he were inquiring only out of politeness. 'I confess that it baffles me.'

The secret of interpretation, my lady,' Master Eremis murmured, 'is to read the flow of the Images. Their movement is not random. There is a-perhaps it might be called a 'current'- which runs from crisis to action to outcome. Unfortunately, this current is not easily discerned. We see Mordant's danger. We see the importance of Geraden. He is in august company-King Joyse, High King Festten, the Alend Monarch. And he is the only individual who appears twice. The champion we thought he would bring to us is here. Also, we see scenes we do not understand.' He pointed at Geraden surrounded by mirrors. 'And we see outcomes-ruin and hope. But how the Images flow is harder to determine. Does Apt Geraden lead to hope, or to ruin? What does King Joyse meditate upon while his enemies ride against him?'

'In brief,' Master Gilbur rasped from his seat, 'nothing has changed. The augury tells us only what we have already seen.'

'When we decided that Apt Geraden should attempt to translate our champion,' explained Master Barsonage, overriding Gilbur, 'the logic of it seemed plain enough. He clearly could not be the cause of ruin. Ruin confronted us already. Therefore he must be a source of hope.

'Now,' he sighed, 'the interpretation is less obvious.'

'Oh, forsooth.' Master Gilbur was growing steadily angrier. ''Less obvious', indeed. Nothing has been more obvious. The Apt's involvement in our plight is the path which leads to ruin. Only the champion you see before you offers any hope.'

Through his teeth, the mediator replied, That is what we must decide.'

For another moment or two, the Imagers stood around the dais. Some of them whispered among themselves. Others pointed out details of the augury which their companions might have missed. Then, slowly, they returned to their benches. Still holding Terisa's arm, Eremis steered her back to her seat.

But when the Masters were in their places again, a silence fell over the Congery. Everyone except Gilbur seemed lost in thought -perhaps frustrated that the augury didn't provide a clearer answer, perhaps hesitant to consider the drastic solution Master Gilbur had proposed. And he continued glowering about him as if he were determined not to speak first.

At last, an Imager Terisa didn't know asked, 'Is there no middle ground? Must we either do nothing or risk doing too much?'

'No,' another muttered. The King has not left us that choice. Our plight is extreme. By governing Mordant like a madman, he has made the situation too grave to be met on any 'middle ground'.'

'I have heard a rumour,' said a third Master portentously. 'It is said that the Perdon came yesterday to speak with King Joyse. He reported an army of thirty thousand Cadwals mustering against him beyond the Vertigon, and he demanded reinforcement.

'He was refused.'

The shocked expressions of several of the Imagers showed that this story hadn't reached them. Master Eremis smiled vacantly.

'Nevertheless,' Master Barsonage put in more loudly than necessary, trying to shore up a weak position, 'he is the King. That decision was his to make. We do not know what reasons he may have had for his refusal.'

True,' retorted Master Gilbur. 'And I, for one, do not care. When an assassin tries to strike a knife into my heart, and the man who is sworn to protect me steps aside, I do not ask for his reasons. First I fight the assassin. And when I have defeated him, and have bound them both in irons, and perhaps broken a few of their limbs for good measure, then I ask my sworn protector what his reasons may have been.'

'Master Gilbur.' The mediator swung his bulk to face Gilbur squarely. A combination of anger and fear stained his skin. 'How have you become so savage? Your arguments I understand, but not the tone of hatred in which you utter them. Whatever else we may say of him, we must say that King Joyse created the Congery. He made us who we are.'

''Who we are',' sneered Gilbur. 'Divided and useless.'

Grimly, Master Barsonage continued, 'We cannot make our decisions now on a basis of blind passion. What causes your loathing of him, Master Gilbur?'

Master Gilbur clenched his hands together until the knuckles whitened.

'Personally,' drawled Master Eremis, 'I believe that good Master Gilbur once had the insolence to ask for the hand of one of the King's daughters in marriage. Quite understandably, King Joyse laughed at him.'

A few of the Imagers might have been tempted to laugh; but Master Gilbur silenced them by surging to his feet.

'Am I savage, Master Barsonage? Do you hear hatred in my voice? Do I display loathing? I have cause.

'As you know, I was one of the last Imagers brought into the Congery in the days before the defeat of the arch-Imager Vagel. But the story of how I was brought to the Congery has never been told.

'I have given my life to my researches, and in those days no other question interested me, although of course I knew of the King's invitation to all Imagers to leave their private laboriums and join him in Orison. I did not know, however, that another Imager had moved secretly near to my lone cave in the Armigite hills. This corrupt wretch coveted my research-and he attacked me, seeking to wrest what I knew from me. I defended myself, but he had taken me by surprise, and I could not win. In our struggle, a portion of the ceiling of my cave collapsed, pinning me under a block of stone I was unable to shift. My attacker snatched what he desired of most of my possessions and fled.

