A FEW DAYS WITH NOTHING TO DO

TERISA WOULD HAVE had trouble finding her way back to her rooms by herself: she wasn't familiar with this section of Orison. But Castellan Lebbick didn't leave her alone. As soon as the lords and ladies began to depart, muttering and arguing their astonishment among themselves, he assigned one of the guards to escort her.

The walk seemed longer than she remembered; but eventually she was in her suite, with the door bolted behind her, and she had her first chance to think about everything which had happened to her today.

From her windows, she was surprised to see the sky was clear and the snow-packed roofs and towers of the castle were gilded pink while dusk shrouded the ground and the distant hills: she hadn't realized that so much of the afternoon was gone. For a moment, she forgot everything else and simply watched the sunset, entranced by the way it made Orison look like a place in a fairy tale-old stone immured in winter and darkness, and yet reaching like hope or dreams towards the light and the sky and the delicate touch of the sun's glory. Now she was able to remember the sound of horns. For a long moment, she ached to leave the castle, not to escape back to the illusion of her old life, but to go out into Mordant's world and find the spot among trees and hills where it was possible to hear hunters or musicians calling joy and passion into the cold.

How had the augury known about the riders in her dream?

She could think of an answer, of course. If she had been created by a mirror, then a mirror had also created her dreams.

For some reason, that didn't help. She had so much to tell Geraden. Regardless of the way she felt about Master Eremis, Geraden was the only one she trusted to help her

decide what to do.

Some decisions had to be made: that was obvious. Some action had to be taken. King Joyse was on the path to self-destruction -a path more dangerous than the passivity people ascribed to him. She knew now that he wasn't passive. By refusing to shore up Perdon's defences, as much as by humiliating Prince Kragen, he was working actively towards Mordant's ruin.

Clearly, Mordant needed a leader strong enough to take command of circumstances- and intelligent enough to be constructive. Not Castellan Lebbick: he was too fiercely loyal to the King. And not the Congery as a body. Despite the power it represented, it was too divided to be effective. Adept Havelock? He was mad. Master Quillon? She didn't know what his motives were, but she couldn't imagine him leading the struggle for Mordant's survival.

That left Master Eremis.

Geraden wouldn't like the idea, of course. But maybe she could convince him. If they agreed to help the Master, she might get the chance to spend more time with him.

The thought brought back the sensation of his mouth on her breasts. She hugged herself with her arms and shivered. Saddith had asserted that Any Master will tell me whatever I wish-if I conceive a wish for something he knows. And she had said, The same is true for you, if you choose to make it so. Well, why not? She lacked Saddith's experience-and expertise. But Eremis found her desirable.

No one had ever found her desirable before.

While the sun set and darkness swallowed the castle, she turned away from the window, poured a goblet of wine, and made herself comfortable to enjoy what she was thinking.

Later, Saddith brought her supper. The maid wanted to talk: Orison was full of rumours about Prince Kragen's audience, and she had heard them all, but she wanted to know the truth. Terisa found, however, that she was too tired-as well as too self- conscious-to do the subject justice. The day's events had exhausted her emotional resources. And her reveries of Master Eremis had put her in the mood for sleep. After a few half-hearted apologies, she dismissed Saddith, Then she ate her supper, drank one more goblet of wine, hung up her clothes in the wardrobe which didn't have a chair propped in it, and went to bed.

She fell asleep almost at once-

-and was awakened by a dull, wooden pounding. Dreams she couldn't remember fogged her brain: she felt sure, with a certainty like cold, congealed oatmeal, that what she heard was the sound of her clothes knocking on the door of the wardrobe, begging to be let out-frantic to dissociate themselves from the false petticoats and misleading gowns which had been loaned to her to seduce her from herself. Something about that didn't make sense, but she couldn't figure it out: the oatmeal was too thick to stir.

The pounding was repeated. After a long, stupefied moment, she realized that it came from the wrong wardrobe.

It came from the door to the secret passage.

At first, she was so mush-headed with sleep and fatigue that she didn't consider answering the knock. At this rate, she thought as clearly as she could, I'm never going to get any rest. Does everybody here spend all night sneaking around behind somebody else's back?

The problem didn't go away when she ignored it, however. The knock was repeated; a muffled voice croaked, 'My lady!'

As far as she knew, only Master Quillon and Adept Havelock knew about that passage. If the pounding became any louder, the guards outside would hear it,

'All right,' she muttered as she pushed back the covers and stumbled out of bed, I'm coming.'

Fortunately, the fire in the hearth had burned down. As a result, the air was cool-and that reminded her that she was naked. Her head began to clear. She detoured to the safe wardrobe, pulled out her clothes and put them on. The pounding began again, 'I'm coming,' she replied as loudly as she dared.

As soon as she had unwedged the chair, the door opened, and lamplight spilled out of the wardrobe.

Though her eyes weren't accustomed to the light, she had no trouble identifying her visitor. Master Quillon shrugged past the hanging clothes and stepped out of the wardrobe. 'My lady,' he whispered with some asperity, 'you are a sound sleeper.'

'I'm sorry.' She made no effort to sound sorry. 'I'm still not used to having people break into my room in the middle of the night,'

'I would rather be asleep myself,' he retorted. 'Some things are more important.' Anger

made his nose twitch. In the lamplight, he looked more than ever like a rabbit. But the intensity of his manner didn't suit his face. It gave his eyes a manic gleam, like the gaze of a cute pet gone rabid. 'Have you seen Geraden since Prince Kragen's audience?'

He took her aback. His demeanour was frightening: intimations of danger suddenly filled the air.

'Is he missing?'

'Missing? Nonsense. Why would he be missing? I only want to know if you have spoken to him at any time today-at any time since I separated you.'

Terisa took a deep breath, tried to steady herself. 'What's going on?' Half snarling, Quillon demanded, 'My lady, have you spoken to him?'

'No,' she retorted defensively. 'I haven't seen him. I haven't spoken to him. What's going on?'

Master Quillon glared at her for a moment. Then he sighed, 'Good,' and his face relaxed a little. 'That is good.' But his gaze didn't release her.

