THE LAST A LEND AMBASSADOR

STILL TREMBLING weakly, full of confusion and trying not to show it, Terisa left with Saddith.

Master Eremis unbolted the door and bowed her out of his rooms. As he did so, his smile displayed a familiar blend of amusement and concupiscence: he might have been proof against his recent vexations. If she hadn't seen his eyes, she wouldn't have been scared.

She breathed an instinctive sigh of relief when the door closed because it had been Saddith, not Geraden, who had interrupted the Master the third time. She didn't like to think of so much anger aimed at the Apt.

For her part, Saddith appeared untroubled by Eremis' ire. Instead of betraying any kind of embarrassment or concern, her expression suggested a barely concealed satisfaction.

Terisa wanted to ask, Why does the lady Myste want to see me? More than that, she wanted to ask, How did you manage to come for me at just that moment? But as soon as she and Saddith left the cul-de-sac of Master Eremis' quarters, Geraden accosted them.

He made no effort to restrain himself. He was gambolling like a puppy.

'Saddith, you're a wonder!' Grabbing her by the arms, he danced her in a circle until he stumbled against the wall and almost knocked her to the floor; then he planted a loud kiss on her cheek and released her. 'I'm in your debt. Forever! How did you do it?'

Without waiting for an answer, he turned, practically prancing, towards Terisa. She kept on walking.

She couldn't tell what he saw in her face; but whatever it was,

it sobered him rapidly. For once, however, he didn't apologize. 'I know it was none of my business.' He controlled his glee for her sake. 'I just had the strongest feeling-' He gave her a wry grimace. 'We've talked about my 'feelings'. I told you they're always wrong. But I have to do what they tell me anyway. I can't ignore them. I just can't. And this time I had the strongest feeling you were in some kind of danger.'

'Danger, indeed,' Saddith replied derisively, 'You mistake those 'feelings', Apt. You had the strongest 'feeling' that you wish to bed the lady yourself, and you could not bear to think that any man would do so before you. Perhaps also,' she added with a leer, 'you feared that once she had tasted Master Eremis' love-making she would have no interest in yours.'

At Saddith's words, Geraden's eyes filled up with chagrin, and he began to blush like a little boy.

Suddenly, Terisa's trembling got worse. She had come so close -so close to something she couldn't name; some vital awareness of who or what she was. Master Eremis had told her that she didn't exist. And yet his touch-She was shaking all over. Her voice shook. 'Do you mean to tell me Myste doesn't want to see me? You made that up?'

The Apt winced; but it was Saddith who said, 'Certainly not,' in a tone of humorous indignation. 'I am not a liar, my lady.' With evident difficulty, she suppressed a desire to laugh. 'The lady Myste has most assuredly asked to speak with you. I spent some considerable time searching for you before I encountered Apt Geraden and he told me where you were.'

Reassured by this support, Geraden admitted, 'But it is true that Myste isn't the kind of lady who would insist on seeing you right away.'

Saddith nodded. 'I believe she truly does not know what it means to be the daughter of a king.'

'If she had known where you were,' Geraden continued, with some of his personal happiness bubbling up past his self-command, Tin sure she would have insisted on waiting until Master Eremis was done with you.'

'Nevertheless,' concluded the maid, 'I made him believe it. In future, he will be wise to be more careful about his designs.'

Geraden couldn't help himself: he threw back his head and laughed. Saddith joined him.

In their distinct ways, they both sounded so pleased that the tension which made Terisa tremble loosened itself involuntarily. She wanted to laugh as well. 'He got so angry.' At the moment, she felt it would've done her a world of good to laugh. 'Maybe he isn't used to frustration. He looked pretty silly.'

The thought of Master Eremis looking silly started Geraden and Saddith again. Paying no attention to where they were going, they nearly ran into Master Quillon.

Because of his self-effacing grey robe and unassertive demeanour, he seemed to appear in front of them out of nowhere. His smile didn't close over his protruding teeth. 'Ah, there you are, Apt,' he said at once. 'Come with me. I have need of you.'

Terisa felt that his tone boded ill for Geraden.

'Master Quillon-' Geraden was nonplussed. 'I've finished my duties. I wanted to spend the afternoon-'

'Precisely,' the Imager cut in. 'You wanted to spend the afternoon helping me. I am determined to finish my researches before Master Gilbur summons his champion and we are all required to put aside our personal concerns for the sake of the war which will ensue. Come.'

Abruptly, he turned and started down the hall.

'Master Quillon!' Geraden protested. 'It's customary to let Apts do what they want with their time when they've finished their duties.'

The Master paused. The way he bared his teeth gave him an air of lugubrious savagery. His eyes glittered coldly. 'For shame, Geraden,' he said, speaking more mildly. 'Sloth does not make a Master. Work does. How will you ever learn, if you are unwilling to make an effort?' Then his face tightened. 'This is not a request, Apt. Come with me.'

Walking briskly, he moved away.

Geraden cast a look of appeal and apology at Terisa.

'Go, Geraden,' whispered Saddith. 'Do not be a fool. What will become of your wish to be a Master? You hurt no one but yourself by disobeying.'

The Apt grimaced, nodded, threw up his hands, and trotted after Master Quillon. Saddith laughed again, this time at Geraden; but her mirth wasn't unkind. 'He is a good

boy, my lady, with many attractive qualities.' She grinned. 'Even his awkwardness might prove piquant. But in your place I would not trouble with him. You can aim higher.

'If you are already able to interest Master Eremis'-now she was serious, perhaps even a trifle vexed-'making no more effort than you do, you can most certainly aim higher. As an example, consider Castellan Lebbick. You will hardly believe it, having tasted a little of his tongue-and his temper-but he is uxorious to a fault. And now his wife of many years has died, after a protracted illness. There is a man in grave need of a woman. If I could attract his notice, I can assure you that I would not remain a servant in Orison much longer.'