'As it happened, he fled straight into the arms of King Joyse. The King had learned of my attacker before I had, and he was riding towards us to deal with the man when I fell. Instantly, my attacker turned his power against the King. But he was no match for Adept Havelock in those days, and he was killed.

'Weakened by the damage it had suffered, the ceiling of my cave continued to fall. But King Joyse risked his life to enter and lift the stone and carry me to safety. He could not heal the harm done to my back-the harm which marks me still. But he restored my health, recovered my researches, and gave my life purpose in the Congery.'

'And for this you hate him?' asked Master Barsonage incredulously. Master Gilbur slashed the air with hooked fingers. 'Yes!

'Oh, he was wise in the creation of the Congery. He was strong and valiant in the making of Mordant. And he was good to me. But he did not teach me to look upon his subsequent weakness, his folly, his refusal to act as though such things were anything except betrayal.

'I despise what he has become, Master Barsonage. If you or I slipped into our dotage, the servants of Orison would tend us in our beds, and our responsibilities would pass elsewhere. Our incontinence or our loss of mind would do no hurt. But he remains King. And he takes no action except to prevent any action which might offer us hope.

'You should be savage, as I am. The man in all Mordant whom we have most cause to love has betrayed usl'

His shout echoed through the chamber. At once, however, he sat down. Into the silence, he growled softly, 'I have been attacked and broken once. We must have power to defend ourselves.'

Then he bowed his head into his hands and sat still.

No one spoke. Master Eremis shifted in his seat as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. Master Quillon appeared to be shrinking: he might have been making a conscious effort to disappear into the background. The mediator clenched his arms over his heavy chest like a man who felt like raging and did not intend to let himself go. Some of the Imagers watched the rest of the circle as if they were looking for hints: others studiously avoided anyone else's gaze.

Terisa listened to the tension and wondered what the implications of being real were.

What did it demand of her? What should she do?

Abruptly, Master Gilbur hit the rail in front of him so hard she thought she heard the wood crack. 'Balls of a dog!' he roared. 'Will you sit there forever? If you consider me wrong, say so. Does not one of you possess bowels enough to tell me to my face that I am wrong?'

At once, the young Imager who had jeered at Master Eremis said loudly, 'I second Master Gilbur's proposal. We must call our champion to us.'

His words broke a dam: suddenly, the air was full of voices urging that the matter be put to a vote.

Still gripping himself hard, Master Barsonage waited until quiet was restored. Then he said stiffly, like a breaking board, 'Very well. This is madness, but it must be answered. I know my duty. You have heard the proposal. Shall it be accepted? What is the will of the

Congery?'

Terisa counted the show of hands as rapidly as she could. Master Barsonage, Master Eremis, Master Quillon, and several others voted against the proposal.

They were in the minority. Master Gilbur won. The mediator snarled his disgust.

As if shocked by what it had just done, the Congery relapsed into silence. Imagers blinked at each other uncertainly. A grin of anticipation bared Master Gilbur's teeth; but he savoured his victory and said nothing. Nobody seemed to know what to do next.

Then Master Eremis rose to his feet. If anything, his manner was more nonchalant than ever; but Terisa saw in his face- especially in his eyes-a new excitement, a taste for the game he was playing.

'I am surprised,' he drawled. 'This is madness, as Master Barsonage has said. I will not challenge the vote, however. It is conceivable, I suppose, that my judgement may be in error.' He flashed a smile to which no one responded.

'Be that as it may,' he continued, 'you must next decide when to attempt this translation. Let me beg for a delay. Six days should suffice.'

Master Gilbur jerked up his head as though he had been poked in the ribs. Master Quillon watched Eremis like a small animal staring at a snake.

'A delay, Master Eremis?' asked Barsonage. 'Six days?' A quickness had come into his attention: his distress receded. 'If Master Gilbur has his way, we will begin the translation at once. Why should we delay?'

'Why should we not?' Master Gilbur retorted trenchantly. The peril thickens around us like quicksand. Thirty thousand Cadwals are poised against Perdon. The Alend Monarch alone knows what treachery he contemplates. We are attacked by Imagery of all kinds- and in all places, as if our enemy has no limitations of time and distance. In six days we may all be dead. But doubtless we will bow to the wisdom of our esteemed Eremis.'

'Master Gilbur'-once again, the insouciant Imager looked hugely and secretly amused-'I advise you to watch your tongue. If you do not, I will watch it for you. In order to watch it well, I will remove it from your head.'

Gilbur replied with a bark of laughter.

'Master Barsonage,' Eremis went on smoothly, 'I do not make this request lightly. Here is my reason. Yesterday, after his audience with King Joyse, I spoke with the Perdon. We spoke at some length, and we agreed that Mordant's plight is dire, that the King's passivity is insufferable, and that some action must be taken in spite of him.