'My lady, you heard a great deal in the meeting of the Congery. And I will venture to guess that you heard a great deal more from Master Eremis. You must not speak of these matters to Geraden. You must tell him nothing.'

'What?' A pang went through her: alarm closed around her stomach. She had been looking forward to seeing him again, to spending the day with him, to telling him everything, 'Why?' He's the only one I can talk to!

'Because,' the Master articulated distinctly, 'that is the only way we can keep him alive.'

'What?'

'As long as he is ignorant, his enemies may not risk exposure by killing him. If you tell him what you know, he will surely act on it. Then he will become too dangerous, and he will be killed.'

'Killed?' She was reeling inwardly. The floor and the lamplight seemed to tilt. 'Why would anybody want to kill him?'

'My lady,' he returned heavily, 'it must be obvious to you that your presence here

cannot be an accident. You were translated through a glass which could not have been used for that purpose.

How was that done? No mistake or blunder can explain it. You insist that you are not responsible. Then who is?

'My lady, you are important.' Abruptly, Master Quillon turned and began to push his way back through the wardrobe. His voice was obscured by clothes. 'Geraden is crucial.'

For a moment, she stared after him while he entered the passage and closed the door, cutting off the light. Then she wrenched herself into motion. The thought that Geraden's life depended on her silence was so sharp that it nearly made her cry out. Thrusting garments aside, she reached the door and jerked it open.

Master Quillon was on the stairs below her. He turned at the noise she made, looked up at her. The angle of the lamplight left shadows like pools of darkness in his eyes. 'My lady?'

'Who are his enemies?'

She couldn't see his expression. His voice was flat. 'If we knew that, we would be able to stop them.'

Before she could speak, he turned away again and continued his descent. His silhouette twitched like a marionette.

'Who are his friends?'

The echoes of Master Quillon's feet didn't answer.

When she could no longer hear his sandals on the stair, or be sure of the glow of his lamp, she left the passage. Closing the door, she wedged the chair against it again.

After a while, she went back to bed.

By the next morning, she had made at least one decision. She wasn't going to talk to Geraden.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be as easy as it sounded. Her desire to confide in him was strong. And she knew he would be hurt by her silence.

In order to protect him, she would have to avoid him for a while.

So she got up early. Despite her inexperience, she managed to build up the fires in her hearths. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she bathed thoroughly. Then, defying the awkwardness of clothes that hadn't been designed to be put on without help, she struggled into a demure, dove-grey gown which, she hoped, would enable her to blend into the background.

She intended to ask Saddith for a tour of Orison-as complete a tour as possible. If she were occupied doing something Geraden didn't expect and couldn't predict, and if she were camouflaged against accidental discovery, she might win herself a day's respite from choices and crises.

Getting dressed alone took some time, however. When she was done, she didn't have to wait long for breakfast. Saddith soon knocked on her door and entered when it was unbolted, bringing a tray of food with her. Today she appeared a bit more cheerful-or perhaps a bit more highly spiced-than usual: there was more sauce in her smile, more zest in her step. On impulse, Terisa said, 'You look happy. Did you have another night with that Master of yours? Or have you found someone better?'

'Why, my lady,' Saddith protested, fluttering her eyelashes, 'whatever do you mean? I am as chaste as a virgin.' Then she grinned. That is to say, I am as chased as most virgins dream of being.'

Giggling at her own humour, she began to set out Terisa's breakfast.

As she ate, Terisa proposed the idea of a tour. The maid agreed at once. 'However,' she said, studying Terisa critically, 'we must first repair your dress. If it was your intention to appear as if you had spent the night in your gown, wrestling for virtue, you have succeeded. Really, my lady, you must let me assist you with such things.'

'I didn't think it was that bad.' Terisa was in a hurry to get going: she didn't want to take the chance that Geraden was on his way to see her. But a closer look at the gown convinced her that Saddith was right. Wryly, she assented to the maid's ministrations.

That was a mistake. Saddith took only a few minutes to adjust and refasten the gown; but as she finished there was another knock at the door.

Terisa's heart sank. She wasn't ready for this. Was she going to have to lie to him? She didn't think she could bear to lie to him.

Saddith, of course, had no idea what was in Terisa's mind. With a sprightly step, she left the bedroom to answer the door. Terisa heard her say in a teasing tone, 'Apt Geraden,

what a surprise. Have you come to repay me for my help yesterday? For that we must have privacy. Or do you mean to spurn me, preferring my lady Terisa?'

Geraden's laugh sounded a little uncomfortable. 'Come now, Saddith. You can do better than me. In fact, you do do better than me. The best I can do is ask the lady Terisa to talk to me. Is she free?'

'Geraden,' Saddith answered with mock severity, 'no woman is free.'

Chuckling to herself, she returned to the bedroom, where Terisa waited as though she were cowering. 'My lady, Apt Geraden is here. He will be better company than I for an exploration of Orison. He is male, even if he is awkward, easily embarrassed, and only an Apt. I will leave you to him.'

No, Terisa tried to say. Please. But Saddith was already on her way out of the room.

She aimed another riposte at Geraden and closed the door behind her.

For a moment, Terisa remained where she was, wishing stupidly that she knew how to swear. But she couldn't stand there, paralysed, forever. Eventually, Geraden would come a few steps farther into the sitting room, and then he would see her. Feeling at least as abashed as she ever had in front of the barracuda-like young men whom her father had tried to interest her in-trying to marry her off so that he would no longer be bothered with her -she left the bedroom.

Geraden's grin nearly ruined her good intentions: he looked so happy to see her that she wanted to break down immediately and tell him everything. It was all she could do to glance at him and force her mouth into a smile.

'I'm sorry I didn't get to see you again yesterday,' he began at once; he couldn't swallow the pleasure bubbling up in him. 'I don't know what came over Master Quillon. He isn't usually that unreasonable. He took me down to his private workshop and put me to work grinding sand, of all things. That job is so menial and mindless even new Apts don't usually have to do it. Then the message came that Prince Kragen was here and King Joyse was going to give him an audience. I thought that would save me. Despite whatever came over him, Master Quillon wouldn't expect me to go on grinding sand at a time like that.'

