A LITTLE CONVERSATION

THE NEXT MORNING, she had the kind of headache that made strong men swear off drink. Internal pressure seemed to be prising the bones of her skull apart, and her brain felt bruised. In addition, her throat had apparently been treated with sandpaper, and her stomach gave the impression that it was sloshing wetly from side to side in her abdomen.

Nevertheless she was no longer so badly baffled by her talk with Elega.

The lady and Prince Kragen must have formed some kind of alliance. Elega knew about Terisa's meeting with the lords of the Cares because the Prince had told her. What

they hoped to accomplish, Terisa wasn't sure; but she was sure that whatever it was wouldn't make King Joyse either comfortable or happy.

And they hoped to include her for some reason.

Sometime during her fourth or fifth goblet of wine, she had found-rather to her surprise-that she didn't like what Elega was doing. King Joyse persistently refused to remind her of her own father. He had perhaps sacrificed most ordinary claims on the loyalty of his people; but he didn't deserve to be betrayed by his daughter.

So the question she was left with-the question on which neither too much wine nor a night thick with bad dreams had shed any particular light-was the one that had made her sick in the first place. What was she going to do about Geraden? Or about Master Eremis?

Since she was hungover, the Master's caresses no longer seemed entirely inevitable or convincing. Yet his arguments were still important. In fact, his reasons for distrusting Geraden made more sense than Geraden's for believing the worst of him. On the other hand, the idea that Geraden was a traitor felt absurd.

Groaning more to persuade herself she was alive than because it relieved the pain, she climbed weakly out of the knotted chaos which her dreams had made of the bed. The rooms were cold: by bolting the door, she had locked Saddith out; and she couldn't remember having put wood on the fires herself more than once or twice. But the cold forced her to take better command of the situation. Struggling into her robe, she went deliberately into the bathroom to drink as much water as her stomach could bear. Then she returned to the hearth in her sitting room and began trying to coax a little flame out of the warm coals.

In her condition, blowing on the coals was as painful as batting her head against the wall. Nevertheless she persevered because she was determined not to let anyone into the suite to help her. She didn't want an audience while she suffered the consequences of her folly. So she got the fire going despite the sharp pressure in her brain. She took a bath, even washed her hair out of sheer stubbornness. And she dressed herself alone, working her way into one of Myste's relatively demure gowns, a warm sheath of yellow velvet. Only then did she permit herself to unbolt the door to see if Saddith had left a tray for her.

In fact, the maid had done so. And, as a mercy, there was no one waiting to talk to her. In peace, she was able to eat a little porridge and drink a great deal of a hot beverage which she thought of as tea-although it tasted more like cinnamon and rose petals-before a knock at the door announced that she had a visitor.

She didn't trust her voice, so she moved carefully to the door and opened it. Geraden stood outside.

Oh, terrific. That was just what she needed.

'I hope I'm not disturbing you,' he began at once. 'We didn't get a chance to talk yesterday. I wanted to tell you-'Then his smile faded. 'Are you all right? You look a little sick.'

Thanks to Master Eremis, the sight of the Apt made anxiety throb in her veins-which in turn threatened to split her head. 'It's the gown.' Her voice came out like a croak. 'Yellow isn't my colour.' Doggedly, she gave him a smile that felt like a crack across a porcelain vase, and invited him in.

Studying her, he said as soon as the door was closed, 'I tried to see you yesterday, but the guards told me to leave you alone. I couldn't help worrying.' Behind his concern, he looked self-conscious. 'How did your talk with Master Eremis go?'

She concentrated on keeping herself from groaning or shutting her eyes. 'Artagel told you?'

He nodded. 'He might have anyway. But you looked so bad when you came out of the cell, he felt he didn't have any choice.'

Then he must have told you what happened.' Her sudden bitterness surprised her. When had she begun to believe that she had the right to resent the way she was treated? 'I thought I was going to be able to accomplish something-I thought I was going to make a difference. I was going to persuade you to start cooperating with each other.' Instead, I'm supposed to spy on you, even though you're the only friend I've got left, now that Myste is gone. Even though you're the only one who cares about me enough to do anything. 'Instead, all I did was make a fool of myself.'

No, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't. The promise of a few intimate kisses didn't suffice. Geraden was too important to her. She would watch him, yes. But she wouldn't tell anyone what she learned. Not unless he did something which forced her to believe Master Eremis was right about him. And she would make the decision for herself. No matter what the Master offered her.

Unexpectedly, she felt better. In spite of her resolution, she found herself saying, 'I had too much to drink yesterday,' so that his feelings wouldn't be hurt. 'I suppose I was trying to drown my sorrows. My head feels like a football.'

This time there was a quirk of relief in his smile. 'I've done that a few times,' he admitted, pretending rue. 'I still don't know what made me think it was a good idea. I guess I'd just had more of my own fumble-footedness than I could stand.

'Anyway, I'm sorry that happened to you,' he added in a way which suggested it wasn't his biggest regret. Tor your sake, I wish he had listened to you.

Terisa, I-'

He stopped abruptly, and his eyes began to fill with tears. Suddenly, she thought that he had come to tell her something terrible. Instinctively defensive, she went back to the door and bolted it. Then she faced his troubled brown gaze.

'What's the matter, Geraden?'

'Nothing,' he said quickly. 'Nothing.' Too quickly. 'I mean, you survived, didn't you? It turned out all right.'

He couldn't sustain his pretence, however, 'I'm sorry.' His voice rasped, but he didn't turn away to hide what he was feeling. 'I'm really sorry. After we were rescued-after they got us out from underneath all that rock-Artagel took me back to my room. I drank quite a bit of wine myself. But when I went to sleep I kept having the same dream over and over again, exactly the same-' His expression twisted. 'For a long time, I thought it was a nightmare. It was the worst-'

He took a breath to steady himself. 'But I finally realized it wasn't a nightmare. I wasn't dreaming at all. I was just remembering.' He had to grit his teeth to make himself say, 'I was remembering that you almost got killed.'

Oh, is that all? She tried not to show her relief. What he was saying wasn't terrible after all.

That only happened because of me.' Now she stared at him.

'I brought you here,' he explained miserably. 'I don't know how to take you back where you belong. People want you dead. They want to manipulate you. And the champion-

'You went through that whole ordeal-you were buried alive and came within inches of being crushed to death-because of me.

'When I saw Castellan Lebbick harassing you, I wanted to club him with a chair. I'm sorry. That's what I should have done. Just to make him stop. It's my fault you got hit.

'If anything happens to you, it'll break my heart.'

If she had felt healthier, she might have laughed.- Instead, she put her hand on his arm, touched the muscles knotted along his bones. 'Geraden,' she protested, 'he would have snapped you in half. He wants somebody to defy him, so he can crush them.'

In response, he looked at her in pain; and she recognized that he needed a better answer than that. No one else had ever declared so much concern for her. It was strange, really-and endearing. He had nightmares because of her?

She did the best she could. 'You kept me sane. You were in as much trouble as I was. Worse. Master Gilbur nearly knocked your head off. But you were still able to hold me together. If you hadn't helped me, I would have lost my mind hours before we were rescued.'

She should have gone on-should've said, You and Myste are the only friends I've ever had. No one has ever been as good to me as you have. I'm glad I'm here. But that was too much for her self-consciousness, her fragile sense of herself. Awkwardly, she dropped her hand.

And yet she had to do something for him that would mean as much as a touch. Rather than attempting to match his declaration, she tried to joke with him. This has got to stop. I'm going to start rationing you. If you apologize to me more than once a day, I'll kick you.'

He peered at her dubiously, uncertain how to take her. 'Do you mean that? I know I apologize a lot. If you caused as much trouble as I do, you would too. So far, you're the only thing I haven't been wrong about. You shouldn't have to bear the brunt of my disasters.'