'Our own dilemma is severe, Masters,' he said to the circle, 'but consider the situation of the Cares. It is Perdon which will die first when Cadwal comes to war, Armigite that has always been the first victim of Alend's aspirations, Termigan and Fayle and Tor which will have their people decimated. Therefore the Perdon promised that he will summon all the lords of the Cares to Orison-with the exception of the Domne, of course, who is too great a friend of the King's-so that they can try to determine an answer to their common need. And so that they can try to forge an alliance with us.'

Terisa saw dismay on Master Quillon's face. On the other hand, the mediator listened with visibly increasing enthusiasm.

They will meet during the night of the sixth day,' Master Eremis continued. 'I have been asked to confer with them, to speak for the Congery.'

'What? In six days! For messengers to ride out and the lords reply?' an angry Master demanded. 'At this time of year?' A mutter of agreement rose around him. 'If the Armigite is sent for, he may possibly ride the distance in time. Batten is little more than forty miles distant. But the Fayle? The Tor? That is madness. Under the best conditions, the Termigan has seldom made the journey to Orison in less than ten days.'

'Nevertheless,' Master Eremis replied, as suave as poison, 'the Perdon has promised it. Will you call him a liar?' Then he smiled. 'I do believe, however, that he had decided on this gathering- and had sent out his call-well before he spoke to me.'

At once, he resumed what he had been saying. 'Masters, I believe that we must not ignore this opportunity to find support for what we do. If we ally ourselves with the lords of the Cares, explaining to them what we propose for Mordant, we will not risk their opposition to our champion. And we will gain friendships across Mordant which may prove of great value in the coming strife.'

Terisa found herself gazing up at him as though her face shone. The boldness and possibilities of what he proposed took her breath away. He was trying to fight for Mordant in a way that made sense to her.

'Also,' Master Barsonage put in promptly, 'it may be that the lords will propose a defence which will make the calling of our champion unnecessary. And we will have six more days in which to be sure of what we do. Master Eremis, I congratulate your

foresight and initiative. This is well done.'

'Is it?' demanded one of the younger Imagers. 'By what right does Master Eremis speak for us in front of the lords of the Cares?'

'As Master Barsonage has said,' Master Eremis said with a gleam in his eyes. 'By right of foresight and initiative.'

'But you oppose the calling of our champion,' another man protested. 'How can we be sure that this is not some ploy to undercut our decision? How can we know that you will advocate our knowledge and position fairly to the lords?'

'Masters,' Eremis answered in a tone of good-natured sarcasm, 'the lords will not agree to bare their hearts before the entire Congery. However we may look at the matter, we are the creation of King Joyse, and all men who fear his present policy fear us as well.'

'My question remains,' put in the man who had spoken earlier. 'How can you be trusted to form an alliance for us, when you oppose what we mean to do?'

For a moment, Master Eremis looked around him-at Master Barsonage, at Master Quillon, whose eyes seemed to bulge with stifled distress, at the Imagers who challenged him. Then he shrugged. 'Very well. I will take one of you with me, to ensure that I deal rightly with your decisions. I will risk the ire of the lords.

'Master Gilbur, will you accompany me in this?'

Surprise echoed around the circle. Gilbur gaped. But he quickly nodded, murmuring, 'I will.'

Master Barsonage permitted himself a sigh of relief. 'Master Gilbur, I take that as a second. Masters, it has been proposed that we delay the translation of our champion for six days, until Master Eremis and Master Gilbur have spoken to the lords of the Cares. Shall it be accepted? What is your will?'

The vote was almost unanimous.

Terisa began breathing more easily, as if a threat had been averted, Six days: anything could happen in six days.

But Master Eremis wasn't done. Still standing, he said, 'One matter more. The lords of the Cares will come to Orison openly, as befits their station. But they will meet in secret.'

The mediator nodded briskly. 'I understand you.' The postponement appeared to have restored his confidence, his command of the situation, 'Masters,' he said in an incisive voice, his jaw jutting, 'my lady Terisa of Morgan, no one must speak of this. No one. Whatever your private opinion of us, and of what we mean to do, you must not speak.' He addressed the circle generally; but his gaze was fixed on Terisa. 'The lords will not trust us if any word of this meeting precedes them, If King Joyse interferes, all hope of any alliance will be lost. We do what we do, not to aggrandize ourselves, but to save Mordant. We must not be betrayed.' Slowly, he moved until he was standing at the rail in front of her; his eyes held hers. 'My lady,' he said quietly, 'you must not speak of anything you have heard today.'

He gave her a wry smile. 'Geraden will question you, I do not doubt. If you become acquainted with her, you will find that the lady Elega is insatiably curious. Castellan Lebbick desires to know everything that takes place in Orison. Even King Joyse may bestir himself to take an interest in you.

'My lady, you must say nothing.'

She tried to meet his eyes, but they were too frightening. He was asking her to make a choice and stand by it-asking her to accept at least a small share of the responsibility for Master Eremis' success. A passive share, perhaps; but a choice nonetheless. Wasn't that what people who believed in themselves did? -made choices and stood by them?