'Saddith, what should I do?' Terisa asked on impulse. Now that Geraden was gone, she felt an urgent need to talk to him. Despite Master Barsonage's instructions, she wanted to tell him everything. And she wanted to know how he would answer Master Eremis' reasoning. But she couldn't discuss any of those things with the maid. 'I'm not an Imager. I don't know anything about men.' Then, remembering Eremis' hands-and his mouth -she added, 'Master Eremis and Geraden hate each other.'

'My lady,' replied Saddith, trying to speak lightly, 'I would make certain that Master Eremis does not come to hate me.'

An open window somewhere let a draught of cold into the corridor. Terisa shivered.

Saddith was silent along the way to their destination.

Terisa expected the maid to take her to the suite the lady Myste shared with her sister, in the tower above King Joyse's rooms; but Saddith led Terisa back to her own quarters. Myste was waiting there.

Saddith exchanged her customary badinage with the guards, then opened the door and ushered Terisa inward. They found the lady Myste standing in front of one of the windows. Despite the chill outside, sunshine emphasized the summer tone of her hair and skin, making her more obviously beautiful than she had been in her own rooms, in Elega's company. Nevertheless she gazed out over the castle and the desolate winter as though she longed to be anywhere except where she was.

Her face retained its faraway expression, but she left the window and smiled when Terisa entered the room. 'My lady,' she began, then corrected herself, Terisa, it is good of you to come so promptly.' She hadn't lost the strange excitement with which she had greeted the idea that Terisa was far from being an Imager or a woman of power, was in fact nothing more than a mission secretary. 'I hope I have not called you away from

anything you would rather do. I fear I have nothing urgent in mind. For Elega everything is urgent, but I want nothing more than a little quiet talk.'

This greeting took Terisa aback. She felt instinctively that Myste was one of the few people here who didn't have some kind of outlandish or even lethal expectations of her- one of the few with whom it might be possible to have a simple friendship. But for that precise reason she wasn't sure how to respond. She knew so little about friendship.

Fortunately, Saddith came to her rescue. Dropping a curtsey, she lied, 'The lady Terisa was already returning here when I found her, my lady. She had attended a meeting of the Congery, but it was ended.

'And it is well past time for a meal,' she went on. 'Shall I bring you something to eat?

You will be able to talk at your leisure.'

For a moment, Terisa expected Myste to answer Saddith. Myste was the King's daughter. But then she realized that these were her rooms: hospitality was her responsibility.

'Please,' she said quickly, 'I'm hungry.' Hurrying to recover her manners, she asked Myste, 'Are you? I don't know what Saddith can bring us, but I'm sure it won't take long.'

The lady continued to smile. Her gaze was direct-and distant, as if it passed straight through Terisa's eyes and mind to something beyond. 'Thank you. You are kind.'

'Very well, my lady,' said the maid. 'I will return shortly.' On her way to the door, she turned so that her back was to Myste and gave Terisa a sharp look-a look that seemed to say, Wake up. Pay attention. This woman is the King's daughter. Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

From Terisa's point of view, however, the fact that Myste was the King's daughter really made no difference. What mattered was that she, Terisa, suddenly wanted Myste's friendship so strongly that the desire made her ache. She had never had a friend-

Oh, of course, she had had friends: playmates in her early years; girls who spoke to her in the halls and whispered gossip during school. But from the first her parents had never encouraged friendships. In particular, they had never allowed her to visit the homes of her young playmates, had never invited any of those girls to their home. And this separation had carried on into the numerous private institutions to which she had been sent, exclusive schools dedicated more to forming moral character than to nurturing comradeship. Or perhaps the distance wdiich kept everyone away was something that she had carried in herself -a gulf of passivity and doubt which no one

knew how to cross; an unhealed wound. She didn't want to lose this opportunity.

Awkwardly, she gestured towards two of the chairs. 'Would you like to sit down?' Then she remembered the decanter on one of the side-tables. 'Would you like some wine?' But she sounded so disconcerted to herself that she couldn't endure it. 'I'm sorry,' she said, abandoning the pretence that she knew what she was doing. 'I'm making a mess of everything. I'm so new at all this. I don't think I've ever had a guest in my apartment.'

Myste had no way of knowing that this was the literal truth; but she accepted it anyway. 'Please do not apologize. I think you do amazingly well. Consider what has happened to you in the past three days. You have been taken to a strange and alien world. You have been put down in the middle of a castle full of conflict, machination, and treachery. Half the people around you seem to believe that you can save them from war and chaos. An attempt has been made on your life. If I were in your place'- her tone became wistful-'I would be proud to manage half as well.'

Without warning, Terisa's eyes filled with tears. Myste's understanding took her completely by surprise. Thanks.' Gratefully, she tried to explain. 'Most of the time, I think I must be losing my mind. Everybody wants me to do something, and I barely understand what's going on.'

'Here,' Myste took Terisa's arm and guided her to one of the chairs. Then the lady produced a delicate handkerchief from the sleeve of her gown and handed it to Terisa. 'It is a lonely thing which has happened to you. You must think that everyone you meet plots against you in some way. And now you have been taken to a meeting of the Congery. I doubt they reacted well when you told them that you are not an Imager.'

Terisa nodded, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. They're all doing it. The Congery doesn't want me to talk to the King. He doesn't want me to talk to the Congery. None of them want me to talk to anybody else.' She almost said, Except Master Quillon and Adept Havelock. 'And the Masters are all scheming against each other. Master Eremis-' He kissed me. He kissed my breasts. 'Castellan Lebbick yells at me.' She hesitated for a second, then blew her nose on the fine fabric. 'Even Geraden wants to turn me into an Imager.'

'Ah, Geraden.' Myste's voice suggested a smile. 'I cannot speak for the others, but him, at least, you can trust. You may doubt his judgement. His luck is disastrous. Nevertheless you can trust his heart. It is agreed everywhere that the Domne has no bad sons.'