There was no question aboutMt: he deserved better from her. Trying to provide it, she looked straight into his eyes and said, 'You don't get me in trouble. You save me. Orison is full of disasters, but as far as I'm concerned you haven't caused any of them. You're one of the few people who wants to do something about them.

'You don't have anything to apologize for.'

He continued to study her warily. When she didn't drop her gaze, however, he began to relax. His shoulders lifted; the chagrin let go of his face; his eyes brightened as if they had been wiped clean. After a moment, he said softly, 'Thank you.'

Now her heart was eased. She was willing to fight the pain in her head if that enabled her to make him happier. Smiling more successfully, she sat down in one of the chairs near the fire, then gestured towards her tray. 'Have you had breakfast? I've got more than I can eat.'

He shook his head: he seemed to be suppressing a burst of exuberance, a desire to shout or sing or hug her. Moving with comic care, so that he wouldn't trip or lose his balance, he turned a chair to face hers and seated himself. Then he gleamed in humorous triumph, as if to say, And you thought I couldn't do it.

What he actually said, however, was, 'What did King Joyse want to talk to you about?'

She hoped without much optimism that her sudden surge of anxiety didn't show. In the press of more recent events, she had forgotten the question of what to tell him about her discussion with the King. He might be appalled by what she had discovered, deeply grieved to learn that his father's old friend and his own childhood hero was deliberately embarked on the destruction of Mordant. And Master Quillon had made a point of explaining that Geraden was still in danger from his nameless enemies, still liable to pay a high price for knowing too much. Or had Master Quillon come to Master Eremis' conclusion that Geraden himself was dangerous, not to be trusted? Were Eremis' reasons for his distrust that good?

When she didn't reply at once, Geraden went on, 'Being thrown out of his rooms like that wasn't exactly the highlight of my life.' He sounded incongruously cheerful, as if he wanted to encourage her, 'I didn't think the Tor would take his side.' He shrugged. 'On the other hand, I don't have any reason to believe I ever know what the Tor is going to do. I just want to understand. I want King Joyse to say something that makes sense.'

Terisa wasn't listening. The question in front of her was too complex to be answered casually. She needed more time to think. More time to watch. Unconscious of her own abruptness, she said, 'He wanted to talk about checkers some more.' Her headache was getting ahead of her. On impulse, she added, 'Elega was here.'

Geraden waited expectantly. When she didn't continue, he asked, The lady Elega? My former betrothed? When was that?'

She tried to clear her thoughts. Actually, she had a number of things she wanted to talk to Geraden about. Elega might be a safe place to start. If she could get her hangover under control.

'She was waiting here for me. When I got back from seeing Master Eremis.' 'What did she want?'

Terisa hesitated momentarily. Was she sure she wanted to say this to Geraden? Yes. She was already carrying too many questions alone.

With unexpected ire, she articulated distinctly, The lady Elega wanted to enlist me in a plot against her father.'

Geraden froze. 'What kind of plot?'

'I don't have any idea.' As fully as she could, she told him what had been said-and what she surmised. His eyes narrowed at Prince Kragen's name, but he listened without interrupting. Sourly, she concluded, That was why I didn't want any more visitors yesterday. I didn't want to take the chance I might hear anything else like that for a while.'

He frowned without speaking for a moment-long enough to make her wonder whether he believed her. She wanted him to believe her. The more secrets she kept, the more lies she told, the greater her need to be believed became, especially when she was being honest. Fortunately, he began to nod.

That's always worried me about her,' he murmured, brooding. 'I've always had the feeling she was more interested in what kings are than in what they do. More interested in the power than in what the power is for. She might be capable of some pretty unscrupulous decisions.'

'So you don't think I'm jumping to conclusions?'

'No.' His face was tense with thought. 'Not after your conversation with Prince Kragen. By that time, they had probably already agreed to approach you.'

'I wish I knew what they think I can do,' she complained simply because she felt like complaining. 'It's the same problem I have with everybody. Even you. You all think I can do something.' But her parents had never permitted her to whine; and she found she didn't care for the sound of it herself. 'I haven't showed much sign of it yet,' she finished.

Geraden went on musing morosely. 'What should we do?' he wondered. 'Should we tell King Joyse?'

Careful not to reveal too much, she countered, 'If we could get him to listen, do you think he would pay any attention?'

He let out a dejected sigh. 'Probably not.' Then he asked, 'What about Castellan Lebbick?'

She shrugged. 'I don't like telling him anything. I don't like the way he treats me.

'He'll certainly do something. He may or may not be able to stop her-but whatever he does will give away the fact that we told him. She'll know she can't trust me. That'll be the end of our chances to find out what she's doing.'

The Apt shot her a glance and a quick grin. Tor someone who can't do anything, you seemed determined to try. What's your suggestion?'

She was about to say, I don't have any idea, when she had what felt like an inspiration. 'You could ask Argus and Ribuid to keep an eye on her.'

He blinked at the unexpected notion. They didn't exactly enjoy what happened the last time they did me a favour,' he muttered, thinking aloud. 'But this time Artagel is here to back me up. They might be willing-especially if they can think of a way to do it without making Castellan Lebbick suspicious.' He met Terisa's gaze as he added, 'It might be worth it. If we can just learn how she intends to communicate with Prince Kragen, that'll be an improvement.

'I'll ask them.' The decision brought back his sense of humour. With a mischievous glint, he commented, They may try to talk you into making it worth their while. You can guess what that means. The worst they can do to me is say no.'

Smiling at him was becoming easier. Her headache had begun to recede. And her anxiety had returned to relief. The sensation that here, at least, was one subject on which she wasn't alone- and on which Geraden agreed with her-was a positive pleasure. When he smiled back, she felt good enough to broach another of her many areas of incomprehension.

That conversation I had with Prince Kragen reminds me. What's an 'arch-Imager'?'

Her question made Geraden sit up straighter. 'It reminds you -? What connection-?' Almost at once, however, he pushed down his confusion, unwilling to give his questions precedence over hers, 'An arch-Imager is someone who has mastered what we consider the apex of translation-the ability to pass safely through flat glass. As far as we know, only one man has ever done it-the arch-Imager Vagel.

'In theory, the difficulty is that translation changes whatever it touches. When the translation involves a passage between separate worlds-or, if Master Eremis is right'-he grimaced- 'between our world and Images which are known not to exist in our world-the changes are appropriate. For instance, they solve the problems of language and breathing. But when you pass through a flat glass, you don't actually go anywhere. I mean, you move from place to place, but you stay in the same world. So you don't need

to be changed. But you are anyway.' He looked down at his hands. 'It made Adept Havelock mad.

Theoretically, if you looked into a flat mirror that showed you to yourself-in other words, a mirror that was focused on the exact spot where you were standing, so that you were also in the Image looking out at yourself-you would go into a kind of translation cycle, passing simultaneously back and forth between yourself and your Image, changing literally without going anywhere. Probably nobody who looked at you would be able to see the difference. But your mind would be gone. Not just mad. Taken away.

'I still don't know how I survived seeing myself in that room where I found you. I have to believe mirrors are different in your world. Or you're the most powerful Imager we've ever heard of.

'Anyway, the other important point is that the capacity to be an arch-Imager seems to be just that-a capacity. It isn't a skill you can learn, it's a talent you're born with. If it were a skill, Havelock would have mastered it somehow. 'The Adept' isn't an honorary title. He earned it by being better at translations than anybody else. In particular, he was better at working translations with mirrors he didn't make. I can't even work them with mirrors I did make.

'Does that answer your question?'

Terisa nodded. She was trying to make what he told her fit her experience.

Then answer mine. What does all this have to do with your conversation with Prince Kragen?'

'Oh, that. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be cryptic. It just seems like this is crucial somehow. I was talking to him right before we were attacked. That's why it reminded me.'