She hesitated because she wasn't ready to promise that she wouldn't talk to Geraden.

Fortunately, Master Eremis came to her rescue. 'Master Bar-sonage,' he said kindly, 'I am certain that we can trust her.'

The mediator glanced at Eremis, frowning as if he disliked his thoughts-as if something in Eremis' words or tone suddenly raised a host of questions. A moment later, however, he shook his head and turned away.

'Masters,' he said distantly, 'are there other matters we must discuss here?' No one said anything.

Then let us have done. I think that we have cast enough votes which will shape Mordant's future for one day.'

Leaving the centre of the circle, he passed between the pillars, unbolted a door, and walked out of the chamber.

Terisa looked for Master Quillon. He wasn't present. Apparently, he had already left.

Master Eremis took her arm and raised her to her feet. 'Come, my lady,' he said privately. This is only your third day among us, yet already I feel I have been waiting a long time to offer you my hospitality.'

She couldn't resist the way he pulled her arm through his and hugged her to his side. She sensed triumph in him, and anticipation, a secret, whetted enthusiasm. He was moving events too quickly. His confident vitality as he paraded her out of the chamber ahead of most of the Masters made her thoughts whirl.

When she was that close to him, his physical impact on her dominated everything else. He gave off a slight scent of perspiration and cloves, and she could feel muscle working over bone under his jet cloak. Where did his confidence come from, his power? And what did he see in her? Why did he go to such lengths to lay claim to her? She didn't understand him at all.

That made his hold on her stronger. His confidence was like a display of magic, enchanting because it was at once so attractive and so far beyond her experience.

As a result, she walked at his side as if his strength and her uncertainty were a kind of charm, entrancing her in ways she couldn't define.

He made her want something she didn't know how to name.

Still escorting her formally, he took her up out of the laborium and into the public passages of Orison. Once past the ballroom, however, he moved her in the opposite direction from the route to which she was growing accustomed-the route back to her rooms. As they walked, he explained that they were entering a section of the castle devoted to the personal quarters of the Masters-a section which King Joyse had had rebuilt when he first began to form the Congery, so that his Imagers would have fitting, perhaps even sumptuous, places to live, places that would show the respect in which their occupants were held. But she only paid attention to the sound of his voice, not to what he said. At once fascinated and alarmed, she concentrated on him physically as though his voice and his scent and the hard grasp of his arm were a spell which might solve the problem of her existence at last.

Leaving the ballroom behind, they began to pass more and more people. She saw a knowing leer in some of the greetings Master Eremis received from men of rank, a smile of congratulation or envy. Guards rolled their eyes at the ceiling: a few of them were bold enough to wink. Ladies and chambermaids studied her as if they were trying to grasp what made her desirable.

The sensation that she was enchanted and real caused her to feel unexpectedly bold.

Undaunted by the way people looked at her, she said, That was a nice thing you tried to do for Geraden.'

'Do you think so, my lady?' She heard the grin in his tone. 'You are delightfully naive. A child's spirit in a woman's body.' With his free hand, he stroked her forearm; his touch seemed to leave trails of intensity on her skin. 'I doubt, however, that Quillon takes a similar view. Unless I am quite mistaken, he considers me cruel.'

His mention of Quillon sparked a quick protective reaction in her. There was little in herself or her circumstances of which she was sure; but she was sure that she didn't want to betray either Master Quillon or Adept Havelock. She felt Eremis probing on that point, and she replied immediately-perhaps too immediately-'Quillon? Which one was he? I haven't been introduced to very many of the Masters.'

He responded with an easy laugh. 'No matter, my lady. I assure you that he is of no significance whatsoever.'

With a wave of his hand, he indicated that they had arrived at his quarters.

They had just entered a short hall like a cul-de-sac, with a door or two on either side and one at the end. The stone of the walls was the same almost-smooth grey granite that appeared everywhere in Orison; but the door bore no resemblance to the dungeon-doors of the laborium. It was of rosewood, polished to a high sheen so that the bas-relief carved into it was unmistakable: a full-length rendering of Master Eremis himself, complete with a sardonic smile and a look of extraordinary knowledge in his eyes-a look, Terisa realized a moment later, which was achieved by embedding subtle pieces of ivory in the wood.

'I hope you will always be able to find me, my lady,' he remarked. The doors of the Masters are marked with their characteristic signs and sigils. But Orison is large, and signs are easily confused. Anyone who knows me will always know which door is mine.'

Deftly, he unlatched the door and steered her into his chambers.