He grimaced. 'I was right, as usual. I didn't have to grind any more sand. Instead, he handed me instructions for the most complex tinct I've ever heard of and told me to prepare it three different ways. 'For experimental purposes.' Some Masters never let Apts do work that sophisticated. And it's been years since any Master gave me a job like that. I didn't know whether to be grateful or cut my throat.

'Anvway, I didn't finish until after midnight, I'm still not sure I got any of them right. 'I guess I missed all the excitement.'

Terisa's throat felt like cotton wadding. She swallowed roughly. 'You must have heard about it.'

He nodded slowly, studying her: the strangeness of her manner cooled his ebullience. 'Did you really play hop-board against Prince Kragen?'

Unable to face him, she went to the window. The clear sky of the previous evening was gone: now low clouds as heavy as stone covered the castle and the surrounding hills, making everything grey. In that light, the gown she had chosen seemed as drab as her spirit.

'Yes.'

Geraden whistled his appreciation. 'Amazing! And he didn't know the game. How did you manage to manoeuvre him into a stalemate? That was impressive. The Alend Monarch ought to give you a title for treating his honour with so much courtesy.' Then his tone darkened. 'Judging by the rumours, that was the most intelligent thing anybody did in that disaster. If King Joyse had half your sense, there would still be hope for us.'

Oh, Geraden. Hating herself for what she had to do, she took advantage of the opening he had unintentionally given her, the chance to deflect-or at least postpone-his inevitable questions. Without turning her head, she said bitterly, 'But that's the point, isn't it? He doesn't have any sense. As far as I can tell, he arranged that whole audience for just one reason-to make fun of the Prince. He wants a war with Alend.'

Then she did turn, forcing herself towards him because she was ashamed. 'Geraden, why are you loyal to him? Maybe he was a great king once-I don't know. But there's none of that left.' She spoke as if during the audience she had been capable of refusing the King's smile-as if she could have refused it now. 'Why don't you give him up?'

The quick hurt in his eyes made her want to run into the bedroom and hide her head under the pillows. Lamely, she concluded, That's why the Masters don't trust you. Because you're loyal to him, and nobody can understand why.'

'Is that what they told you?' he retorted at once. They don't trust me because I still like to serve my King? I thought it was because I haven't done anything right since I was nine years old.'

Stung, she returned to the window, leaning her forehead against the cold glass to cool

the pain. Not talk to him? Not tell him the truth? How could she do that, even to save his life?

'I'm sorry,' she heard him say, chagrined by her reaction. 'I didn't mean it that way. This is just a sore point for me. As you can probably tell.

'But I have the strongest feeling-' He stopped.

She waited, but he didn't go on. Finally, she asked, 'What is it this time?'

As if the words were being forced out of him by a deep but involuntary conviction, he replied, 'I have the strongest feeling he knows what he's doing.'

'Oh, Geraden!' She couldn't restrain herself: she faced him again, showing her irritation plainly. 'Do you really think that starting a war with Alend is wise! Do you think that's a good answer to Mordant's problems?'

'No,' he admitted glumly. 'I've already told you my feelings are always wrong. I just can't ignore them.' After another hesitation, he said, 'I haven't told you about the first time I met him.'

Thinking she knew what was coming, Terisa winced inwardly. 'Would you like to sit down?'

'No, thanks.' His manner was abstracted: his mind was on the story he meant to tell. 'I spent too many hours yesterday hunched over a mortar. My back still hurts.' He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of her.

'I must have been eleven or twelve years old at the time, and I had never been away from home. Oh, there was hardly a mile of Domne where I hadn't ridden or worked, trailed after my brothers, doing the jobs I was given, or'-he smiled-'trying to avoid my chores. I don't care what anybody else says. Domne is the most beautiful of the Cares- especially in the spring, when the apple trees and dogwood and redbud come out, and some of the hills as far as you can see are wooded in blooms-and I loved exploring it, playing in places like the Closed Fist, riding like wild around the skirts of the mountains.'

He sighed happily. 'But Houseldon was the centre of my life. My father, the Domne, is a man who loves his home more than any place in the world. He prefers the company of his family to anyone else-even though people call him one of the King's dearest friends. Every year or two, he had to go somewhere to do something for King Joyse or Mordant, and he always took at least two of my brothers with him. That was how Artagel discovered his talent for fighting, which he would never have done at home. But I was

always too young to go. I was my mother's baby, of course. And when she died, Tholden-he's my oldest brother-he and his wife took over as if they thought I was never going to grow up.

'In some ways, it's difficult to describe why I didn't take after my father. Tholden certainly did-when he becomes the Domne, even our father's beloved cherry trees will hardly notice the difference. So did Minick and Wester-he's the handsome one of the family. And the only reason I don't count Stead is that he would rather court every village girl in Domne than do his share of the shearing. Did I tell you that our family raises sheep? We do all kinds of farming, of course. All the Cares do. But wool and cloth are what we're known for.' He sounded proud. 'As soon as my brothers found out how clumsy I was,' he continued wryly, 'they refused to let me near the shears. But one summer I did so much herding that I knew every sheep within five miles by name.

'Looking back on it, I think my father's love should have been irresistible. He can still take off a sheep's wool in one piece so even it can be used as it is. His eyes light up when he sees a new seed sprout or a new crop come up. And he enjoys the company of his sons as if they were the best people in the world. He even manages to appreciate my good points-whatever they are. Whenever I go home, I spend the first five days amazed at my good luck and wondering why I ever left.'

Then he shrugged and grinned. 'I spend the next five days trying to figure out how to tell the Domne I have to leave again. Maybe it's because I never got to go with him when he travelled. I had to wait until he and my brothers came back and spent the next entire season telling stories about all the exciting things they saw and did. I was like Nyle in that. Except for me, he's the youngest. He had to stay home a lot, too. When Artagel went into training with the armies of Mordant, Nyle and I treated him like visiting royalty. We wanted him to tell us everything.