Then she got to the point of her question. 'When Artagel examined the dead men-the ones who vanished later-he said he found an insignia-a 'sigil'-that meant they were Cadwals. They were Apts of the High King's Monomach. But when they attacked, they seemed to come out of nowhere. And when the rest of them were dead, their leader didn't have to run away. He just disappeared.

'He and his men must have come and gone through a flat mirror. But isn't that impossible? The Perdon and Prince Kragen decided Vagel must be involved, but that doesn't explain it. If passing through a flat glass safely is a matter of talent rather than training, then all of those men must have been arch-Imagers.'

And, now that she thought about it, how had Master Gilbur contrived to elude the Castellan? If it was conceivable that the man in black and Master Gilbur were allies, surely it was also conceivable that the Master had disappeared in the same way?

For a long moment, Geraden regarded her thoughtfully. 'You know,' he said with a wry chuckle, 'a lifetime ago, when I was still a new Apt, and I believed I was going to accomplish glorious things, I used to lie awake at night stewing about questions like that. And I came up with an idea that might work,

'First you shape a flat glass which just happens to be focused exactly where you want it.' He shrugged humorously. 'A trivial problem for the Imager I intended to be. Then you make another mirror-a normal one this time-that just happens to show a world which is essentially inert. No people or animals-and preferably no weather-to interfere with what you're doing. Then you translate the first mirror into the second and position it so that it fills as much of the Image as possible. And then-if the first mirror hasn't changed-and if it's actually possible to work two translations almost simultaneously-you might be able to pass through and keep your mind in one piece.'

He grinned. 'Ingenious, don't you think?'

'Yes.' Actually, she thought it was more than ingenious: she thought it was brilliant. But some of the implications-'It would take two people, wouldn't it? One to translate the other?'

'Not to go. But it would to come back. That's true of any translation.'

Therefore if Master Gilbur had escaped by the same device which had saved the man in black, then Geraden was proven innocent. Everyone in Orison was innocent (especially Geraden -but also Master Eremis, who was locked up in the dungeon and had no access to mirrors) because they were here rather than wherever the mirrors were located. They could not have pulled Master Gilbur away.

Almost shivering, she said, 'I wish there was some way we could find out what really happened. If your idea is right, Master Gilbur probably left Orison the same way the men who attacked me came in.'

'But who did the translation?'

'Could it have been Vagel? That makes sense now-or it does as long as there actually is some way to move people around Mordant by Imagery without making them lose their minds.'

The Apt threw up his hands. 'I don't know. For years, everybody thought the arch-

Imager was dead. Now they all think he's alive.

'But you know,' he went on, looking at her appraisingly, a hint of eagerness rising in his voice, 'there might be a way to verify that Imagery was involved when you were attacked. There might even'-he sat forward-'be a way to check out my idea.'

She watched him closely as he explained. Excitement animated his face, making it more and more attractive to her.

'Obviously, there's a lot we don't know about Imagery. Some things seem like they might be theoretically possible, but we've never had any way to test them. For instance, it's theoretically possible that an Imager with a certain kind of talent might be sensitive to mirrors from the other side. I mean, if he were to walk into a place that you could see in some mirror somewhere else, he would be able to feel it. He would know he was in an Image.

'Of course, you have to assume the Image actually exists. Otherwise what you see in a flat glass is just a copy of something real, and there would be nothing to feel.

'But if he could feel it'-Geraden jumped to his feet, no longer able to sit still-'then it's also theoretically possible that he might be able to work the translation from the other side. Do you see what that means? He could just step out of the Image into wherever the mirror happened to be.'

As he spoke, her heart began to beat faster. His excitement took her with him. 'If you're right,' she said slowly, 'then it wouldn't have to take two people. Master Gilbur could do it alone. He could come and go from Orison whenever he pleased.'

'Yes!' returned Geraden impatiently. 'But that's not the point. The point is that it might be possible.' In his enthusiasm, he gripped the arms of her chair so that he could look into her face closely. 'It might be possible for you.'

Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance. Their foreheads cracked together with a sound like breaking-bone.

'Oh, Terisa, I'm sorry!' he sputtered. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' One hand clapped to his head, he reached out to her with the other. 'Are you all right? I'm so sorry.'

Just for an instant, the whole room looked like it was on fire. Then the hot red and orange flames resolved themselves into flares of pain across her vision, and her skull began to clang as if he had used it for a gong.

But she hadn't been hit as hard as all that: her hangover accentuated the blow. When

she was sure that her forehead was neither crushed nor bleeding, she pushed Geraden's apologetic hand away. Rising purposefully to her feet even though she now had an entire carillon ringing between her ears, she did her best to kick one of his shins.

First he gaped at her as though she had lost her mind. Then he let out a shout of laughter.

'I warned you,' she muttered through the pain. It was starting to decline: she was almost able to hear herself, 'One apology a day. That's all you get.' Helpless to spare herself, she was laughing as well. 'I'm not some lord or Master you can trifle with.'

Gales of glee rose from him.

'Please don't make me laugh.' Weakly, she lowered herself back into her chair. 'My head is going to split open.'

He took a deep breath to control his mirth. When he was able to stop laughing, he came over to her. Cupping his palm to her cheek, he kissed her bruised forehead tenderly.

For a moment, she thought he would lower his mouth to hers. If she could have stifled the throbbing in her skull, she would have tilted her head back to meet him halfway. But the pain wasn't fading quickly enough. She didn't know whether to be relieved or vexed when he withdrew to his chair.

Terisa,' he repeated quietly, 'it might be possible for you.'

She sighed and closed her eyes. With both hands, she massaged the back of her neck. 'You must have broken something in your head. That's the craziest idea you've had yet.'

'Not really,' he replied good-naturedly. 'It's only an idea, of course. But you want to know why you're here-what you can do. Well, we can't teach you enough about making mirrors to find out if you can be an ordinary Imager. The Masters made it clear that they won't stand for it-and they control the laborium. But maybe you have a different kind of talent. Maybe that's why I was drawn to you when all the rule| of Imagery should have taken me to the champion.

'We could try to find out, anyway. What have we got to lose?' Opening her eyes, she stared at him hard. 'You're serious,

aren't you?' He didn't look like a man who had just become dangerously insane. 'You think there might be some way to test what you're saying? To 'verify'-?'

He nodded brightly.

Maybe you have a different kind of talent. Unexpectedly, her headache became less important. 'I'm almost afraid to ask how?'

Excitement gathered in him again, and his gaze shone. Making an effort to be reasonable, he said, 'I hope you understand that I don't really know any more about this than you do. It's only theory. And most of the Masters wouldn't even be interested. Shaping mirrors takes too much practical research and effort.' Then his enthusiasm broke out, pulling him once more to his feet. 'But all we have to do is go back to where you were attacked. Once we're in the right vicinity, all you have to do is move around slowly and concentrate on what you feel.'

The responses he aroused in her were so unfamiliar that she didn't know what to call them. Was this fear or eagerness? Her question was more complex than it sounded as she asked, 'What am I expected to feel?'

'Who knows?' he replied, unaware of the extent of her confusion. 'But it'll probably be subtle. A slight tugging sensation? An impression that something in front of you looks blurred? That sick feeling some people get when they look down off a cliff?

'If you don't feel anything, it won't prove anything. You might or might not have talent. Imagery might or might not be involved.' He chuckled. 'We might or might not be in the right place. But if you do feel something-' He made a visible effort to appear calm. 'That would be interesting.

'Do you want to try it? Shall we go?'

For a moment, she couldn't answer. Peering into the fire, she almost heard a voice saying, That's the stupidest thing you've said today. Stop wasting my time. It sounded like her father's voice. And she knew what her mother would have said. Little girls don't do things like that.

Things like that.

What if Geraden were right?

If he were wrong, there would be no problem. Nothing in her life would change. But if he were right-she would never be the same again.

'It isn't that simple,' she murmured. 'I don't think I can find the place again. I was only there once. And-and my mind was on other things.'