His use of the word sumptuous hadn't prepared her for the room she entered. After the relative starkness of the halls and stone outside, the opulence of the furnishings seemed exotic and exquisite. Both light and warmth were provided by perfumed oil fires cunningly hidden in brass shells as large as urns, their sides cut into delicate open filigree. The main piece of furniture was a huge divan swathed in satin an,d piled with pillows; and before it stood a long, low table, its engraved brass top suspended by chains from rosewood legs at each corner. But there were two or three armchairs in the room as well, each cloaked in satin to match the divan. An ornate washstand and basin, also of

brass, filled one niche. Nearby was a wooden cabinet that held what appeared to be wine decanters. The floor was softened by several layers of rugs, the uppermost of which cast a solid sweep of crimson against the predominant blue of the furniture and the canary drapes that covered the windows. The fabric masking the ceiling was also canary; but the tapestries on the walls picked up all three colours, using crimson primarily to focus attention on what they depicted-scenes of women in various stages of seduction.

Grinning his welcome, Master Eremis released Terisa's arm and bolted the door. 'Joyse treats his Imagers well, as you can see, my lady,' he commented. 'Mordant, however, is not natively wealthy. For centuries, the Cares produced nothing grander than wheat, grapes and cattle-and farmers to tend them. Our King's wealth-like his power-is the result of war.' He glanced around him smugly. 'Doubtless some Cadwal noble previously had the use of these riches. That pleases me.'

He moved to the washstand to rinse his hands and sprinkle a few drops of water on his face. When he returned to her side, Terisa smelled a renewed scent of cloves. 'Be comfortable,' he said, gesturing towards the divan. 'Do you like wine?' His smile was fading, and there was an avid smoulder in his eyes.

The tang of incense, and the smell of cloves, and the expression on his face shifted the balance of her excitement and alarm, made a sensation like panic rise in her throat. Groping for something to say, some way to gain time so that she could try to think, she blurted out, There was something I didn't understand about the mirrors. When Geraden was showing them to me.'

He frowned, perhaps at her mention of Geraden, perhaps at her uncertainty. To cover whatever vexation he felt, he went to the cabinet, took out two goblets, and filled them with a wine as crimson as the rug. Then he came back to her, placed one of the goblets in her hands, drank from his. He was smiling again, and the urgency in his eyes had receded a bit, become more wary.

'Frankly, my lady,' he said, 'no one understands what you saw.

No mirror, flat or otherwise, can change its Image. Since it is impossible, I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself.

'Doubtless you noticed that we did not discuss that change in our debate today. There is nothing to be said about the impossible, now that it is gone. Most of the Masters did not believe me when I described what had happened. Especially'-he spoke in a musing tone-'since I did not recognize the new Image and could not identify it.'

'Oh, Geraden recognizes it. It's called 'the Closed Fist'. He says it's somewhere in the

Care of Domne.' As soon as she said the words, she felt that she shouldn't have. She had a strange feeling that she had betrayed a secret-that she had betrayed Geraden. But Master Eremis' virile presence compelled her to speak. He bowed slightly over her, listening as though he were waiting for her to finish so that he could take hold of her. She needed time. At once, she explained, 'But that isn't what I meant.'

As if involuntarily, she told Master Eremis what she hadn't told Geraden. She told him what she had found in the glass which showed the champion: not violence; not her apartment; but the Closed Fist in springtime.

Her hasty admission interested him, although it didn't appear to interest him quite as much as she had hoped. His frown now was one of thoughtful consideration. 'That is strange,' he admitted. Slowly, he took her to the divan and seated her so that her side was warm against his, with his arm on the cushions behind her and his torso leaning towards her. 'Did Geraden have this experience also?'

She shook her head. 'He tried.'Her senses were full of incense, cloves, and baffled desire. 'He wanted to see if he could take me back where he found me. So that I would at least have the choice of leaving. But when he went into the glass, he was with your champion.'

'Indeed?' He cocked an eyebrow. Then it was for you that the translation went astray?'

She didn't want to think like that. 'Or Geraden does it for me. He probably doesn't even know he's doing it. He doesn't know he has the power.' She remembered the way he had left the meeting-hall-the way he had spoken out for her; the authority of his first appeal to her. To herself, she murmured, They should have accepted him as a Master.'

Then,' Master Eremis said firmly, 'it is well that this changing of Images was not publicly debated. Unable to believe such power of Geraden, the Masters would have concluded that you are the powerful Imager they both fear and want.

'But you are no Imager, as we both know. I will speak quietly to Masters who may be trusted, and we will attempt to explain the things you do not understand.'

While he spoke, his arm tightened around her; now his lips brushed her hair.'Are you satisfied? I am ready to begin exploring the territory of your womanhood.'

She felt that she had no choice, that all choices were being swept away. Her body yearned against her clothes. She inhaled his warm breath as his mouth came down and covered hers firmly.

Then somebody knocked at the door.

The knocking was quiet at first, a few gentle taps. Master Eremis ignored it. His tongue stroked her lips, giving her a taste of kisses she had never experienced. But the knock became more insistent. Soon the person outside the door was hammering at the wood.