'Or maybe it's because King Joyse sent Queen Madin and their daughters to stay with us for more than a year when I was five or six. What was happening, I think, was the Alend Monarch and High King Festten were becoming desperate to defend their Imagers, and King Joyse was afraid they might try to stop him by attacking his family. Anyway, the lady Elega and I were about the same age, and we played together most of the time. Even then'-his fondness was evident-'she was so full of being a king's daughter that I hardly knew what to do with her. But I admired her for it. I loved her stories of wars and power, even though she credited herself with saving the realm more often than most five-year-old girls can manage. Young as I was, she made me ache to explore the whole world the way I did Domne.

'Or maybe it was simply that the most exciting thing I knew about my father was his friendship with the King.

'Whatever the reason, I haven't been content with the idea of being a farmer or shepherd for as long as I can remember.'

Abruptly, he stopped and looked at Terisa. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go into all that. I just wanted you to understand what kind of boy I was when I first met King Joyse.'

'Don't apologize,' she replied gently. She was grateful for anything that kept him from questioning her. And she liked hearing about his family. His background was as alien to her experience as Mordant and Imagery were; but it was also attractive-as strange and wondrous as a fairy tale. 'If you didn't point it out, I would never know you were digressing.'

He bowed playfully. 'You are too gracious, my lady.' Then he resumed his story.

'As I say, it was probably thirteen years ago. Mordant was approximately at peace because Adept Havelock wasn't ready to expose the arch-Imager and his cabal, and King Joyse was doing a royal circuit, getting ready for the days when his wars would actually be over. After Termigan, he came to Domne.

'The day he arrived, I was weeding corn in one of the fields near Houseldon. It was as far away as I could bear to be, and I only went that far because the field was on a hill that let me watch the road. I was so excited that I kept forgetting to look where I swung the hoe. By the time the King and his party finally rode into view'-he chuckled to himself-'I had left a swath of ruined corn right through the middle of the field.

'But that didn't bother me. As soon as I saw him coming, I dropped my hoe and ran. 'There's a stockade around Houseldon, mostly to keep the animals out, and

unfortunately there was a large pigwallow between me and the nearest gate. However, one of my brothers in an enterprising mood had tossed a long log into the wallow as a shortcut, and I headed for it to save time.

'You can imagine what happened.' He grimaced in mock disgust. 'But I didn't stop, I absolutely had to meet King Joyse as fast as possible. It was the most urgent thing in my life. So I managed to arrive in front of our house just as the King and his people-Queen Madin with Elega, Torrent, and Myste, Adept Havelock in his scruffy chasuble, Castellan Lebbick and a handful of guards, two or three of the King's counsellors, and a small number of servants-you see, I remember it all-I got there just as they were dismounting.' He chuckled. 'I had cherry pits in my hair, orange peel on my clothes, melon rind sticking to my feet, and I was still dripping mud.

'A lot of people laughed-except Elega, who got angry-but my father and the King didn't. The Domne said, 'My lord King, this is my youngest son, Geraden,' as if he had

never loved me as much as he did right then. Then the King beckoned me to him. In spite of the muck, he put his hands on my shoulders and gripped me hard. 'I like you, boy,' he said. 'Come to Orison in a few years.' Just like that. 'You already have one fighter in the family, and Artagel does it well. You will be an Imager.''

Again, he stopped pacing to face Terisa firmly. 'He made me happier than I had ever been in my life. And I can't forget that. I'm not as loyal to him as I should be-he doesn't want me to talk to you, remember?-but he is my King, and I won't stop trying to serve him as well as I can.'

Then he laughed self-consciously. 'Anyway, that's the best explanation I can give you. At the rate I'm going, if you ask me any more questions, I'll never give you a chance to tell me what happened to you yesterday,'

A pang went through her. Not quite able to meet his gaze, she said, 'I like hearing about your family. Did you hear Saddtth mention a tour? She was going to give me a tour of Orison. I would like to know this place a little better.' Deliberately duplicitous, she added, 'This room is starting to give me cabin fever.'

Forgetting self-consciousness, Geraden became immediately sober and intent. 'I'll gladly give you a tour. After yesterday, I can use the escape myself. But that meeting of the Congery is too important to talk about in public. With my luck, somebody would overhear us. Why don't you tell me what happened after I had to leave? Then we'll go.'

If he secretly wanted to know what she had done with Master Eremis, he concealed the desire well. Nevertheless she needed some way to deflect him again and didn't have any better ideas; so she said, 'Are you sure it isn't Master Eremis you want to hear about? You were eager enough to interrupt us.'

She tried to make the words teasing-and failed completely. In fact, she sounded just like her mother, feigning playfulness to disguise the intended hurt in what she said.

Involuntarily, Geraden scowled to keep himself from flinching; his face darkened. 'Was I wrong, my lady?' he asked stiffly. 'Does Master Eremis mean you well?'

She couldn't answer that: she was too ashamed of herself. Softly, as if she were apologizing, she said, 'Do you know what he did? He proved I don't exist. Or I didn't exist until you found me in the mirror. You must have created me somehow.'

Suddenly, the Apt was angry. His eyes burned. 'He convinced you of that? You. That must have been quite a display of logic. What did he actually say? What argument did he use this time?'

Surprised and a bit frightened by Geraden's reaction, she answered, 'Language. Mirrors don't translate sound.' Confusedly, she repeated the gist of what Master Eremis had said to her.

In response, Geraden threw up his hands. Stalking away to the window, he glared out at the winter. 'That son of a mongrel,' he rasped. 'Why does he do things like this?' Then, roughly, he swung towards her again.

That's all pigslop, and he knows it. It's an interesting argument, but it doesn't prove anything.'

She stared at him dumbly.

'There is at least one alternative explanation. Translation changes things. That's part of the magic. Language isn't the only issue. When I put my head into that mirror-the one with the champion-I didn't have any trouble breathing the air. But surely a world like that would have different air than we do. Why would a mirror create alien landscapes, alien people, alien power, alien creatures-and not alien air? That doesn't make sense. I must have been changed by the translation so I could breathe. If those people hadn't been so determined to kill me right away, we might have been able to talk to each other.

'I can't prove that either, of course. But proof isn't the point. The point is, the answer Master Eremis gave you isn't inevitable. There is another explanation.

'It isn't love that makes him talk to you like that.' His tone was hard, like a clenched fist. He didn't seem to be aware that she was panicking in front of him.