His brief hesitation before he spoke suggested that he was paying strict attention to her now, that he had realized the importance of the issue he raised. 'We can solve that problem,' he said carefully. 'We can ask Artagel to help us. He'll remember the exact spot.' Then softly he repeated his earlier question. Terisa, what have you got to lose?'

She wanted to say, My self. Who I am. But that seemed impossibly melodramatic. Why was she taking all this so seriously? As a treatment for headache, it worked admirably: her head still hurt; but now she was able to forget about it. On the other hand, the danger she apparently feared was so improbable that she should have considered it silly. Really, she ought to have more common sense.

Intending a flippant retort, she faced Geraden.

His intent demeanour stopped her: he was looking at her as he might have looked at someone who was about to risk her life. He had made a leap of empathy that carried him into the centre of her fear. In a husky voice, as if he were full of pity, he said, 'I would take you back to your world if I knew how. You know that.'

For an instant, something like grief rose in her throat. In his eyes, she saw a sharp awareness of what she had lost. He had already cost her her former life. Now he asked her to risk her sense of herself, the little she understood about who she was.

Mustering a smile, she said, 'Yes, I know. Don't you dare apologize.' Then she stood up. Whatever happened, she had no intention of wasting his friendship. 'Maybe the exercise will do me good.'

The pleasure in his face was so brilliant that she nearly started laughing again.

They found Artagel in one of the halls near her tower. By then, she had discovered that exercise made her head hurt worse at first; but by degrees circulating blood seemed to cleanse her brain, and she began to feel better. Thinking about Geraden's brother, she wondered if he had any system for keeping an eye on her. The hall where they found him didn't look like an especially logical station for a bodyguard. On the other hand, they had no trouble locating him.

He greeted her with a humorous bow and a comradely comment on her questionable appearance. Geraden defended her with mock indignation and received for his pains a cuff on the shoulder which did him no appreciable damage. Then he explained what he had in mind-leaving out, she thought, most of the salient details-and asked for Artagel's help.

Artagel took this more grimly than Terisa had expected. -Thank your good fortune,' he snapped, 'the lady Terisa doesn't remember how to find that place. Did you leave your

brains under that pile of rubble? Or maybe you just forgot she was attacked down there by Apts of the High King's Monomach. It's even possible Gart himself was among them.' He digressed momentarily. 'I would hate to think anyone less could give me that much trouble.' Then he resumed, 'What were you planning to do if she was attacked again? Ask them nicely to go away?'

'Not exactly.' His brother's anger clearly didn't trouble Geraden. 'I thought I would just ask them to wait until you caught up with us.

Actually,' he explained, 'they probably can't attack us. They won't be ready for us. They don't have any way of knowing what we're doing-and I'm sure they don't spend all their time crouched in front of the mirror waiting for a likely victim to appear by coincidence. We should be safe.'

In spite of himself, Artagel was mollified. 'You're too clever for your own good. But it does happen that I don't have anything better to do this morning.' Without apparent difficulty, he forgot his anger and grinned at Terisa. 'My lady,' he said formally, offering her his arm, 'shall we go?'

When she accepted, he gave Geraden a smile of good-humoured malice and swept her away, leaving his brother to tag .iong behind.

As he followed, Geraden's face wore an expression of lopsided fondness. After all, she reflected, he had six older brothers- and all of them probably delighted in teasing him. The way he looked now gave another lift to her spirits. He and Artagel made it easy for her to think she was doing the right thing.

As she returned to the damp, disused passages among the foundations of Orison, however, she began to reconsider. She didn't have fond memories of this place. The endless dripping of water promised peril. Although there were enough lanterns to enable Artagel to find his way, their scattered and distant reflections in the puddles and smears of water on the floor gave the stone an evil aspect, as though dark secrets were hidden behind the gleams. The echo of bootheels chased the silence down side passages and around corners until she felt irrationally sure that she was being stalked. The warmth of day never reached down this far, and the air felt colder than she remembered it: certainly, more of the moisture had become ice. Whenever she or her companions broke the surface of a frozen puddle, the ice crackled like fire.

And if Geraden were right-if by some strange chance she had the kind of talent he described-

She clung to Artagel's arm harder than she realized. Apparently thinking she was cold, he draped the edge of his grey cloak over her shoulders.

'Whoever made that mirror,' Geraden commented like whistling in the dark, 'was either very lucky or very good. It's hard to imagine anyone accidentally shaping a mirror that shows this part of Orison. On the other hand, it isn't exactly easy to figure out how he could have made it deliberately. Even the best Masters have to do decades of research to get what they want.'

'I hope you know what you're doing,' muttered Terisa nervously. 'I don't like this at all.'

Artagel gave her a little hug. 'He probably does. The only time you really have to worry about him is when he looks like he has everything under control.'

She wanted Geraden to reply, but he didn't. After a moment, she asked, 'Who keeps these lanterns lit?'

Her escort shrugged. 'Servants.'

'But why?' she pursued. 'Hasn't this whole area been abandoned?'

'Well, not quite abandoned, I've heard that many of the damp, cold rooms down here are used to store wine. If we just knew which ones, we could die happy. And I know for a fact that the Castellan uses sections of this place to train his guards, especially in winter.

'Besides,' he added wryly, 'I think he hates the dark. He might put lanterns here even if no one but the people who took care of them came here from one year to the next.'

The thought of Castellan Lebbick wasn't much comfort. 'How much farther?' she asked.

'We're almost there.' Artagel sounded nonchalant; but when she glanced at him she saw wariness in the flicker of his eyes, the movement of his head. 'Lebbick must have had the floor cleaned. Otherwise you could see the blood by now.'

He was right. After another dozen paces, the look of the corridor began to match her memory of it, despite the absence of blood.

'Here,' she said softly. Even though she understood that sound didn't pass through mirrors, she was viscerally afraid of being overheard by unfriendly ears. This was the place. She could almost detect the residual tremor of her own fear, vibrations left over from the man in black's assault. 'It was here.'

'Yes.' Artagel stopped, turned. Then he moved her until her back touched one wall. 'You were there.' With a gesture, he indicated the passage. 'We fought there.' The obscure illumination made his face as grim as his voice. The Perdon and Prince Kragen came from the other side. They rescued us.' Abruptly, he confronted his brother, 'I'm not sure you realize,' he grated through his teeth, 'that bastard beat me-whoever he was. The last time that happened, I was a lot younger than you are now.'

Light gleamed dimly across Geraden's forehead as though he were sweating in spite of the cold. 'Somehow,' he muttered, 'I'm sure you'll get a chance to try him again. I just hope it doesn't come today. I won't be very good at rescuing you.

'But this isn't what we're looking for.' He moved past his brother and peered at Terisa through the gloom. 'We need to find the exact point of translation. If there is one.

'Where did they come from?'

She closed her eyes. She had been walking with Prince Kragen. He had been talking about Elega. One bodyguard was ahead of them: the other, behind. She heard a quiet leather sound-a sword leaving a sheath? Then the men charged forward. The black leather of their armour made them difficult to see. Their naked swords were more distinct, glinting lanternlight-

There,' she breathed and opened her eyes. She was pointing at what appeared to be a dark side passage diagonally across the corridor from her. They came out of there.'

'Good.' Geraden was whispering as though he, too, feared being overheard. 'Let's take a look.'

His breath left a wreath of steam in the air as he moved away.

Artagel had his sword out: it seemed to flex with the movement of his wrist. He touched her arm with his free hand, and she went with him after Geraden.

The way ahead remained black. If it was a side passage, it was too short to merit a lantern of its own. Illumination reflecting from the main corridor faded rapidly. After a moment, Artagel asked, 'Do you want to wait while I get us a light?'

'No,' hissed Geraden. 'If there is a mirror focused here, light will just make it easier for us to be seen.'

Artagel nodded. He was keeping Terisa positioned between him and the wall, to reduce the number of directions from which she could be threatened.