After a pause, she added, 'I would like to be your friend, Terisa.'

Terisa met the lady's eyes. They were focused on her now, not distant at all, and the expression in them was direct and kind.

So that she wouldn't start crying again, Terisa looked away. Myste's offer touched her too deeply to be acknowledged. How was it possible for someone like her to have friends? Evading the important point-and hating herself for doing so-she said, 'You have a better opinion of him than Elega does.'

Myste smiled again; but as she did so her gaze slipped back into the distance, and her face resumed its faraway cast. Quietly, she replied, 'I have a better opinion of many things than she does. She is a king's daughter, and she desires the importance of a high place in the affairs of Mordant. She does not forgive her father-or the society around her- or anything else which she imagines stands between her and her natural right to plot and manipulate and betray as much as any prince. She does not forgive Geraden for the mistaken judgement which once betrothed him to her.' Then she shrugged. 'I think better of being a woman. I think better of those who hold power in Orison.' Her tone was gentle and reassuring, but soft, as if she were speaking in another place, perhaps to someone else; and there was a note of yearning in what she said that didn't entirely agree with her words. 'I think better of myself.'

Terisa nodded as though she understood. 'Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?'

'Oh, no,' Myste replied easily. 'Or perhaps it was. I have nothing special to say. But I would like to know everything about you. You are a pleasure and a wonderment to me. You consider yourself an ordinary woman-and I believe you,' she hastened to add, 'I believe what you say of yourself, though it is difficult for me to call any woman from another world ordinary-and yet you find yourself here, in the great crisis of Mordant's history. If your world has no Imagery, such a translation must seem extraordinary.

'For my part, great things have never happened to me. I have never been to a world other than my own. Indeed, I have hardly been out of Orison in the past few years. What is your world like? How did you live your life there?' She became more animated as she spoke, bright with curiosity. 'How does it feel, to step through a glass and find everything changed? What do mirrors do in your world, since they have no magic?'

'Please. One thing at a time.' In spite of herself, Terisa smiled at Myste's fascination. 'We don't have anything magic. Mirrors jusf-she groped for an adequate description-'just reflect. They show you exactly what you put in front of them. If they're flat. If they aren't flat, they still reflect what you put in front of them, but they distort it.

'In my apartment-' There she faltered. She had never admitted to anyone, I had my walls covered with mirrors so that I would know I existed. Lamely, she finished, 'I had a lot of mirrors.'

Then you must be very wise,' murmured Myste as if she were clinging to every word. 'Wise? Why?'

'You are able to see yourself exactly as you are. You are able to see everything exactly as it is. I have no such vision.-And those who look at me do so with their preconceptions of a king's daughter-perhaps even of a woman-and so their vision is confused. None of us see anything exactly as it is.'

'We do the same thing,' objected Terisa. 'We have the same preconceptions. But we only look at the surface. All we care about is the surface.' She made a deliberate effort to be candid. 'Maybe I've been able to see what I look like. But I don't know what that means. It doesn't help me know who I am.'

Myste seemed to find this notion both humorous and appealing. Then you are not wise?'

Slowly, Terisa replied, 'I don't think I've ever known anybody who was wise.' Unless Rev Thatcher's ineffectual dedication counted as wisdom.

At that, the lady laughed. Then you are surely mistaken, Terisa. You yourself are already the wisest woman in Orison, for you have not been misled by those who believe in their own wisdom. You know the difference between what is seen and what is unseen, and you do not attempt to judge the one by the other.'

'Do you call that wisdom?' Terisa wanted to laugh simply because Myste was amused. The lady's mirth betrayed her kinship to her father: her smile was almost as infectious and likeable as his. 'Doesn't the fact that I don't understand anything count against me?'

Myste went on laughing. 'Of course not. Mere understanding is the business of kings, not of sages-or of ordinary women. And it is always mistaken. It depends upon a knowledge of things which cannot be known-a knowledge of what is unseen.

'I must tell you, Terisa, I wish that Elega had less understanding and more wisdom.

You are wiser than she.'

They were silent for a moment while they relapsed to seriousness; then Myste asked, 'Where does such wisdom come from? Tell me about your world. What are its needs and compulsions? How do you spend your days?'

A few minutes earlier, that question would have frozen Terisa. But Myste's friendly manner defused the frank pressure of her curiosity. Almost before she knew what she was going to say, Terisa began talking about her work in the mission.

She had never discussed it before. Words seemed to tumble headlong after each other as she described the mission's work, the human wrecks and relicts it served, the facilities, the surroundings; and her own job, her typing and filing and drudgery, her relationship with Rev Thatcher; and her reasons for doing the work, because she had believed that in a place like that even she would be able to make a difference, because she could afford to accept the meagre pay, because she hadn't considered herself capable of anything more demanding or ambitious: she babbled about it all until the discrepancy between what she was saying and the sparkle of Myste's attention stopped her. The lady absorbed every sentence as if she were hearing a tale of heroism and romance. Abruptly, Terisa said, 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on like that.'

'It is a wonderment,' sighed the lady. A gleam still shone in her faraway gaze. 'Forgive me if I repeat myself, But that such a strange world exists! And you have a part in it.'

'A little part,' Terisa commented, 'and getting less by the minute. Rev Thatcher must have replaced me by now.' And her father had no reason to want her back.

In her excitement, Myste rose to her feet. 'But that is just the point.' She began to pace the rug, her eyes searching everything except her companion. 'You are an ordinary woman, and you say that your life in your world was utterly ordinary, however strange it may appear to me. I, too, am an ordinary woman.

'I am a king's daughter-but what of that? It is an accident of birth. Its effect upon what is seen is merely that I am able to dress well and command servants. Its effect upon what is unseen is-I hardly know whether it has any effect. It seems plain to me that I am an ordinary woman-and that this is good.