The past was real? She couldn't simply turn her back on it and go ahead, as if she had a role to play and a right to play it? Then she didn't belong here-and everything she did was too important. Her mistakes might do serious damage: the risk she had taken for Prince Kragen against King Joyse might have terrible consequences.

She hardly heard Geraden saying, There's some reason why he wants you to believe I created you. He wants something from you.' He grimaced bitterly. 'He wants to bed you- but that isn't what I mean. If it were that simple, he wouldn't take the chance of upsetting you.

'My lady, what happened during the meeting of the Congery after I left? What did they decide?'

She hardly heard him-but all at once the words came into focus, and she grasped what he had said. The colour drained from her face. 'Decide?' she breathed, trying not to pant. Even this might be wrong, the decision to protect him. Maybe she shouldn't trust Master

Quillon. Or maybe Geraden needed to die-maybe he was a danger to Mordant in some way she could never understand because she didn't belong here. She didn't know enough: the right answer wasn't available to her. A feeling of weakness washed through her, and darkness swirled around the edges of her vision. Her knees started to fold.

Somehow, Geraden crossed the distance between them. He was holding her up, his hands clamped to her arms. Terisa!' he hissed like a blaze. 'What did they decide?'

She couldn't stand. If he let her go, she would be lost. A moment later, however, she found that the urgent need in his face brought her strength back. He was more at risk than she would ever be. Master Quillon was right about that: Geraden was too passionate and determined to be safe. She couldn't let him be killed, couldn't give his enemies an excuse to kill him.

But as she straightened her knees, took her own weight, she realized that there was no way out. She couldn't let him be killed. What good was that? She also couldn't lie to him. It would be impossible for her to lie to any man who looked at her like that. Even if she had never existed before in her life, she would have become real at that moment because of the way he stared at her, simultaneously outraged on her behalf and desperate for her help.

One after the other, she shrugged her arms free. Still feeling weak, she said, 'They told me not to tell you. They told me that if you knew what the Congery was going to do your enemies would have you killed.'

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

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

She nodded. If he kept going, she was going to weep. Without warning, he did something that amazed her down to the ground. Nothing in her father's dour unlove or Rev Thatcher's weakness or Master Eremis' desire had prepared her for the way Geraden unknotted his throat and swallowed his distress and gave her a smile like a gift. 'You know, Terisa, a tour sounds like a grand idea to me.' He met his danger with a sparkle in his eyes. Dimly, she realized that he was using her name at last. 'I would love to show

you around Orison. I don't know any of the secret passages everyone keeps talking about, but I think I've explored almost everything else.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The strange thing is the way the Cadwals combine pleasure and harshness.' Geraden thought for a moment before he explained, 'The High King's Monomach is Festten's traditional champion-a personal defender and assassin. He's supposed to be the greatest fighter in the country-the strongest and cruellest product of the harshest circumstances and training. In fact, the Cadwals like to say the men who fail as the High King's Mono-

mach's Apts are so strong that Carmag is built on their bones. But the reward they give the greatest fighter in the whole country isn't wealth or power-or even freedom. It's just pleasure. That, and the chance to get killed serving-or displeasing-the High King.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fortunately, Geraden knocked on her door soon after breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squinting into the breeze to keep his vision clear, Geraden stared out at the riders. After a long moment, he breathed softly, 'Sand and ttnct! That looks like the Tor. The Tor himself. He hasn't been to Orison since I came here.' To Terisa, he added, 'Some people say he's too fat to travel. But I think he's probably just too old. He's at least ten years older than King Joyse.' Then he murmured distantly, 'If that's him, what's he doing here? At this time of year?'

As he spoke, Terisa felt the cold reach around her heart, and she turned towards the stairs leading back into the tower. The Perdon was keeping the promise he had made to Master Eremis.

But one of the Masters had said-or implied?-that the Tor was incapable of making such a journey. There wasn't enough time? The distance was too great?

Without warning, Geraden burst past her, half running for the stairs. 'Come on!' he called over his shoulder. That's definitely the Tor! He's got a litter with him!'

For a second, she was frozen. A litter! Then Geraden's urgency grabbed hold of her. He took the descent two steps at a time. The long skirt of her gown made it impossible

for her to keep up with him. But he glanced back at her from the first landing, saw her difficulty, and slowed his pace.

Nearly together, they hurried down out of the tower.

A few moments ago, she had been cold: now she was hot. In spite of his haste, she stopped on the stairway to pull off her coat. He tried to calm himself, but his face betrayed his vexation at the delay. Tin sorry,' she murmured as they started moving again.

Before he could reply, he missed a step, let out a yelp, and dived headlong down the length of the stone stairs.

'Geraden!' She rushed after him in panic.

As she reached him, he got to his hands and knees and pushed himself off the floor. His head wobbled from side to side as if he couldn't remember which way was up. She took him by the arm, tried to lift him erect. 'Are you all right?'

Although he looked stunned, he put his weight on her until he propped his feet under him. Then he was able to stand.

'Don't worry. If this didn't happen at least once a day, I wouldn't know who I was.' Awkwardly, he lurched into motion. 'Come on. I've missed everything else recently. I don't want to miss this.'

His strides grew slowly steadier as he led her down more stairways towards the level of the gates.

Abruptly, the air turned cold again. They were approaching a high, wide doorway which gave access to Orison's enormous inner courtyard. Guarded doors made of heavy timbers and bolts stood ready to close the entrance if necessary; but they were open.

Shouts began to echo off the walls of the castle. Guards came running down the hall; more guards splashed out into the mire of the courtyard, running towards the gates. A moment later, Castellan Lebbick appeared. His commands carried more sharpness than the cold as he, too, headed for the gates.

'Put on your coat,' Geraden whispered tensely.

As soon as Terisa had complied, he took her arm and drew her out into the open court. Her feet sank into the mud up to her ankles. She groaned to think of damaging such

nice boots, then had to forget about them in order to concentrate on pulling herself from step to step against the suction of the muck.

She and Geraden were in the southeast end, which was relatively clear: the shops of the bazaar and the wagons of the farmers were crowded to the northwest; and among them were pitched the tents of their attendants, as well as of the guards who were responsible for maintaining order and honesty. But even this half of the courtyard looked large enough to exercise several squadrons of horses.