'Concentrate,' Geraden said to her over his shoulder. The point of translation could be anywhere. Try to feel it. Forget everything else and just try to feel it.'

'Concentrate yourself,' she retorted. Her whisper came out hoarsely. T'm not the only one who doesn't know what his talents are.'

Geraden paused for a second. 'Good point.'

Artagel flashed her a grin she could barely see in the thickening dark.

This is silly, she enunciated to herself. All three of them were supposed to be adults- yet here they were, groping their way down a blind hall looking for some place where the air or the stone or who knew what would give one of them twinges. We must be out of our minds. If somebody had jumped at her and said, Boo! she would have screamed.

That idea made her want to giggle.

It distracted her. She didn't realize what was happening until a touch of cold as thin as a feather and as sharp as steel slid straight through the centre of her abdomen.

Before she could react-before she could try to shout a warning -a man stepped out of the wall. His body felt like a block of stone as he collided with her heavily, knocking her against Artagel.

Artagel clinched her arm. 'Back!' he snapped, 'back to the light!' and flung her away from him.

At once, the cold sensation vanished. She didn't notice the difference.

She stumbled, caught her balance. Where was Geraden? Every muscle in her body wanted to run; but she turned in time to see Artagel thrust Geraden after her while threatening a shadowy figure with his blade.

Urgently, she raced for the main passage and the lanterns.

Geraden was faster: he was beside her when he reached the corridor. He steered her to the right, towards the nearer lantern. Their momentum took them to the opposite wall, to the place where she had fallen and waited for the man in black to kill her. There they both whirled to see what was happening to Artagel.

He came into the light with his sword still poised between him and the obscure figure.

No, it wasn't one figure: she saw two. Three. Four. They moved slowly, massively; the menace of Artagel's blade didn't hinder them.

Four. That was bad. But at least there weren't any more. As they reached the light, she saw that they did in fact look like men. They had the heads and faces and limbs of men. Their nakedness showed that they had the bodies of men. Their arms were extended for embraces.

But their eyes were dead. And under their skin lumps the size of hands moved visibly- lumps which couldn't be muscle.

They carried no weapons, however. And their movements were so leaden that Artagel would surely be able to handle them.

He retreated in the other direction, trying to lead them away. His fighting grin was absent. Behind his perplexity, his eyes hinted at horror.

The four men ignored him. As they emerged from the side passage, they headed for Terisa and Geraden.

Artagel shouted to distract them. They ignored that as well. They might have been deaf. Lumbering woodenly, they went after their chosen object.

In an effort to turn them, he struck. His sword whirled and flashed and came down on the wrist of the leading figure with such force that Terisa winced, expecting to see the hand flop to the stone.

But the hand didn't fall. There wasn't any blood. Instead, the skin of the wrist peeled back from the point of the blow, revealing an insect like a monstrous cockroach where the bones of the hand should have been.

The skin withered away; the insect dropped from the wrist-stump to the floor.

It tasted the air with its feelers for a second, worked its mandibles, then scurried towards Terisa and Geraden.

At the same time, a second insect started to squirm out of the lumbering figure's wrist. The skin of the wrist withered, as if the cockroach inside it were all that had preserved it as living tissue.

Terisa would have screamed if she could have found her voice. But the insect was faster than the heavy body or host which had carried it; and Geraden had shouted at her, grabbed her arm, he was trying to tug her away; and some residue of the incisive cold

which had presaged this assault seemed to knot up her chest, so that she was hardly able to breathe.

While the second insect dropped to the floor from the tattered flesh of the figure's wrist, a third fought into view out of his forearm.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from what was happening: Geraden had to drag her backward. She saw wild revulsion in Artagel's eyes as he sprang to the attack.

One high hard blow of his sword bit into the nearest figure's shoulder at the base of the neck, cutting deeply through the man's chest. Another-so quick that it seemed to be part of the first-came around from the other side, licking murderously far between his ribs.

But there was no blood. He didn't fall.

Like a rotten husk, his torso split open. His head continued staring straight ahead; his legs continued walking stiffly, heavily, down the corridor after his fellows-and dozens and dozens of cockroaches came tumbling out of his ruptured chest and abdomen.

For an instant, they seethed around each other, searching for a scent. Then they ran like a rush of blood after Terisa and Geraden.

Abruptly, the man's head burst, scattering a knot of insects among the rest. After that, his legs seemed to lose their way. They tottered to the side, hit the wall and fell over, while more and more huge cockroaches swarmed out of the crumbling remains of his waist and hips and thighs.

Soon there was nothing left of him except hurrying insects.

Terisa heard Artagel swearing in vicious desperation, as if he were about to vomit. Terisa!' Geraden hauled on her arm. 'Run!'

Transfixed by Artagel's attack and its result, she hadn't realized how much she was hindering Geraden-how swiftly the insects were moving. The nearest one had nearly reached the skirt of her gown.

Gasping, she whirled away.

For a few strides, she ran, ran with all her heart. But then she had to stop and turn, to see-

Artagel had put away his sword. With his face clenched and bleak, his lower lip bitten

between his teeth, he came up behind one of the remaining figures, stooped rapidly, hooked his hands around the squirming ankles, and pulled as hard as he could.

The man toppled forward with the slow, unreactive violence of felled timber.

When he hit the floor, the impact broke his whole body open. All the insects which had packed themselves into his flesh were released at once.

They flooded the passage from wall to wall. Lanternlight gleamed and glinted on their dark backs; they formed a flowing current as they sped forward, champing their mandibles for the flesh of their victims.

Terisa fled again.

Geraden ran with her. 'We can keep ahead of them,' he panted. His chest heaved, urgent for air. 'Don't stop. We can outrun them.'

'How far?' Her heart was on fire, as if she had already run for miles. She seemed to be suffocating on fear and cold. 'How far can you run?'

Tar enough,' he promised grimly. Yet he sounded like each breath he took hurt his lungs.

She stopped near a lantern and looked back. She and Geraden were twenty or thirty feet ahead of the leading cockroaches. From this angle, the whole floor of the passage seemed to boil with menace as the insects rushed forward. Behind them, the figure Artagel had struck first was just finishing his collapse,

releasing the last of his occupants among the swarm. The remaining man increased his pace to keep up with the hunting torrent.

Artagel followed in a frenzy. 'Geraden!' His call echoed down the corridor like a wail. 'What can I do? Tell me what to do!'

'No,' Terisa rasped. She fought for air, but was too frightened to get it. 'I can't run far enough. We don't know where we're going. If we get out of here, we'll just lead these things into Orison.'

In response, Geraden gave her a look of pure anguish.

'We've got to fight somehow,' she said as if a total stranger were talking, someone who had no acquaintance with the panic which hammered in her heart, the dread and revulsion that twisted her stomach. 'We've got to fight.'

For one more moment while the cockroaches rushed closer, he stared at her as though he were about to start sobbing. Then he gave an inarticulate shout like a cry of battle and leaped for the lantern.

Wrenching it from its hooks regardless of the way the heated iron scorched his hands, he flung it at the insects.

It hit in a splash of burning oil, and a dozen or more of the creatures caught fire.

They burned almost instantly, spouting flames as bright as torches: they were incendiary in some way. After two or three heartbeats, nothing remained of them except bits of charred carapace-

-nothing except a black vapour which rose into the air and spread quickly.

It smelled like a strong combination of formaldehyde and partially digested meat; and it clawed at Terisa's throat and lungs like acid. Gagging, she doubled over: the spasm which gripped her chest was too fierce to let her cough.

The passage had gone dim without the lantern, but she was close enough to the floor to see the nearest cockroaches scuttling rabidly forward, unconcerned by a few deaths. She had to run, had to-

She couldn't. It was impossible. She could not break the hold of that black vapour on the inside of her chest.

Retching hard enough to crack his ribs, Geraden got his arms around her and somehow found the strength to lift her off her feet. With her convulsed weight awkward in his embrace, he stumbled away, struggling to outrun the insects again.