'Yet I am surrounded by people who are not content. Her lack of involvement makes Elega savage. Geraden causes himself misery striving for a Mastery he will never attain. Half the Congery wishes to retreat into pure research. The other Masters yearn for power over Mordant. Castellan Lebbick's life has revolved around a woman, and yet in his grief he despises all women. Alend and Cadwal struggle against the peace which has done them more benefit than all their generations of warfare.

Terisa, I do not consider my father's passivity a good thing. I do not understand it. I am his daughter enough to know the importance of striving and risk. Passivity is not content. But surely we must acknowledge that it is not a terrible thing to be who we are.

'You are the proof of this.' Her voice had risen to a pitch of affirmation. 'By your own insistence, you are an ordinary woman, with no experience of power, and no talent for it. Yet your life is not meaningless. Great forces are at work in Mordant, and you are involved in them. There is no life which does not possess its own importance, no life which may not be touched by greatness at any time-yes. be touched by greatness and have a hand in it.'

For a moment, Terisa stared at Myste. With an urgency which surprised her, she wanted to say, Greatness? That's ridiculous.

How could I have anything to do with greatness!

At the same time, she wanted to weep harder than she had ever cried in her life.

Fortunately, Myste realized almost at once what she was doing. Puncturing her own seriousness, she smiled; her manner relapsed to its more usual diffidence. 'In her heart,' she said with a verbal shrug, 'Elega considers me mad. She thinks that such 'romantic notions' render me unfit for my own life.' A note of sadness entered her voice. 'But my father did not despise what I believe. He loved me for it, and it was a bond between us.' Her face hardened. 'Until he changed, and it became impossible for any of us to speak with him.'

Terisa was holding her breath, clamping herself rigid to restrain what she felt. But that wasn't necessary any more, was it? She was free, wasn't she? The past didn't exist. What she said or did didn't matter. She could tell Myste the truth. By degrees, she released the air from her lungs.

'My father didn't change. He's always been like that.'

'Do you mean passive?' asked Myste. 'Lost and uncaring?' 'No. I mean impossible to talk to.'

Tentatively, like a small animal coming out of a burrow after a storm, she began to smile. She had just spoken critically of her father, as if she had the right to do so-and nothing terrible had happened. Maybe friendship was possible after all.

Myste sat down beside her again. The lady's expression was soft and reassuring. Tell me about him.'

By chance, Saddith found that moment to knock on the door and come into the room, carrying trays of food.

Unable to sustain the way she felt in front of the maid, Terisa stood up at once-more abruptly than she intended-to thank Saddith and help her set out the meal.

If Myste was taken aback by the shift in Terisa's manner, she didn't show it. Apparently, she recognized that something important had happened-something that required privacy. She didn't pursue the conversation. When Saddith had served the food and left again, Myste made a polite show of enjoying her meal, and while she ate she kept her curiosity still.

Grateful for Myste's consideration, Terisa spent a few minutes concentrating on her food-a stew baked in a thick pastry shell. Then, to keep the conversation safe for a while, she asked a practical question in which her mission work had taught her to be interested: How did Orison manage to feed so many people so well in the dead of winter?

Myste replied by describing the system which provided Orison with all its food and supplies. After generations, even centuries, of an economic system based on warfare, in which powerful lords fought for the privilege of taking what they needed by violence, Mordant had been reduced almost to destitution, despite its abundance of natural resources. One of King Joyse's most important acts had been to replace war with trade. Essentially, he had established Orison as the principal buyer-and seller-of everything Mordant weeded or produced. All the villages of the Demesne, and all the Cares of Mordant, traded with Orison; and Orison used its profits from these transactions to buy what its own people needed, so that its wealth acted as fertilizer to grow more wealth for the kingdom. A similar system applied to trade with Cadwal and Alend-which needed the resources of Mordant too badly to refuse to barter with King Joyse-and those profits were likewise ploughed back into the soil and society of Mordant. As a result, all the Cares had come a long way from the fierce poverty which had marked the beginning of King Joyse's reign.

Terisa didn't entirely absorb the details, but she appreciated Myste's explanation nonetheless. She had criticized her father without being punished. When the lady was done, Terisa commented, 'This sounds silly-but I've just realized that I haven't been outside since I got here.' She glanced towards the window, with its thick glass and its tracery of frost. 'I don't have any idea what's out there.'

Myste put down her fork and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. 'It must be quite a shock for you. As strange as your world seems to me, ours must appear equally strange to you. And we have been so strictly instructed'-she betrayed a moment of embarrassment-'not to reveal our 'secrets' to you. Your ability to accept such things-Well, I have already said that you amaze me.

'How does it feel, Terisa? I have no experience with trans-

lation.' There was a rapt undertone in her voice. 'I have never stepped through glass into a different creation. It is another of my 'romantic notions',' she admitted, 'that such an event in anyone's life must be fundamental in some way, changing them as much as it changes where they are.'

'No,' Terisa said at once, remembering a sensation of impersonal vastness, of temporary eternity-of fading-'I don't think it changed me at all.' She almost added, I wish it had. 'It didn't last long enough.

'It was like,' she went on, suddenly sure of what she meant, 'dying without any pain. All at once, your whole life is gone, faded, everything you ever knew or understood or cared about, you don't exist any more, and there's nothing you can do about it except maybe grieve. But it doesn't hurt.

'I'm not talking about physical pain,' she explained, 'or even emotional pain. It just doesn't hurt. Maybe because there's a whole world around you to take the place of the one you've lost. Do you understand? I think that's the only reason I can bear it.'

In response, Myste smiled vaguely-not as if she weren't listening, but rather as if what she heard triggered a wide range of ideas and yearnings. 'I do not really understand. Elega would say that you are talking nonsense. Translation is a physical passage, nothing more. But there is something in what you say' -her hand closed unconsciously into a fist-'something that is not nonsense to me.

'Perhaps it is only death which gives life meaning.'

But I didn't die, Terisa protested instinctively. That isn't what I meant. I was never there.