'Whelp of a dog!' Eremis jerked himself off the divan. Chewing curses under his breath, he strode to the door, unbolted it, and yanked it open.

Terisa saw Geraden standing in the doorway.

She was breathing harder than she should have been, and she could feel her face burning.

He didn't look at her-or at Eremis: he kept his gaze studiously fixed on a vacant spot between them. 'Master Eremis,' he said in a controlled tone, 'how may I serve you?'

'Serve me?' snapped the Master. 'Why do you conceive that I have any need of you at all? Go away.'

'I'm in your debt. For no apparent reason, you proposed me for the chasuble of a Master. I'm done with my other duties. I want to repay you somehow.'

'Very good. I accept your indebtedness. Repay me'-with a visible effort, Master Eremis refrained from shouting-'by leaving me alone.'

At that, Geraden raised his eyes. Steadily, he said, The lady Terisa deserves better.' Then he turned and walked away.

Master Eremis cursed again and started to slam the door. He caught it before it closed, however, shut it gently, and restored the bolt. When he turned back to Terisa, there was a distant, peculiar smile on his face-a smile which might almost have been one of admiration. That boy is a challenge,' he murmured. He sounded like he was speaking to himself; but the glance he gave Terisa showed that he was aware of her. 'I must think of something truly special for him.'

A moment later, he shrugged the question away and looked at her more directly. The intensity came back into his eyes. He returned to the divan, drained his goblet, then seated himself close beside her again.

Without quite meaning to, she shifted a little away from him. By turning more to face him, she was able to raise her goblet like a barrier between them. Her cheeks still burned: for no clear reason, the sight of Geraden made her feel that she was doing

something of which she should have been ashamed. The lady Terisa deserves better.

What did that mean? He knew too little about her to say something like that.

And yet the way he said it-The lady Terisa deserves better- touched her. It made her withdraw a bit from the Master leaning expectantly over her.

That reminds me.' Her voice was soft, even tentative; but inwardly she seemed to be growing bolder all the time-so bold that she could hardly recognize herself. She actually met his avid gaze as she said, 'He told me you don't believe I exist. Remember? And you said you believed I didn't exist until I came out of the mirror. That's something else I don't understand.'

'In what way?' Eremis' tone expressed deliberate patience.

She tried to explain. 'I don't know anything about Imagery. I don't really understand anything about it. But I'm trying. It's easier for me to believe that a mirror is like a window. It lets you see from one place to another. Or from one world to another.' She hoped he couldn't see the way her heart was beating, the way her breath came unsteadily from her chest. She didn't want him to know how important this question was to her. 'It's much harder to believe that a piece of glass creates what you see in it.'

Please. Do you really think I didn't exist until you saw me for the first time?

'Ah.' He nodded in recognition. 'As you must know by now, my lady, that is the fundamental confusion which divides and weakens the Congery. And Joyse further muddles the issue by insisting upon ''ethical' questions, such as, by what right do we translate Images out of their natural existence? But that is extraneous. The matter cannot be resolved until the essential point is known. Is a mirror a 'window', as you call it, or are the Images seen in the glass brought into being by Imagery itself, by the act of making and shaping the mirror?'

As he spoke, he moved incrementally closer to her, lea'ned closer to her. His arm was around her again so that she couldn't retreat, and his spell renewed its power. She had never realized before that the delicate aroma of cloves was sensuous. She could no longer hold his gaze. Instead, she watched his mouth as if in spite of her uncertainty-not to mention her recent embarrassment-she wanted him to kiss her again.

The true difficulty, however, is not a failure of understanding, but of imagination,' He took the goblet from her and put it aside, His voice became lower, huskier. The evidence of the truth is plain, but we do not accept it because, as you have observed, it is harder to credit.'

His mouth dipped to hers, kissed her lightly: once; again. The second time, she

responded as if she knew what she was doing.

'My lady,' he breathed, 'it is plain that you did not exist before you were incarnated by translation. Glass is dumb. Mirrors depict Images. They do not transmit sounds, If you come to us from another world'-again, he kissed her-'complete in its own existence'-and with each kiss her response improved-'how is it possible that we speak the same language?

'Since Geraden created the glass which conceived you, I must admire his taste in women.'

This time, his mouth took hold of hers and didn't let go. His tongue parted her lips. She was leaning back among the cushions: his arm hugged her there, half reclining. For a moment, all her senses were concentrated on his kiss-and on learning how to kiss him herself. It was true: the mirror had created her. She was free. What she did no longer mattered. At first she didn't realize that he was unbuttoning her shirt. But his kiss was so potent- and his hand so adept-that she felt no wish to stop him.

'Master Eremis,' a voice said, 'my lady Terisa, would you like something to eat?'

Eremis sprang to his feet, rage flaming in his eyes. Terisa pushed herself out of the cushions and looked up at Geraden.