The castle stood open. The gate itself, a tremendous construct of timbers the size of tree-trunks and lashed with iron, had been raised, as it was every day: during the tour, Geraden had showed her the gigantic winches which cranked the gate up into the wall above its architrave. Ahead of her, the Castellan was forming his men into an honour- guard to greet the lord of the Care of Tor. A trumpeter blew an announcement. Geraden took her as close as the guards permitted to the place where the Tor's riders would enter Orison and dismount. There they stopped.

The riders were on the road outside the castle: they had almost reached the gate, despite their mourning pace. She saw now that the men were all in black. The breath of the horses steamed silver in the iron cold; but their trappings were black. Black draped the litter which four of the mounts supported from their saddles. The man who led the group hid his face under a black hood, and a black cloak was wrapped around him.

This figure was so fat that Terisa wondered how his horse could bear his weight.

He led his riders towards Castellan Lebbick, then halted within the precise formation of the honour-guard. Their horses seemed to sag under the burdens they carried.

'Greetings, my lord Tor,' the Castellan said gruffly. His shoulders were braced as if they had the weight of the whole winter on them; the purple band across his forehead emphasized the anger of his eyebrows. 'You're welcome in Orison. No matter what reason has brought you here at such a time, you're welcome.'

Slowly, the Tor raised his black-gloved hands and lifted his hood, revealing thin white hair that straggled from his pale scalp, features the shape and colour of cold potatoes, bleak eyes. His fat cheeks were hurt with cold.

In a husky voice, he rasped, 'I will see the King.'

The sharpness of the air made everything distinct. Terisa saw the shadow of a wince pass across Lebbick's hard face. 'My lord Tor,' he replied, 'King Joyse has been informed of your coming.

At present, he's busy with other matters.' He couldn't keep his disdain for those other matters out of his tone. The King was probably playing hop-board. 'I'm sure he'll grant you an audience shortly.'

The clouds sealing the sky were the colour of tombstones. Cold seemed to close around the courtyard. For a long moment, the Tor didn't move or speak. His eyes blinked as if he were going blind. Then, with a grunt of effort, he heaved his leg over the back of his horse and dismounted. The guards were silent: the champing of the horses and the squelching sound of his boots in the mud could be heard clearly as he moved like an old man among his people towards the litter.

From the litter, he lifted in his arms the black-draped shape of a man or woman who must have been taller than he was. He didn't look strong enough to bear so much weight; nevertheless he cradled the body against his belly, carrying it forward until he stood directly in front of Castellan Lebbick.

In the same dried-out, hollow voice, he said, This is my first son. I will see the King.'

Now the Castellan's distress was unmistakable. 'Your son, my lord Tor? That's a terrible loss.' Terisa remembered that Lebbick was acquainted with loss. 'All Mordant will sorrow with you. How did he die?'

For a moment, a flicker of passion lit the Tor's speech. 'His face was torn away by a wolf such as Mordant and Cadwal and Alend together have never known. Do you care to see the wound?' He extended the shrouded body towards Lebbick.

But almost at once his energy faded. Dully, implacably, he repeated, 'I will see the King.'

'That won't be possible.' Castellan Lebbick sounded thick and hoarse, like a man in pain. 'King Joyse doesn't yet grant you an audience.'

Through the silence, the riders at the Tor's back muttered curses. How far had they ridden in order to present the Tor's slaughtered son to his King?

Abruptly, Geraden left Terisa's side. Striding through the mud as if he couldn't be held back by any slip or accident-as if he had forgotten his talent for mishap-he went towards the Tor. The boyish prance-and-fumble of exuberance and mistake was gone from his manner entirely. The way his chestnut hair crowned the strong lines of his face made him look incontestable, as sure of himself as if he had power and knew how to use it.

Ignoring Castellan Lebbick's fierce glare, he said, 'My lord Tor, I am Geraden, youngest son of the Domne. In the name of my father and all his family, please accept

my grief. King Joyse will see you. When he hears why you have come, he will see you.'

'Geraden,' the Castellan snarled in an undertone, 'be warned. You forget yourself, whelp.'

At once, Geraden turned towards Lebbick. 'No, Castellan.' He had become taller almost without transition, certain of his authority. 'Be warned yourself. You may despise me as much as you wish. But the day has not yet come when you may despise the Domne. I speak in his name.

'In his name, I claim the responsibility. Let it crush me if it will. The King will see my lord Tor.'

The Tor said nothing. He stood there with his son in his arms as though he had been stricken mute, unable to articulate his grief except by demanding the King's acknowledgement of it.

A snarl twisted Castellan Lebbick's mouth. His hands knotted at his sides. After a moment, he said softly, 'You can try, whelp. Gestures like that come cheaply to those with no duty-to those who can ignore the consequences of what they do. It's my place to ensure that King Joyse is obeyed, and I will do it'-his fist beat the words against his thigh-'if I must.'

Then he stepped aside. With a barked command, he ordered the honour-guard to do the same.

Geraden put his hand on the Tor's arm to help support the great weight of what the man carried. Together, they moved towards the nearest open door. Perhaps a dozen guards took formal positions behind them and followed.

Terisa started after them.

The Castellan stopped her with a hard gesture. 'No, my lady. There's harm enough here without your contribution.' He spat the words like gusts of steam. 'I won't expose my King's plight to a woman of your dubious allegiance.'

Raising his voice, he instructed two of his guards to return the lady Terisa of Morgan to her rooms.

For a moment, she stood right on the edge of resisting him,

though she had never done anything like that before and wouldn't have been able to do it if she had thought about it in advance. She wanted to go with Geraden. If anything

could be done for the Tor, she ached to do it. But the quality of Lebbick's glare pushed her back. It was outraged and extreme, and it seemed to say that if she forced him to do her violence she would drive him mad.

She turned to the men he had assigned and let them take charge of her.

As she slogged through the mud, she heard Castellan Lebbick stiffly welcome the Tor's retinue and offer the riders and their mounts Orison's best hospitality. Then he went after the Tor and Geraden himself.