The impossibility of explaining herself any better, however, kept her silent.

Terisa,' Myste went on quietly, distantly, without looking at her, 'you have given me a great deal to consider. You say that you are not wise'-slowly, she became less abstracted, more present in the room and Terisa's company-'but I have met very few fools who challenge me to examine my life so closely.'

'Don't blame me.' Terisa didn't know what Myste meant- and at the moment didn't care. She couldn't suppress a grin. 'I didn't do it on purpose.'

At that, Myste started laughing. Happily, Terisa joined her.

They were still chuckling together like old friends when Saddith knocked on the door and re-entered the room. She was red-cheeked and panting, as if she had run up several

Mights of stairs. 'My lady Terisa,' she said breathlessly, 'my lady Myste, the King summons you.

'There is news. Important matters are afoot. Your presence is commanded in the hall of audiences. All the high lords and ladies of Orison must attend.'

That is news indeed, Saddith,' replied Myste. Her immediate excitement made itself clear in the way her eyes focused on the maid. 'My father has not summoned Orison to the audience hall in more than a year. What occasions this gathering?'

'An ambassador has come, my lady,' Saddith answered through her panting. 'An Alend ambassador-in the dead of winter! He must have paid an awful price in time and men and supplies. And they say it is Prince Kragen himself! What could possibly compel the son of the Alend Monarch here, through such hardship at this time of year, and across so much distance, when all Mordant knows that Alend desires war, not peace?'

Myste dismissed that question. 'And he asks an audience with King Joyse?' 'Asks, my lady? He demands. Or so it is said.'

'And the King consents to grant what the Prince demands,' Myste continued. That is well. Perhaps it is very well. Perhaps the affairs of the realm begin to interest him again.

Terisa, we must go.' She was already moving towards the door. This must not be missed.'

Because of the background Master Quillon had given her, Terisa caught some of the importance of Saddith's news. She followed without hesitation.

Perhaps this was what being free meant. She could criticize her father and follow her friend and even share in her friend's excitement without having to worry about the consequences.

When they had descended into the body of Orison, Myste turned in a direction new to Terisa. This part of the castle was more open than many of the other halls: the ceiling was higher; the walls, farther apart; the floor, worn smooth by generations of feet. Windows between the arched supports of the ceiling shed winter sunlight on large, colourful pennons fixed so that they jutted out from the stone; under the banners guards stood at attention, their pikes braced by their feet. As a result, the place seemed more formal, less inhabited, than the rest of Orison,

A number of men and women, however, were headed in the same direction as Myste and Terisa. Some were clearly officers of the guards: others wore the rich attire of high

rank. Almost everyone saluted or greeted the lady Myste in some respectful or friendly way. She replied with faraway politeness: like her eyes, her attention was aimed ahead. Quite a few people, on the other hand, stared openly at Terisa. What she was wearing made her stand out in the crowd as badly as if she were naked.

Self-conscious now, she looked around and noticed that Saddith was no longer with her. Apparently, the servants of the castle hadn't been commanded to attend the Alend ambassador's audience. She regretted that: she could have used Saddith's worldly advice and support.

The stream of people approached a set of peaked doors, perhaps a dozen feet tall, opening out of the formal corridor. When she and Myste passed between them, Terisa found herself in what was unmistakably the hall of audience.

It had the look and size of a cathedral. The stone walls were hidden by carved wooden screens, panel after panel around the room, each of them depicting characters and scenes Terisa couldn't identify; and the screens rose into elaborate spikes and finials reaching twenty or thirty feet towards the vaulted ceiling. The deep brown of the wood had the effect of making the hall dark; but it also seemed to distance the ceiling and fill the very air of the chamber with an impression of authority. The light came from two narrow windows up near the ceiling at the end of the hall, from rows of candles set around the walls and in tall holders here and there, and from batteries of cresseted oil lamps in the corners. The spiced oil of the lamps gave the air a sandal-wood tang.

Down at the far end, opposite the doors, stood a structure which could only be King Joyse's seat: an ornate mahogany throne on a wooden pediment four or five steps high, dominating the space before it. A large part of the floor before the throne was clear, except for a wide, thick strip of rich carpet which led from the doors to the first step of the throne; but this open space was closed on three sides by benches like pews, in which the people entering the hall seated themselves.

They all stopped talking as soon as they passed through the high doors. The atmosphere of the hall seemed to silence them.

When she looked about her, however, Terisa saw that the hall of audiences hadn't been designed entirely to inspire respect. Above the screens on all four sides of the hall ran a balcony; the guards stationed there were archers rather than pikemen.

Those were the only guards in the hall, except for two at the doors and two more on either side of King Joyse's seat. But they were enough to make Terisa crane her neck as Myste guided her forward and wonder how many assassinations had taken place in Orison before King Joyse or his ancestors had conceived this protective arrangement. It

was a convincing defence. As long as the guards remained loyal to their King, he probably had nothing to fear from anyone he met in the audience hall.

Following the lady Myste, Terisa bypassed the benches ranked on three sides of the open space and moved towards the King's seat. On each side of the pediment, a row of chairs reached towards the benches-special places for those who wielded the King's power or had the King's favour.

To the right of the throne, the nearest chair was already occupied by Castellan Lebbick. His perpetual glare and the purple band knotted around his short, grey-stained hair made him look like a fanatic.

Fortunately, Terisa wasn't expected to sit near him. The first seats were taken by officers under his command; most of the rest had been filled by Masters, among them Gilbur, Barsonage, and Ouillon. (Quillon? Why wasn't he working with Geraden?) Myste led Terisa to the left of the throne, where they joined the lady Elega and several men, most of them old, who resembled counsellors more than courtiers: Myste introduced them by such titles as, 'Lord of Commerce', and, 'Lord of the Privy Purse'. They gaped at Terisa as if she had just arrived from the moon.