This time, he had entered through a doorway which led to some of the inner rooms: he must have used a servants' entrance. Once again, his gaze was fixed away from both her and the Master. In his hands, he carried an ornate brass tray on which he had arranged a large wedge of cheese, some bread, and several bunches of grapes.

'While you discuss the fate of Mordant,' he commented in a voice so determinedly nonchalant that it sounded fierce, 'I thought you might like something to eat.' As he spoke, he moved forward into the room. 'It's been a long time since breakfast.'

'Excrement of a pig!' the Master snarled softly. His hands hooked into claws. 'This is insufferable! Must I bolt their doors on my own servants in order to keep you out?'

'I've already told you.' Geraden's deference was comparable to his nonchalance. 'I'm in your debt. I'm just trying to find some way to repay you.'

Though she fought to hide it, Terisa could hardly refrain from laughing. The Apt's second interruption wasn't embarrassing: it was absurd. And the butt of the absurdity was Master Eremis, who looked angry enough to tear Geraden's heart out for too small a cause. Standing ridiculously polite and out of place in the middle of Eremis' seduction- room, Geraden reminded her why she liked him so much. She was barely able to keep

her face straight.

As if sensing that he appeared foolish, Master Eremis pulled himself erect. 'Apt, I believe you,' he rasped, jabbing one finger like the point of a spear at Geraden's face. 'You seek to repay me. But revenge would be a better word, would it not? You blame me because the Congery laughed when I proposed you for the chasuble, and now you wish to 'repay' me by driving me mad.

'Listen to me, boy.' He managed to look calmer and calmer as he spoke, despite the struggle between control and ferocity in his voice. 'I wish you to go away and leave me alone. I have been your friend, whatever you believe. But you will sacrifice my friendship if you continue to torment me. And you will not enjoy my enmity.'

If Geraden felt the force of this threat, he kept his reaction to himself. Without looking at Terisa, he asked-deferentially, nonchalantly-'My lady, do you want to be left alone?'

As soon as he confronted her with his question, she found that she couldn't answer. She liked him. She wanted to give him a reply that pleased him: it would have made her feel good to please him. But her body had come so close to learning what its womanhood meant-to Master Eremis, at least, and perhaps thereby to herself. She was trembling inside, and her legs felt too weak to lift her off the divan. Her yearning hadn't gone away.

'Are you blind, Apt?' The Master was almost whispering. The only thing she wants is to be left alone.'

Then'-for an instant, Geraden's control nearly cracked, and a spasm of pain leaped across his face-'I must go.' His tone became formal in compensation. 'Please forgive this mad intrusion. I have misjudged.'

Master Eremis made a stiff gesture of dismissal. Geraden turned and left the room the same way he had come.

'Fool.' Eremis glared after the Apt. 'He believes that he is safe to play games with me. I do not play games.' Abruptly, he swung towards Terisa. 'My lady, be warned. I do not play games.'

She met his gaze until it seemed to make her tingle. If what she did no longer mattered, then why did she ache this way? Perhaps her yearning was stronger than she realized, and it was changing her. Or perhaps she felt an inchoate desire to defend Geraden. Whatever the reason, she amazed herself by saying as if she were accustomed to comment on the behaviour of the people around her, 'I can understand why he thinks you do.'

To her surprise, her remark caught his interest. His anger receded, and an inquiring look came into his face. It made him even more attractive than his intent desire. 'Do you, indeed? I am taken aback.' His tone was sardonic, but kindly. 'What have I done to convey such an impression?'

She made an effort to answer him accurately, in part because she enjoyed being free to say what she thought, in part because his question flattered her by conferring substance on her ideas.

'You don't show much respect for people when you talk about them in private, so when you act respectful in public you don't sound sincere. And you aren't consistent. You seem to do things' -her boldness was positively dizzying-'like propose to make Geraden a Master, not because you believe in them, but because you like surprising people,'

His eyes widened humorously. 'Not consistent, my lady? I? You were not present when the Apt's role in the translation which brought you among us was debated. You have not heard how consistently I have always defended and supported him.' He took evident pleasure in questioning her. 'How am I not consistent?'

She considered the matter. This couldn't last: surely he was about to become angry at her. That was what happened whenever she called attention to herself. She didn't want to lose this moment. Trying to minimize the risk, she replied carefully, 'I was surprised when you chose Master Gilbur. To go with you to that meeting with the Perdon. He doesn't seem to like you very much.'

That surprise came back in a rush when Eremis burst out laughing.

For a moment, he was too amused to speak. She had apparently touched a point on which he was exceptionally pleased with himself. Chortling loudly, he returned to the divan and sat down beside her again, sprawling back into the cushions and stretching his arms above his head.