Back in her rooms, with her boots cleaned as well as possible and drying in the bathroom, she reflected that the Tor had obviously not come to Orison in response to any summons from the Perdon. On the other hand, what difference did the Tor's reasons for being here make now? His presence was what mattered. It worked in Master Eremis' favour.

Master Eremis wasn't a comfortable subject of contemplation. His absence gave her a secret ache of frustration and fear. Nevertheless thoughts of him were an improvement over the image of the Tor which remained with her, the fat, old man standing ankle-deep in mud, his dead son in his arms and his eyes bleak with grief. When her mother had died, and Terisa had dared to cry, her father had hit her, once, to make her stop. Then he had gotten drunk for the first and only time that she could remember. Then he had begun bringing other women into the house as though his wife had never existed. Terisa definitely preferred thinking of Master Eremis.

An hour or so passed before she realized how restless she was. She wasn't ordinarily a woman who paced, but now she caught herself tensely measuring the rugs and stone of the floor-waiting for Geraden. He had stood up to the Castellan. She felt that it was a long time since she had seen so much strength in him. Surely he would come tell her what had happened?

He did. Before lunchtime, she heard a knock on her door. When she answered it, she found Geraden outside.

He looked like a little boy. His eyes were stilt puffy from crying, and the expression in them was so forlorn that she wanted to put her arms around him.

She couldn't go that far. A lifetime of inhibition held her: she had never learned how to reach out to other people. But instinctively, without gauging what she did, she put her hand on his arm and breathed, 'Oh, Geraden. What happened?'

He tried to compose himself, but the effort only made him harsh. 'He got to see the King. Being the Domne's son is good for that, at least. I just didn't let anybody say no to me. But King Joyse didn't-'

Then his throat closed on the words, as if they hurt too much to come out. For a moment, his features knotted. He glanced rapidly at the guards on either side of the door. 'Please, Terisa. I can't talk about it out here in the hall.'

Her heart was beating double-time. 'Come in,' she gulped. 'I'm being stupid, I didn't mean to keep you standing there.'

With her hand still on his arm, she drew him into the sitting room.

If he hadn't been struggling so hard to contain himself-and if she hadn't been so awkward-they might have hugged each other. But he looked untouchable in his distress, and she had to step away to close the door. When she turned back to him, he was standing with his elbows pressed against his sides and his hands in fists over his heart. 'Oh, Geraden,' she murmured again. 'Geraden.' 'I don't know what's going on.' His voice was still harsh, clenched. He was trying to shore up something inside himself. 'I swear I don't understand it.

'It wasn't hard to get in to see him. All I had to do was ignore the guards at the door when they told me the King was busy. Under the circumstances, they weren't likely to stand in the Tor's way,

'King Joyse and Adept Havelock were playing hop-board. You probably guessed that. What else,' he asked acidly, 'would make him too busy to see the man who got him started on the road to becoming King of Mordant? But he didn't seem to resent the interruption. When I barged in, he left his game to welcome us. And he smiled the way he does-the way that makes you want to lie down in front of him so he can walk on you.

'Then he saw what the Tor was carrying. I told him who it was.

And for a few moments there I thought I had finally done the right thing. For once in my life, I had finally done the right thing.

'He seemed to remember his strength and call it back from somewhere. Suddenly, he was taller, bigger, and his eyes flashed. 'How was this done?' he demanded. The Tor couldn't speak, so I said, 'Imagery. Some kind of strange wolf.' Gambling that I knew what I was doing, I said, 'Look at his face.'

'King Joyse lifted the cloth.' Geraden shuddered. 'It was terrible. But it would have been worse, if the body hadn't been frozen for ten days while the Tor was on the road.

'When King Joyse saw it, he seemed to stand up inside himself. He took the body out of the Tor's arms. He raised his head as if he was going to howl. There was so much outrage and hurt in him that it practically shouted from his face. I thought that finally- finally-he was going to get angry enough to do something-

'I was wrong.'

Geraden made no effort to muffle his pain. 'Adept Havelock chose that moment to say, 'Joyse, it's your move.' Like he didn't know anyone else was in the room.

'And King Joyse just collapsed.

'His face crumpled, and he started crying-softly, almost not making a sound. 'Oh, my old friend,' he said. 'Forgive me. Forgive me.' Then he fell to his knees-he couldn't hold up the weight any longer.' Geraden was weeping himself, with his elbows hugged to his ribs and his hands across his chest. 'As carefully as he could, he rested the Tor's son on the floor. For a while, he bowed over the body. Then he got his feet under him again'- Geraden had to grip his determination in both fists in order to say the words-'and went back to his game.'

For a while, Geraden stood still, fighting to regain control of his emotions while Terisa ached for him and the Tor and King Joyse and said nothing.

'After that,' Geraden resumed with a shuddering sigh, 'he didn't respond to anything. He didn't give any orders for the funeral. He didn't answer any questions. Maybe he forgot we were there. Eventually, he moved one of his pieces. As far as I could see, it improved Havelock's position.

'All this time, the Tor hadn't said a word. He looked too stunned, too hurt, to say anything. I thought he was going to fall on his face. But now he pulled himself together a bit, 'My son is dead,' he said as if maybe King Joyse had failed to notice that detail. 'Is this the best you can do?'

The King still didn't respond. Adept Havelock said, 'Close the door on your way out.''

Geraden shrugged. 'Then Castellan Lebbick made us leave. Two of his men had to move the Tor by main force. But I was actually grateful. He did us a favour by getting us out of there.'

Abruptly, the Apt ground the heels of his palms into his eyes to force down his tears and his pain and his weakness. When he looked at Terisa again, his glare was red- rimmed and lost. Certainty had deserted him. More than anything now, he resembled a young man who was being broken by his involuntary instinct for disaster.

'Castellan Lebbick was right,' he said. 'It would have been better if the Tor had been kept away. All I did was make his misery worse.'

'I'm sorry,' Terisa whispered, hating herself for her inability to help him, heal him. But there was nothing she could do for him except say, 'I'm sorry.'

Later that day, alone in her rooms in the middle of the afternoon, with nothing to do except brood, she was standing at one of her windows and musing out towards the road when more riders appeared.