Elega showed more enthusiasm. 'I am glad you are here,' she whispered, drawing Terisa into a seat beside her. 'I feared that you would be found too late-or that Myste might not consider a call to audience worth obeying,' She spoke as though she meant no insult; and Myste appeared to take none. 'Kragen himself, Terisa! The son of Margonal, the Alend Monarch, and Prince of the Alend Lieges. Imagine! He has come this entire distance from Scarab in deep winter. His purpose must be both mighty and terrible. Now my father will rise to the stature of his kingship'

-her vivid eyes flashed-'or he will forfeit what little respect he still holds in Mordant.' 'Elega, he is our father,' murmured Myste under her breath. 'Even if he loses his mind

completely, he still deserves our respect.'

Elega gave a soft snort of derision. 'Let him abdicate his rule when he loses his mind.

Then we will respect him as our father without despising him as a failed king.' Terisa noticed Lebbick glowering at them as if he heard and hated every word.

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

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

smiled in reassurance.

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

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

He was followed immediately by Adept Havelock.

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

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

From one foot to the other he hopped, shaking his head, gesturing with his arms, kicking up his heels behind him.

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

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

Nevertheless he revelled in the reaction he caused-or he was proof against it. In one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lebbick glanced up towards the balcony and nodded. Then he returned to his chair. Obeying her father promptly, Myste sat down. Terisa followed her example; the

Castellan himself took his seat. Shortly the rest of the gathering did the same.

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

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

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

around his limbs picked up the same contrast, giving off glimpses of light and dark as he moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Oh, father,' Elega groaned softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terisa stiffened: despite his casual manner, the Prince was convincing. She heard stifled gasps around the hall. The guards tightened their grips on their weapons; Lebbick's officers poised themselves. Myste was alarmed; but Elega watched the Castellan or the Prince-Terisa couldn't tell which-with admiration and envy on her face.

Lebbick's expression didn't flicker; yet he looked more like a threat of violence with every passing moment. Slowly, he rose to his feet: slowly, he turned towards the King. Then he waited in silence for the King to speak.

King Joyse had slumped back in his seat. He seemed to be shrinking. Wearily, he said, 'I wish you would come to the point, Kragen. I'm too old to batter my wits against yours for the rest of the day.' To the Castellan, he added, 'Sit down, Lebbick. If he is puppy enough to attempt harm to anyone or anything in Orison, he'll deserve what happens to him. I'm confident you'll feed his liver to the crows.'

Castellan Lebbick glanced at Kragen, then bowed his acquiescence. 'With pleasure,' he murmured as he sat down.

Terisa heard Elega and several other people sigh. Some of them were relieved: the rest sounded disappointed.

More sternly, King Joyse went on, 'We have little reason to love Alend. I ask you simply, Kragen. Why are you here?'

As if nothing had happened, the Prince replied, 'I will answer you simply, my lord King. The Alend Monarch wishes to know what takes place in Mordant. He wishes to end the chaos of rumour and implication. And'-Kragen paused for an instant of drama-'he wishes to propose an alliance.'

The reaction in the hall was as strong as he could have desired. Unable to restrain herself, Elega sprang to her feet-as did the Castellan, two of his officers, and Master Barsonage. Master Quillon gaped. Whispers of surprise spattered towards the ceiling. Clapping her hand to her mouth, Myste stared up at her father with excitement and hope.

Terisa had no reason to share Castellan Lebbick's hostility. As far as she was concerned, the Prince had just spoken the first sensible words she had heard in the hall of audiences.

'An alliance?' snapped Lebbick. 'With Margonal? Sheep-dung!'

One of his officers demanded, 'Does the Alend Monarch think we have lost our minds?'

But another cried, 'But if we are allied against Cadwal? The High King musters his armies beyond the Vertigon. The Perdon should hear this!'

At the same time, Master Barsonage protested, 'An alliance? An alliance against our doom?' He looked almost frantic. 'My lord King, you must accept!' For an instant, Terisa thought he was going to shout, You must accept, so that the Congery will not need to call its champion!

More quietly, but with equal fervour, the lady Elega was saying, 'Bravely said, Prince Kragen! Bravely done.'

But King Joyse said nothing until the hubbub stilled itself. He didn't appear surprised. In fact, he hardly seemed to be interested. His face was tight, as if he were stifling a yawn.

At last, the hall became quiet again. Castellan Lebbick and the others seated themselves reluctantly, as though pushed down against their will. Soon, every eye was fixed on King Joyse.

Muttering under his breath, he pulled himself straighter in his seat. His circlet had been nudged askew, and a few strands of hair hung down over his eyes. 'An alliance, Kragen? After several dozen generations of war? Why should I agree to such a thing?' 'My lord King, I have not the least idea,' the Prince replied equably. 'I have no facts. But the rumours coming out of Mordant suggest that you are in need. They suggest that the need is growing dire. Therefore it occurred to the Alend Monarch to offer his assistance.'

'What does the Alend Monarch think our need is?' The Prince shrugged delicately. 'I must repeat that he hears only rumours. But the import of these tales seems clear.' He nodded past Lebbick towards the Masters, 'It appears that some -perhaps many-of your Imagers have turned against you.'

'Impossible!' Master Barsonage objected at once. 'You are offensive, my lord Prince.'

King Joyse ignored the mediator. 'And what does the Alend Monarch think to gain from this alliance?' 'Your trust, my lord King.' That made sense to Terisa.

King Joyse had a different reaction, however. He sat forward, his incredulity plain on his face. 'What? Trust? He does not wish to rule half of Cadwal? He does not desire Imagers of his own?' 'As I have said,' Prince Kragen explained patiently, 'the Alend Monarch has given himself to wisdom. He understands that things may happen between rulers who trust each other which are impossible otherwise. Of course he desires the resources of Imagery for his people. Of course he desires the wealth of Cadwal, so that he can purchase more of what Mordant has and Alend lacks. But he sees that these

wishes will not be fulfilled without trust. And trust must begin somewhere.