In a few strides, he set her down to see if she could carry herself now. She snatched a whooping breath, and the spasm began to unclench. Still clinging to him for support, she fled farther before turning to look back.

She was in time to see Artagel run up with a lantern which he must have retrieved from the opposite direction and throw it like a madman at the head of the last erect attacker.

He didn't know his danger: he was too far away to have seen accurately what had happened to Geraden and her. But she couldn't shout a warning. Her raw throat could barely whisper his name as the lantern hit and broke-and the lumbering figure went up in flames, burning with such sudden fury that he seemed incandescent-and the spouting black exhalations of that many insects engulfed Artagel, causing him to collapse as

effectively as a sword-thrust in the belly. 'Artagel,' croaked Geraden. 'Artagel.'

Terisa watched Artagel and the insects while her fear turned to a cold, dark anger. This time, she was the one who grabbed at Geraden's arm and pulled. 'Come on.' Her voice was only a scrape of pain in her throat; but now the chill seemed to be doing her some good, slowly numbing the hurt of the black vapour. 'Come on.'

Ahead, she saw that the corridor came to a T, branching left and right. More light seemed to emanate from the right than from the left.

When she reached the T, she scanned both passages to ascertain that there was in fact a lantern nearby off to the right. Then she released Geraden. The cockroaches were after her. They had come through the same mirror which the man in black had used to attack her. She was the only person she knew who had active enemies.

'Get the lantern,' she choked out. 'I'll lead them away.'

He gaped at her as though his brother's fall had cost him his wits.

Urgently, she pushed him into motion. 'Go! I'll lead them away. You follow. Every lantern we pass, you can kill a few more. Just don't breathe that vapour.'

At last, he appeared to understand. He moved into the right-hand corridor a few steps ahead of the cockroaches.

Retreating backwards so that she could see what he did, she went to the left. Unfortunately, her assumption was mistaken. The entire swarm swept after Geraden,

ignoring her completely.

Geraden-

Her anger crumbled into horror and incomprehension. The strength ran out of her: she nearly sank to her knees. Slowly, she raised her hands to her mouth, and fear filled her eyes.

He didn't realize his danger until he reached the lantern, unhooked it, and turned back. Then he saw the oncoming rush. For a second, he was paralysed. Dismay wiped the combative stubbornness off his face. His hands lowered the lantern: it looked like it was about to fall.

One of her knees failed. She lost her balance and stumbled to the floor, breaking the ice which scummed a wide puddle. Water soaked into her gown. She wasn't even on her feet when she heard him howl, Terisa! Get help!'

But she was watching him, watching with all she had left, yearning for him in voiceless desperation, as Adept Havelock arrived at his side and levelled a beam of light against the onslaught.

Apparently, the mad old Imager had been waiting in the hall for just this purpose. The reflections from his eyes danced insanely; but his movements betrayed none of the erratic frenzy, the hysteria of intent, which she had seen in the past: they were deft and sure, almost calm.

One hand took hold of Geraden's collar and pulled him back; the other directed his beam at the seething cockroaches.

Terisa was past surprise, so she noticed as if it were a matter of course that the Adept's weapon was the same small piece of glass he had used before to light her way and save her life. Now, however, that mirror shone much more hotly: its light was as fierce as fire. More powerfully than burning oil, it ignited the insects. They took flame and were incinerated almost instantly, popping like firecrackers as they died.

Then billowing black vapour filled the corridor so thickly that the illumination of Geraden's lantern was obscured. Only Adept Havelock's fire was bright enough to show through the sudden midnight as the beam swept the floor and cockroaches by the hundreds burned.

At the last moment, Terisa remembered to hold her breath. For what felt like a long time-a dozen heartbeats-two dozen

-the Adept's light moved swiftly and methodically over the stone, boiling the damp to steam in order to achieve the death of each insect. Of course, the creatures simplified this process by marching with mindless determination in Geraden's direction: Adept Havelock didn't need to be concerned that any of them would sneak past him along the walls-or would turn and flee. Nevertheless he was careful, and so the cleansing of the passage took time. She felt her mind going giddy as she wondered whether the Adept had enough sense-or Geraden enough self-awareness

-to stop breathing.

Then the vapour became thick enough to block even Adept Havelock's beam. The air began to sting her eyes. She lowered her forehead to the floor. The ache of her bruise against the cold stone gave her a focal point for her concentration; and she clung to it so

that she wouldn't breathe.

Unexpectedly, something nudged her shoulder.

Believing in panic that she had been found by one of the cockroaches, she flipped to the side and gasped for air so that she could scream.

Adept Havelock stood over her, dressed as usual in his worn surcoat and tattered chasuble. His light played on the ceiling, filling the corridor.

He looked like a dangerous lunatic. His disfocused eyes bulged; the few remaining tufts of his hair protruded wildly. His fleshy grin was gleeful and lecherous. Behind the dirty stubble on his cheeks, his skin seemed to be turning purple.

As she began to cough, however, he let his own breath out with a burst and started breathing again. The air made him cough as well, and a few tears trickled from his eyes; but his eyes stopped bulging almost at once, and his skin lost its purple intensity.

'I see,' he rasped hoarsely, 'that the air is now tolerable. It was kind of you to sample it for me.'

Geraden stumbled into her range of vision. His eyes were raw, and the difficulty of breathing showed on his face. Nevertheless he was on his feet. As soon as he saw that she, too, would survive, he groaned, 'Artagel,' and pushed himself into a coughing run towards his brother.

'Artagel?' Although one of Havelock's eyes leered, the other was sane and serious. His nose, as fierce and ascetic as a hawk's beak, made every word he uttered count. 'Was he caught in this trap as well?'

'Back there.' A spasm of retching racked Terisa. After that, however, the pain in her lungs eased, and she was able to breathe more normally. With an effort, she climbed to her hands and knees, then to her feet. 'He tried to save us. That vapour got him.'

'Balls of a goat!' the Adept snapped. At once, he strode away. Struggling not to be left behind, she reeled after him.

Slowly, her balance improved as the effects of the vapour faded. She was nearly steady as she and Adept Havelock reached Geraden.

He didn't notice them. He sat on the floor, cradling Artagel's head in his arms.

Artagel's face was mottled with exertion and pain, and his eyes gaped at the ceiling as though he had gone blind. But he was breathing.

Her relief was so acute that her eyes spilled tears.

Stooping to Geraden, Adept Havelock tapped him crisply on the shoulder. 'Come along, Geraden. Carry him if you have to. I don't like staying this close to that translation point. Who knows how many more surprises Vagel has for us? I'll take you somewhere safe.'

Geraden hugged his brother harder and didn't move, Terisa couldn't tell whether he had heard the Adept.

As if he were making a concession, the old Imager said, 'I have some wine. I think it'll help him.' Then he lost patience. 'Horror and bollocks, boy! If you're attacked again, I might not be able to save you!'

Still Geraden didn't move. But Artagel jerked his head in a nod as if he understood. When Terisa took hold of his arm and tried to pull him upright, he made a feeble effort to assist her.

Roughly, Geraden rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he helped Terisa lift his brother off the stone.

'Come along,' repeated Havelock. With a brisk stride, he moved away.

Supporting Artagel between them, Terisa and Geraden followed. Artagel was unable to keep his feet under him; but she heard an improvement in his breathing. He was beginning to sound like he would live.

She found that she was completely disoriented: she had no idea where Adept Havelock was taking them. After a short distance, he entered a side passage which led at once to a sturdy wooden door that looked like the entrance to a storeroom. In fact, it was the entrance to a storeroom. The storeroom, however, appeared to be full of nothing but empty crates in various stages of disrepair. Adept Havelock ignored them as he picked his way to another door hidden in a niche at the back of the room.