This group was larger than the Tor's, more military in character. A trumpet announced the approach of the riders to the gate of Orison; Castellan Lebbick greeted them with an honour-guard equal to the one which had met the Tor. Then they dispersed into the castle. But she still couldn't make up her mind.

Saddith brought news with her supper. 'Have you heard, my lady? Both the Fayle and the Armigite have come to Orison. Both have demanded audiences with King Joyse. And both have been refused.' The maid was proud of her information, as if it came from some high, secret source. 'It is said that the Fayle carries messages from Queen Madin and the lady Torrent. And yet he has been refused.

'If the reports are true, he bears his disappointment stoically. Not so the Armigite. I have heard him. He wanders the halls, accosting whoever will listen and explaining his indignation.' She tittered. 'I am inclined to question his virility, my lady.'

When Saddith left, Terisa found that she had reached her decision. King Joyse was unwilling to meet with the lords of the Cares: he was unwilling even to receive a message from his wife. He was too far gone. Master Eremis was right. Mordant could only be saved now if someone else took charge of events.

She would have to go to him, talk to him, tell him what she knew.

It was possible that she would have to tell him about her secret conversations with Master Quillon and Adept Havelock. Not to betray them, but to help him; the information might make him more effective.

She made this decision because she wanted to do what was right. She didn't mean to remain passive for the rest of her life. Her presence here made no sense-but as long as she was here, she had to make some effort to help. For Geraden's sake, as well as for Mordant's. He was too paralysed-and too hurt-by his devotion to the King; he wasn't able to see past his dislike of the Master. He was blind to the one fact she saw clearly:

Master Eremis was the only man who had any chance of uniting the Congery and the lords against Mordant's enemies.

But she wasn't thinking about Geraden-or about Mordant- when she finally reached her decision. She was thinking about the way Master Eremis had kissed her and touched her.

So the next morning-after a restless night-she got up early. She bathed. She washed and dried her hair. When Saddith brought her breakfast, she found that 'she couldn't eat it. Instead of risking nausea, she asked the maid to help her put on the gown she had chosen the previous evening-a confection of mauve silk which clung to her thighs and made the hollow between her breasts look deep and desirable. Then she dismissed Saddith for the rest of the day, saying that she meant to spend it with the lady Myste.

Saddith winked at this obvious fabrication, grinned her approval, and left as if she had plans of her own.

When the maid was gone, however, Terisa remained in her rooms for quite a while. She told herself that she wasn't hesitating -precisely. She was waiting for a decent hour. But the truth was that she had lost her confidence. Master Eremis was too much for her- too experienced, too adept, too powerful. Geraden had accused him of trying to manipulate her. He had certainly manipulated the Congery. The explanations he gave for what he did weren't entirely satisfying. And apparently he was no longer interested in her.

Nevertheless in the end her resolve held. Around midmorning, she went to her door, unbolted it with an unsteady hand, and left her rooms.

One of the guards whistled at her softly through his teeth; she ignored him.

Descending from the tower, she panicked for several moments because she wasn't sure of the route back to Master Eremis' quarters. She hadn't paid close enough attention on the one occasion when she had visited those rooms. And she thought she saw a man following her-

She glimpsed him three or four times, on different levels of the castle. He seemed to disappear as soon as she spotted him. But he was tall-he looked strong. A grey cloak hid his clothes and covered his head, but didn't conceal the end of the longsword jutting down near his boots.

On the other hand, he didn't seem to be the man who had attacked her in her rooms. He wasn't wearing black. And he didn't keep after her. Instead, he seemed to forget her after a while. She didn't see any more sign of him.

After worrying about him probably more than he deserved, she put him out of her mind, concentrating her attention again on the problem of finding Master Eremis' quarters.

What she remembered of Geraden's tour helped. Eventually, she found her way into the section of Orison which had been set aside for the personal use of the Masters. After that, all she had to do was locate the polished rosewood door with the full-length bas- relief carving of Master Eremis.

As soon as she reached it, she raised her hand to knock -and stopped. She was breathing too hard: she needed a moment to become calm. But the carving on the door was really quite extraordinary. The eyes seemed to see everything, and the mouth promised pleasures which she might not like. He was much too much for her. If she had any sense left, she would admit that. She had no business taking a risk like this.

So she didn't knock. Gripped by the demented logic of the obsessed, she put her hand on the latch and eased the door open more quietly than the thudding of her heart.

Exactly as she remembered it, she saw the sumptuous room in which the Master had held her and kissed her. She saw the crimson of the uppermost rug made even more dramatic by the blue of the furniture and the yellow of the drapes. She saw the filigree- cut brass urns from which perfumed lamps provided light and warmth. She saw the tapestries which covered the walls with scenes of seduction. She saw the divan-

Master Eremis was on the divan. Fortunately, he wasn't facing in her direction. He was lying forward, his attention focused on the woman under him. The long, clean muscles of his bare back and buttocks bunched and released to the rhythm of his movements.

The woman's legs were locked around his hips. Her arms clenched his back. She made moaning noises deep in her throat.

Her clothes were scattered across the floor. Terisa recognized them. But she didn't need the confirmation.

The woman was unmistakably Saddith.

She had seen something like this once before. Her parents had had separate rooms. After her mother's death, she had begun using her mother's room as a hiding place, a retreat, as if her mother were a more comforting presence dead than alive. Of course she hadn't told her father; he probably had no way of knowing what he was doing when he took one of his women to her mother's bed. She had watched for a while before she had realized what she was seeing.

Now she closed the door softly. Hugging the cold ache in her heart, she returned to her rooms. Careful not to tear it, she finally worked her way out of the silk gown and put it away. Then she got dressed in her old clothes and went to the window to stare out at the wilderland of winter.

She was still there near sunset when yet another group of riders approached the castle. Like the one she had seen the previous afternoon, it was larger than the Tor's retinue-and less funerary. Again, a trumpet saluted the riders as they approached the gate.

Again, Castellan Lebbick met them with a guard of honour. While they were dismounting, she thought she recognized the brawny shape and bald head of the Perdon. But she couldn't be sure.