'He offers you his assistance and asks nothing in return. If what he wants can be achieved, it will come of its own accord when his cooperation has taught you to know him better.'

'I see.' King Joyse leaned back again. 'Doubtless that explains why Margonal has an army of tremendous size gathering beyond the borders of Fayle and Armigite. I mean, of course, that I have heard rumours of such an army.'

'Then you have also heard,' the Prince answered smoothly, 'that High King Festten musters a massive assault against you. Doubtless'-he allowed himself a hint of sarcasm-'he means to take advantage of your weakness-I mean your need-to crush your kingship, enslave the Cares, and capture all Imagery for himself. I think you will understand, my lord King, that the Alend Monarch cannot permit Cadwal such a victory. Whether or not you accept his alliance,'he must oppose the High King. In forging the Congery, you have created something which must not be surrendered.'

'That is true,' acknowledged the King. 'That is true.'

For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling with his mouth open, stroking his beard as though he were deep in thought. His eyes closed; and Terisa thought suddenly, Oh, no, he's going to sleep. Abruptly, however, he looked back down at Prince Kragen and smiled.

His smile seemed to light his face like a touch of sunshine.

'My lord Prince,' he said as if he were happy for the first time since the audience began, 'do you play hop-board?'

Terisa's throat closed against a mounting sense of panic as Kragen replied,' 'Hop- board', my lord King? I am unacquainted with it.'

'A game.' The wobble in the King's voice began to sound like ardour. 'I find it most instructive.'

With a noise like a slap, he brought his hands together. Instinctively, Terisa flinched.

Myste and Elega stared worry and consternation up at their father.

Almost at once, two of the wooden screens across the hall parted, revealing a door in the wall. The door was already open,

and through it came two servants carrying a small table between them. Two more

followed, each bearing a chair. Heads bowed, they brought their burdens forward to the long run of carpet and set the table and chairs down roughly midway between the Prince and the base of King Joyse's throne. While the lords and ladies of Orison gaped, the chairs were placed at the table as if to accommodate Kragen and the King. Then the servants withdrew, closing the screens and the door after them,

Terisa's alarm tightened another turn. She recognized that table, those chairs: she had last seen them in King Joyse's private apartment.

His checkerboard was set up on the table, ready for play. 'Oh, father,' Myste whispered, 'have you fallen to this?' Elega's cheeks were hot with colour, 'He is mad,' she answered. 'Mad.'

But King Joyse ignored the reactions of his people. Sitting forward eagerly, he said to the Prince, 'On the surface, it is a simple game. A child can master it. Yet it is also subtle. In essence, you force your opponent to win battles against you so that he will lose the war. Will you play?'

'I?' Prince Kragen betrayed some surprise of his own. 'As I have said, I am unacquainted with this game. I will gladly watch it played, if that is your wish. If,' he commented casually, 'you can find no better use for this audience. But I cannot play.'

'Nonsense.' The King's voice held a note which Terisa hadn't heard before-a note of hardness. 'I insist. Hop-board is an excellent gauge of persons.'

'And I must decline,' Kragen spoke firmly; yet he had begun to sweat. 'My lord King, I have spent nearly thirty days in the snow between Scarab and Orison because the mission entrusted to me by the Alend Monarch could not wait another season. I do not like to let it wait another day. If I must, however, I will. Shall we meet again tomorrow, privately?'

King Joyse dismissed this speech with a toss of one hand. Coughing to clear his throat, he said, 'I mean to be as fair as I can, I will not play you myself. Though I am hardly the equal of Adept Havelock, I have had much experience. No, my lord Prince.' His tone became sharper. 'I have not seen you measured for seventeen years. Your strengths and abilities are unknown to me. I will match you against another who is similarly unknown.' With no forewarning except her own imprecise alarm, Terisa heard the King say formally, 'My lady Terisa of Morgan, will you be so kind as to test Prince Kragen for me?'

Now everyone in the hall was staring at her. Her face grew hot. She looked up at King Joyse. In front of all these people-? Fear made her vision acute, immediate, as if there

were no distance between them; every line of him was distinct. She could see the veins pulsing in the thin old skin of his temples. His watery eyes seemed weak, almost lost. The hair straggling across his features caused him to appear faintly ludicrous. But he was smiling.

And his smile hadn't lost its power. It reassured her, like a promise that he meant her no harm; an assertion that she was too valuable to be mistreated; a belief that she would acquit herself well, whatever he asked of her. It was innocent and clean, and she couldn't resist it.

Without consciously making the decision to move, she rose to her feet and went towards Prince Kragen.

At once, she wished that she had remained seated. She understood too much of what was happening to be calm, but not enough to be sure she was doing the right thing. And virtually all of the important people in Orison were going to watch her do it. The daughter of her father wouldn't have done this. She could hardly bring herself to meet the Prince's gaze.

His black brows were knotted over his eyes, and he seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek. His easy and confident manner had deserted him: he didn't smile at her, bow to her, greet her. The hint of yellow in his eyes darkened as his anger increased. He was strung so tight that she expected him to pull out his sword at any moment.

She went as near to him as she dared-no closer than ten feet. Then she stopped.

'My lady'-King Joyse seemed to be speaking from the far end of a tunnel-'may I present Kragen, Prince of the Alend Lieges and son of Margonal, the Alend Monarch? My lord Prince, this is the lady Terisa of Morgan.

'My lady, I am sure that Prince Kragen will grant you the first move.' With one hand, the King motioned her towards the chair which faced Kragen and the audience.

The Prince turned back to King Joyse. 'Do not waste your time, my lady,' he said. 'I will not play.'

'I think you will.' King Joyse no longer sounded old-or innocent. He sounded like a sovereign who was nearing the end of his patience. Tlease be seated, my lady.'