This door looked ordinary enough from the outside; but inside it held enough bars and bolts to seal a dungeon. Havelock shut it behind Terisa, Geraden, and Artagel, then led them down a passage which opened almost immediately into a room crowded with a disarray of mirrors.

'King Joyse confiscated most of these during his wars,' the Adept explained off-

handedly as he crossed the room to another corridor, 'After he created the Congery, he restored quite a few mirrors to the Masters. But he kept more than he gave up.

'I wish they did me some good.'

The sight astonished Geraden out of his distress, at least for a moment. Adept Havelock had the only light, however, and he left the room promptly. Terisa and Geraden followed with Artagel.

After two or three turns, as many short hallways, and another door, they suddenly found themselves in the large, square room where Terisa had listened to Master Quillon explain the history of Mordant's need.

The place appeared unchanged: it was still furnished and cluttered like the study of a man whose mind had gone. Lamps set into the walls and the central pillar shed plenty of light towards the doors which lined the walls, giving admittance to Orison's secret passages.

Perhaps because she was suffering from reaction, Terisa was struck by the odd thought that Adept Havelock resembled a spider. This room was the centre of his web; the secret passages were the strands. Now she and Geraden and Artagel had been caught-

She wondered what the Adept was plotting.

He bustled away behind the pillar. While he was out of sight, Terisa and Geraden helped Artagel to one of the chairs at the checkerboard table. Artagel's breathing still had a thick tubercular wheeze that was painful to hear; but he was strong enough to take notice of his surroundings. With an effort, he choked out, 'Does he live here?'

'Looks like it,' replied Terisa vaguely. She still wasn't ready to tell anyone that she had been here before.

'I wish I knew what he was doing with all those mirrors,' Geraden muttered. Fear and strain and bafflement gave him a feverish look.

Carrying a large flagon, Adept Havelock returned.

At last she had an opportunity to observe him more closely. He conveyed an impression of suppressed haste, as though he were trying to resist the acceleration of some internal process. His movements were deliberate, tightly controlled; but his eyes flicked from side to side with a discernible rhythm, like a heartbeat being gradually goaded faster by adrenalin.

He handed the flagon directly to Artagel. 'Drink it all. It's going to taste terrible. I put some balm in it to heal your throat.' Brusquely, he addressed Geraden. 'Make sure he drinks it all. If he recovers, make him play hop-board with you.' He indicated his empty checkerboard table. 'You need the practice. I want to talk to the lady.'

Without waiting for a reaction, he took Terisa's arm and drew her away, around the pillar until she could no longer see Geraden and Artagel.

When he stopped, however, he didn't speak. His eyes took turns flicking towards her and off again, flicking-their rhythm and the aftertaste of black vapour made her stomach queasy. A grimace clenched his sybaritic mouth, as if he had taken a vow not to let himself grin at her. Slowly, he raised his scrawny old arms and folded them across his chest.

From beyond the pillar came harsh gagging noises. The wine must have been worse than terrible. Fortunately, the noises soon ceased.

Facing the Adept alone, Terisa felt a strong desire to become hysterical. That would solve a number of problems. It would give her an escape from his loony gaze. It would provide a much-needed rest. It would free her from the responsibility of trying to figure out what was going on. But he had saved her life. He had saved Geraden. And he clearly had some kind of purpose for bringing her here. In return, she had to make some kind of effort to rise to the occasion.

Swallowing hard to clear her throat, she said, 'You're not really as crazy as people think.'

In response, he let out a bark of laughter. 'Oh, yes I am. This is just one of my lucid moments, Quillon told you I have lucid moments. This is one of them.'

Abruptly, he unfolded one age-spotted hand from his chest to stab his index finger in her direction. The important thing,' he whispered intensely, 'is, don't ask me any questions. Don't. I'm having a hard enough time as it is.'

At once, he resumed his stance and went on flicking his eyes at her, back and forth in turn, their rhythm eloquent of mounting pressure, perhaps even of violence.

She felt her mouth hanging open, so she closed it. Apparently, he needed her to help him in some way. But without asking any questions. Did he want her to guess at something? Or did it matter what she said?

Maybe it didn't matter. Cautiously, she ventured, 'I haven't thanked you for saving us. I don't know how the arch-Imager or whoever it was managed to spring that trap on us. I

can't think of any way for him to know what we were going to do. But if you hadn't come along, we-' She shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

Without warning, he snapped, 'Vagel!' He sounded grimly angry; yet his expression conveyed gratitude. 'If I could get just one hand on him, I would tear his heart out. But it isn't good for me to lose my temper.' Whatever emotions appeared on his face or in his voice had no effect on his posture or the movement of his eyes. That was just coincidence. The first piece of good luck we've had in a long time. I've seen those creatures before-just once, when I was a part of the group of Imagers High King Festten built around Vagel in Carmag. I saw what they do. But I've never actually seen the glass.

'We were told they're like hunting dogs. If you translate something with the scent of the man you want hunted on it into their world, those insects go wild. But apparently they can't be translated directly. They forget the scent and just attack the first thing they find. So you have to give them living bodies to serve as hosts.'

As he spoke, the edges of her vision went dim as if she were about to faint.

They eat their way into those bodies and breed, and then they can be translated without losing the scent.'

That's what they would have done to Geraden,' she murmured weakly. Then she raised a hand to her mouth, fighting to keep her nausea at bay.

'And anybody else who got in their way,' added the Adept, He seemed to be growing calmer. That's why I say we were lucky. If he hadn't happened to be near the translation point when those creatures came through, they would have had to go looking for him. We would have had to fight them in the public halls of Orison. Who knows how many people would have been killed?'

Struggling to get her mind off the idea of Geraden as a host for the monstrous insects, Terisa started to ask a question. Fortunately, she caught it in time to rephrase it.

'It's a good thing you were there to rescue us.'

She felt an unexpected, poignant desire to say, I saw the riders of my dream in the augury. Geraden thinks I'm an Imager.

'I said I'm crazy,' the Adept replied with some asperity. 'I didn't say I'm stupid.' Then, to her surprise, he smiled, baring his crooked, yellow teeth. 'It's obvious that Vagel has plans for that translation point. After going to all the trouble to create it, he isn't likely to leave it unused. I've been watching it, more or less ever since you told Quillon about it- the day after Gart came through and almost killed you.'

She couldn't help herself: she blurted out, 'Gart? The High King's Mono-?'

At once, a spasm of fury twisted his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. As if they weren't under his control, his hands rose into fists and began punching at his temples, Sne saw that he was holding his breath.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered fervently, frightened without knowing why. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just didn't know it was Gart-' She faltered and fell silent.

Fiercely, he sucked a deep breath in through his nose and opened his eyes. 'Of course it was Gart.' One muscle at a time,

as if by a supreme act of will, he resumed his stance. His mouth grimaced again. He appeared to be in command of himself. 'The alliance between Vagel and Festten still holds. Cadwal wants you dead even more than Alend and that treacherous Prince do.' The rhythm of his eyes was faster, however, flicking to her and away like the stalking beat of his madness.

He tried to smile again-this time unsuccessfully. Without transition, he said, 'You're probably wondering why I brought you here. Well, I can't tell you that. If I knew the answer myself, it probably wouldn't make sense. But I want to tell you a little bit about King Joyse.'

Terisa swallowed the change of subject as well as she could and waited for him to go on.

'You know, the relationship between Imagery, augury, and fate is an interesting philosophical question.' His tone was peaceful now; but his eyes contradicted it. His manner brought back the idea of a lurking spider. 'Before Joyse was born, I was what some people called the 'pet Imager' of the Cadwal prince who ruled Orison and the Demesne. He was a petty tyrant, but imaginative in his cruelties, and I was growing desperate for hope. So I tried to arrange an augury for the coming birth.

'Unfortunately, I was unable to shape a flat glass to show the room where he would be born. The best I could create was an Image of a hill just outside Orison-a hill,' he added by the way, 'which is now in the castle. In fact, it forms the foundation for the tower where he has his rooms.