When he was able to stop laughing, he drew himself erect, put his hands on her shoulders and held her for a kiss. 'Ah, that was a fine jest, my lady,' he replied, enjoying her mystification, 'and the richest humour of it lies in its secrecy. I will wager that all the Congery was equally surprised,' Only the hint of calculation in his eyes, the way he seemed to gauge the consequences of what he did, prevented him from looking as unabashedly happy as Geraden sometimes did. 'None of those fools knows that Joyse was not the one who saved Gilbur's life when his cave collapsed, I was.'

While she gaped at him-while her thoughts reeled and her conception of everything which had taken place during the meeting of the Congery changed-he pulled her to him

and captured her mouth again with his.

He stopped her breath in her chest. But as soon as his kiss eased she panted, 'Wait a minute. Wait. I don't understand.'

Placing kisses on her eyes, her forehead, the corners of her mouth, he eased her back into the cushions. 'What do you not understand?'

'You and Master Gilbur are working together.' Her chest heaved. 'You planned that whole meeting.' You were play-acting all the time. 'Why did you pretend to be enemies?'

'Because, my precious'-his tongue licked at her lips between phrases-'some of those dunderheaded Imagers truly do not like me. Ideas and hopes are frequently rejected simply because I am the one who presents them.' His warm breath seemed to fill her lungs. The truth would have turned them against Gilbur as well.' She felt his hand once more on the buttons of her shirt. 'The lie that he was saved by King Joyse gave him credibility, so that he was able to swing the vote.'

Reclining against the pillows and his arm as though she were helpless, she still asked, 'But why? Why do you want that champion? He's dangerous.'

Master Eremis withdrew enough to let her meet his gaze. His expression was serious, and he spoke candidly. 'Arms and war are dangerous. Power is dangerous. But nothing else can save us.

'You do not know the Perdon. You have seen his rage, however. He loves his people. He is proud of Mordant-and of his place in the realm. And yet his King has refused him aid. Impelled by desperation, he will go to any extreme to defend what he loves.'

She thought she heard a knock at the door. For an instant, Master Eremis stiffened. But the sound was tentative; and it wasn't repeated.

'I will also,' he went on. 'I sneer at my fellow Masters, but that is only because a talent for Imagery is not a guarantee of intelligence or courage. I love the potential which the Congery represents, I would gladly do battle in its defence. And I, too, have been refused. My King denies me his aid.

'I will not hesitate at a lie or two in order to gain the strength I need.'

She wasn't sure of what she saw in his eyes or heard in his voice. His manipulation of the Congery was too easy; his explanation for his lies was too tidy. But his nearness and his strong touch took hold of her: his scent of cloves and his kisses were more persuasive than logic.

Her lips answered him as well as they knew how. Slipping under her shirt, his hand cupped her breast. His caress made her nipples ache. Instinctively, she arched her back, pressing her breasts closer to him. He pushed her shirt aside, and they were bared. Then his mouth left hers, and he breathed thickly, 'My lady, I was not wrong. You are made for a man's delight,' and his tongue reached out to her breast until his lips closed over the nipple.

Willing to risk almost anything now, she put her arms around his head and held it where it was so that he wouldn't stop what he was doing.

She was so amazed that she did nothing but stare when Saddith walked into the room.

Like Geraden, the maid studiously didn't look at Master Eremis or Terisa. She held her face slightly averted, and her expression was perfectly bland.

'Master Eremis-' she began.

He bounded off the divan violently, his arm cocked as if he were expecting Geraden and intended to hit first and ask questions later.

'Master Eremis,' she repeated, flinching, speaking quickly to ward off his outrage, 'this intrusion is inexcusable, I know, but you must forgive me. I had no choice. You did not answer the door. My lady, you must forgive me. I have no choice.'

'No choice?' As soon as he recognized Saddith, he lowered his arm. Nevertheless he needed a moment to control his anger. 'You are a servant. Why is it a matter of choice for you to enter my rooms unbidden?'

'Forgive me. I know that what I have done is inexcusable.' Because Saddith's face was so bland, and her tone was so neutral, she didn't sound particularly contrite. 'But I have been commanded to fetch the lady Terisa. The lady Myste wishes to speak with her. She is the King's daughter, Master Eremis. I could not refuse to obey her. You have the power to insult me-perhaps even to hurt me.' She also didn't sound particularly fearful. 'But if the lady Myste complains of me to Castellan Lebbick-'

Eremis interrupted her. 'You could have told Myste that you were unable to find the lady.' He had already regained his self-possession, however. He sighed. 'But that may have been too much to expect of you.' He turned to Terisa. 'My lady, you must go. Kings' daughters are capricious-and our King lets his do what they will. It is not safe to ignore them.'

Only his eyes betrayed him. They had gone dark and murderous.

Terisa wanted to wail in frustration-and also in unexpected fright. His ferocity was suddenly as vivid as her father's. She felt giddy, almost wild, close to tears-or laughter. Her relief was as acute as her sense of loss, her alarm.

Because she had no idea what else to do, she mutely began buttoning her shirt.