As if she were helpless, Terisa went to the chair King Joyse had indicated. She pulled it back, sat down, and focused her eyes on the checkerboard, all without risking a glance at Prince Kragen. If she met his eyes, she felt sure that he would scathe her to the ground. The whole hall was focused on her. The air around her was heavy with alarm

and doubt.

But surely she wasn't helpless? If the mirror had created her, everything she believed about herself and her past might be an illusion. In that case, she belonged here. She had been made to be where she was, and the things she had to do wouldn't be too much for her.

'You are mistaken, my lord King.' Though he spoke quietly, Kragen's voice was as passionate as a shout. 'I understand you now. When I came to you as my father's ambassador and desired an audience, you determined at once to humiliate me. You chose this public occasion when I wished a private meeting. And you meant from the first to confront me with this'-he swallowed a curse-'this game. You had it ready and waiting for your signal. Doubtless you have chosen the lady Terisa of Morgan because in some way she increases the mockery. Really, my lord King, I am surprised that you troubled to wait until I had explained my mission before beginning this charade.

'It is enough. I will return to the Alend Monarch and inform him that you do not wish an alliance.'

'You will not.' The King's tone made the back of Terisa's neck burn. 'You will sit down and play.' 'No!' 'By my sword, yes! I am King in Mordant yet, and my will rules!'

Before the Prince or his bodyguards could react, Castellan Lebbick gave a small signal. Around the balcony, archers raised their bows, pulled back the strings.

All the arrows were aimed at Kragen.

'Treachery!' one of the bodyguards spat. Fortunately, he retained enough sense to leave his sword in its sheath.

Treachery, is it?' rasped Castellan Lebbick with evident relish. 'Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll have you fed to the hogs.'

Slowly, Prince Kragen turned in a complete circle, studying the balcony, the screens, the arrangement of the pews and seats; there was no escape. He faced King Joyse again. His expression was flat, closed. The people in the hall watched him without a sound.

Then the lady Elega cried, 'Go!' as if she were in torment. 'Leave this madness! You are an ambassador. Your mission is one of peace. If he has you killed, the execration of all Mordant will hound him to his grave!'

The Prince didn't glance at her. He didn't speak.

In one swift motion, he seated himself across the table from Terisa and folded his arms over his chest, glaring at her as if his gaze were a spike which he meant to drive through her.

King Joyse said nothing. Castellan Lebbick sneered and said nothing. Master Barsonage fretted in his seat. Master Quillon seemed to have disappeared from her range of vision. Neither of the King's daughters moved. No one came to Terisa's aid.

It was up to her to save the Prince.

She didn't look into his face: she concentrated on the board. It seemed impossible that she had ever played this game before. The servant who had taught her had been fired. Perhaps he had been a friend of hers without quite intending to be. Perhaps that was why he had been fired. Close to panic, she thought, Why? Not, Why is King Joyse doing this? But, Why am I?

She knew the answer. Because the King was behaving like a lunatic, and a humiliation like this would make war with Alend. Because Cadwal was already mustering. Master Quillon had given her the answer. He was watching her keenly. And Geraden had showed it to her in a mirror. Because gnarled shapes with terrible jaws had been sent out of nowhere to tear men apart.

If her past didn't exist, what did she have to lose?

After a long moment while sweat gathered on her scalp and fright clogged her chest, she reached out and made her first move.

At once, Prince Kragen unfolded one arm, picked up his matching piece, and slapped it down in a move which mirrored hers. His gesture betrayed the dark stains spreading through the silk under his arm.

She nodded to herself, and a bit of her tension relaxed. What else could he do? He knew nothing about the game. He was in her hands.

Like a distant calling of horns, the realization came to her that there was a way out of this dilemma.

She made another move. Kragen copied it.

Quickly, so that she wouldn't falter, she moved again. He copied her again.

After a few more moves, she was able to turn in her seat and look up at King Joyse. Her heart pounded as though she had just taken an important risk, done something that would make a difference.

'It's a stalemate.'

The passion on his face resembled apoplexy. He was almost bursting with rage. Or else he was tremendously amused-she couldn't tell which.

The Prince took his cue promptly. Rising to his feet without so much as a glance at Terisa, he gave King Joyse an iron bow. 'I thank you, my lord King. It is indeed a most instructive game. An excellent gauge of persons. The Alend Monarch will be fascinated to hear of it.

'Now with your permission I will withdraw. I fear that the journey from Scarab has exhausted me. I cannot continue without rest.' He nodded to his bodyguards; they bowed also. Then he turned and started for the doors.

King Joyse swallowed his emotion with difficulty. 'Go rest, if you have to.' He sounded petulant again, like a disenchanted child. 'You're more of a puppy than I thought.'

Prince Kragen's stride checked for an instant; his shoulders bunched. Shocked by the suddenness with which the ambassador's mission had been refused, the people in the hall stared at him-or at King Joyse.

But the Prince didn't stop. The doors were opened for him, and he stalked out of the hall of audiences.

Before anyone else could react, Elega was on her feet. Lightning flared in her eyes.

Her cry rang against the high ceiling of the hall:

'Father, I am ashamed!' As quickly as her long, heavy skirts and petticoats permitted, she ran after the Prince.

No one else said anything. No one else dared.

Softly, King Joyse sighed. With both hands, he pushed the hair out of his face and resettled his circlet. Then he scratched his fingernails through his beard. That saddens me,' he murmured as though he didn't know that everyone in the hall could hear him. 'I have always been proud of you.'

Weakly, he climbed to his feet and stepped down the stairs from the throne.

When he started towards the back of the pediment, Myste said in a quiet, aching voice, 'Oh, father!' and went after him.

Terisa should have been proud of herself. She had achieved a victory of a sort. In spite of that, however, Myste was in pain, and Elega was furious; and King Joyse had become so much less than he was, so much less than he needed to be. Terisa was left with a hollow feeling like a stalemate in her heart.

The memory of horns was gone.