'But at that time,' he resumed, 'the focus of my mirror refused to be adjusted any farther than the stables where our prince allowed us to keep our mangy horses.

'Of course, I could have waited until the child was born and grew up enough to go to the stables on his own. But as I say I was growing desperate. So one black night soon

after he was born, I stole little Joyse from his cradle and took him down to the stables and risked leaving him there alone in a pile of straw while I raced back to my small laborium to work the augury.

'He took cold and nearly died-but I got what I wanted.'

From where he stood, he couldn't see Geraden and Artagel as they crept past the edge of the pillar. Terisa glanced at them to reassure herself about Artagel's condition-and to try to warn them not to interfere. Then she returned her attention to the Adept.

'It was a remarkable augury, unusually distinct in some ways, maddeningly vague in others. On the one hand, it clearly showed Joyse making himself a king. On the other, it proved to have almost nothing to do with the process by which he actually did become King. It didn't show the battles he actually fought, the victories he actually won, the decisions he actually made. So it was no help at all to us along the way. The best it gave us was an occasional bit of confirmation, when the results of something he did-like the creation of the Congery-unexpectedly matched the Images in the augury.

'Let me give you an example,' he said blandly while the pace of his gaze increased. 'According to my augury, he became King as an old man. Sometime after a large, unexplained hole was torn in the side of Orison.'

While Terisa stared-and Geraden and Artagel fought to muffle their surprise-Havelock permitted himself a stiff shrug. She felt sure he was trying to tell her something urgent, something she couldn't possibly understand. 'At the time, the idea that I would have to wait until he was old was so depressing-I almost didn't bother to go rescue him from the stables. But since then I've had a lot of time to ask myself what went wrong. Did I falsify my augury by not allowing the conditions for it to happen naturally? Does the very act of casting an augury change events? Or are there other possibilities? Has King Joyse changed his own fate by being stronger-or weaker-than he would have been if he hadn't taken cold that night and nearly died?

'We would be better off if we could answer questions like these.'

As if he were pausing to briefly become a completely different person, he relaxed his rigid posture and scratched himself unceremoniously. Whatever dignity and command he possessed vanished at once. His surcoat looked old and grimy enough to carry lice: perhaps the itching was unbearable. Then he drew back into his clenched stance.

'I'll tell you something else that was in my augury. If you promise never to tell anybody. Never never never.' He spoke to the rhythm of his eyes. 'Never never never.' The strain of holding onto his lucidity brought sweat to his forehead, despite the cool of

the room. 'His daughters were in it.

'Of course, I didn't know they were his daughters then. But now it's obvious.'

A crafty look broke over his features. 'You'll never guess what I saw Myste doing.'

Terisa had to gouge her nails into her palms to keep herself quiet. At the edge of her attention, she was aware of Geraden's agitation; but she had no time to spare for him.

With a visible effort, Adept Havelock wrestled his expression back to sternness. 'Of course you'll never guess,' he snapped as if she had just said something insulting. 'How could you? That's why I'm going to tell you.

'I saw her,' he said sarcastically, 'with a figure who bore an astonishing resemblance to Gilbur's champion. She looked like she was begging him not to kill her,'

Terisa must have been stronger, more resilient, than she realized. How else was it possible for her to feel such panic, after everything she had already been through? Havelock knew where Myste had gone. Perhaps King Joyse also knew. Perhaps he had known all along. Begging him not to kill her. Myste!

Numb with fright, she asked, 'Did he kill her? Did she go through all that just to get herself killed?'

But it was likely that Adept Havelock didn't hear her. While she breathed her question, Geraden surged forward, demanding, 'Myste is with that champion? Is that why no one's seen her recently? Does King Joyse know about this?'

Rage on his face, Havelock whirled as if he intended to strike Geraden down. Instantly, however, his turn changed into a pirouette, and he spun circles, flapping his arms like an old crow. When he stopped, he looked like he wanted to storm at Geraden; yet he was giggling, and his voice was thick with mirth.

'Do you know what the difference is between an Apt and an Adept?' Frozen with chagrin, Geraden gaped at the mad Imager.

Lugubriously solemn, Adept Havelock raised his fingers to his fat lips and flapped them, making a de-de-de-de sound. Then he cackled appreciation for his own humour and turned to Terisa. 'Do you get it? De-de-de-de. D-e. A-d-e-p-t.' But he quit laughing as soon as he saw the dismay on her face. 'Women!' he snorted.

'Whoever invented women gave them teats instead of brains. By the hoary goat of the

arch-Imager! No wonder Mordant is in such a mess.'

Suddenly, her throat filled with pain. He was so valuable- and so lost. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'You poor man. I'm so sorry.'

But no amount of regret could bring his mind back. He leered at her, smacked his lips, and pronounced in a tone of finality:

'Fornication.'

When Artagel had recovered sufficiently, he and his companions found their way back up to the public halls of Orison. 'You'd better tell Castellan Lebbick about the attack,' said Geraden glumly as they walked. 'He needs to guard that translation point.'

Artagel nodded and left. He still carried himself stiffly, as if his lungs were tender, but all he needed now was rest.

The prospect of being alone made Terisa's skin crawl, so she asked Geraden to keep her company in her rooms. Inborn consideration seemed to warn him off sensitive topics: deliberately casual, he whiled away part of the afternoon for her by chatting about his family, giving her brief sketches of his brothers and their life in the Care of Domne. Soothed by his gentle talk and affectionate memories, she began to feel restored enough to consider the implications of the day's events.

Unfortunately, he was called away at that point: one of the younger Apts found him and summoned him to his neglected chores.

The remainder of the afternoon was bad. And the evening threatened to be worse, until she discovered-to her surprise and relief-that she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open. Grateful for small blessings, she went to bed.

The next morning, after a night full of dreams from which Terisa awakened as though she had been screaming, Saddith bustled into her rooms and announced gleefully that Master Eremis had been released.

'Really? Are you sure?' Terisa tried to conceal her emotions; but her heart was pounding. The Master had said, When I am free, I will come to you. As if by magic, the events of the previous day became less important. There will be no part of your womanhood which I have not claimed. 'Why would Castellan Lebbick let him out?'

Saddith looked positively exultant. 'I do not know the entire story, my lady.

Apparently, the Castellan is teaching his men to keep their mouths closed. But it is rumoured'-she lowered her voice dramatically-'that Orison was attacked by Imagery yesterday. Master Eremis had been imprisoned because he was believed to be responsible for such things.' The recollection made her indignant. 'But of course he could not have attacked Orison by Imagery while locked in the Castellan's dungeon. No proof can be found that he is guilty.' She chortled. 'Even our dour Castellan cannot justify imprisoning an innocent man.'

Terisa made a conscious effort not to speculate about the meaning of Saddith's pleasure. Her own expectations were already too confused: she didn't want to have them complicated further by memories of the way Saddith had moaned and clung while Master Eremist thrust into her. Instead, she remembered the touch of his lips and tongue on her breasts-the way he had instructed her to betray Geraden-and waited impatiently for the maid to leave.

She wanted the Master-and was afraid to face him with her refusal to take his part against Geraden. Opposing desires made her forehead ache. As soon as Saddith closed the door, she rushed to give herself a quick, intense bath, trying to get ready. But then she forced herself to put on the dingiest gown she had, as if she wished to be unattractive. Master Eremis. Geraden. She yearned for both in different ways and had no idea what to do about the contradiction.

But Master Eremis didn't come.

She had thought that she was going to find out who she was. But neither of the men who tried to claim her had given her an answer. She had risked accompanying Geraden to Vagel's translation point for nothing more than the sensation of thin, sharp cold-a sensation that made no difference. And she had known all along that Master Eremis could have any woman he wanted.

Apparently, he didn't want her.

Perhaps for that reason-perhaps simply because she couldn't have him-she found that she wanted him badly.