FAMILY MATTERS

TERISA WANTED to go after Artagel with Geraden. She was the one who had seen Artagel hit, seen him fall. Fighting to save her. But even if she hadn't been a witness-as well as the cause -in fact, even if she hadn't known Artagel at all-she would have felt the same. Befuddled by Gart's blow, Geraden let his anguish show nakedly on his face. His concentration on his brother was so urgent that he was blind to everything else. Awkwardly, he struggled to free himself from guards and questions and astonished onlookers so that he could go after Artagel. Seeing him like that made her believe that he needed her. In spite of her own shock and fear, she wanted to go with him.

Elega didn't release her.

The lady came to Terisa's side as soon as the guards had fanned out to search for the High King's Monomach. As she held Terisa's arm and dabbed at the blood on Terisa's cheek, she made soft comforting noises which sounded a little artificial, coming from her. Terisa would have had to repulse her vehemently in order to get away from her.

Terisa didn't have it in her to do that. Not now: not while every muscle in her arms and legs trembled, and her stomach twisted around itself, trying to decide what to do about the sight of Artagel's blood. So she was caught where she was as Geraden stumbled away through the crowd, pursuing the litter that carried his brother.

Touched by something that might have been pity, the Castellan let him go.

On the other hand, Lebbick didn't appear to feel anything as soft as pity when he turned to question Terisa.

Elega shielded her, however. 'Castellan,' she interposed firmly, 'you are not surprised to learn that the lady Terisa has an enemy who wishes her dead. You are only surprised that her enemy is a man as important and dangerous as the High King's Monomach. And you are surprised that he has such freedom of movement in Orison, despite the fact that you are responsible in such matters.'

A muscle in the Castellan's jaw twitched.

'You will agree, I am sure,' she continued, 'that the lady Terisa is the last person likely

to relieve your surprise. What does she know of Cadwal's secrets-or of Orison's defences? If you must question her, do so in her own rooms, when she is stronger.'

In response, Lebbick gave Terisa a look which made her heart turn over. Then he bowed stiffly, ordered an escort for the two women, and turned away.

Elega took Terisa back towards the peacock rooms.

At first, she felt no pain in her cheek. With the odd detachment of shock, she wondered if she were cold enough to be numb. Then she wondered whether Gart put poison on the edges of his weapons-

After a while, however, the relative warmth in Orison and the exertion of walking brought back the sensation of bright metal as it licked the side of her face. The cut was too thin to hurt. What she felt now wasn't pain. It was a trail of moisture, a long wet touch like the stroke of a tongue.

Once, trying to explain the way coming here had disrupted her life, she had said to Myste, It was like dying without any pain. It doesn't hurt. That idea recurred now in a kind of panic. If her cheek had hurt, she would have known what to do about it. Suddenly, she ached for a mirror, for any looking-glass which would have told her whether she had been disfigured.

She didn't realize that Elega was talking until the lady stopped her, took her by the shoulders, and insisted, Terisa, I know that you are afraid. Nevertheless you must listen to me. It may appear that your reasons for fear become less if you do not think about them, but I assure you they do not. The reverse is true. You can only make your danger less by understanding it and acting against it.'

At the moment, Elega didn't appear to be a woman who had much sympathy for fear.

They were standing on the stairs that led up to Terisa's rooms. Elega seemed unconscious of the escorting guards; perhaps she thought that the urgency of her questions outweighed caution. But Terisa didn't want to talk at all: she certainly didn't want to talk in front of two men she didn't know. Somewhere in Orison, a physician was trying to save Artagel's life. And Geraden was there-She was surprised to hear the anger in her voice as she demanded, 'What do you think I can do?'

'Put your fear aside and try to grasp the truth,' Elega replied at once. There must be a reason why the High King's Monomach risks his own life in order to threaten yours.'

Terisa stared at the lady and thought, She still believes I'm some kind of Imager. That's why she wants me on her side. With Prince Kragen. And Nyle. A moment later, however, she realized that Elega's thoughts were more complex than that. The lady was also considering the idea that Terisa had already involved herself in someone else's machinations-a plot so far-ranging and insidious that High King Festten took it as a personal threat. A plot about which Elega knew nothing; a plot which might undo everything she herself wanted to achieve.

With unfeigned fatigue, Terisa asked, 'Do you really want to discuss it here?'

Elega lifted an eyebrow and glanced around her. A flush stained her cheeks. Was she embarrassed by her own carelessness? Abruptly, she moved on up the stairs.

Stifling a temptation to turn and flee in the opposite direction, Terisa followed her.

When they had reached the safety of the peacock rooms and closed the door behind them, Elega poured out a goblet of wine for each of them. By then, she had regained her composure. Watching Terisa over the rim of her goblet, she drank a few swallows. Then, with an air of decision, she put the goblet aside.

'You must forgive me for speaking of such things at such a time. I understand that you have been badly frightened. And I am sure that you are concerned for Artagel. But you must understand that it is madness to ignore my question. Terisa'- her eyes were vivid in her pale face-'you surely have some idea why Gart is here to kill you. It is inconceivable that you could pose such a threat to the High King without being aware of it.'

Terisa sighed. She didn't want to deal with Elega. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a few years. At the same time, she wanted to go find Artagel. The sharp wet sensation of her cut was starting to resemble pain. When she drank, the wine seemed to make the cut worse. Carefully, she raised her hand to her cheek. Her fingers came down marked with dried blood. Her face must be a mess. Afraid of the damage, she asked unsteadily, 'How bad is it?'

Elega frowned in vexation; but she quickly smoothed her expression. With a gesture that asked Terisa to wait, she went into the bathroom and returned with a damp towel. Then she motioned Terisa to sit on the couch. When Terisa was settled, Elega began stroking her cut gently with the towel, washing away blood and dirt from the wound.

After studying the cut for a moment, the lady pronounced, 'It is clean. It still bleeds a little'-she dabbed the towel at Terisa's cheek-'but that only serves to keep it clean. We can summon a physician if you wish, but I doubt that you need so much care. It is only as long as my finger'-at the moment, her fingers looked exceptionally long-'and rather

delicate. When it heals, you will have a fine, straight scar that no one will see except in certain lights.' She drew back to consider the matter from farther away. 'And no one will see it all if they do not stand near you.'

In a neutral tone, she concluded, 'When it heals, I expect that most men will feel that your beauty has been enhanced rather than diminished.'

'I wish I could see it,' Terisa admitted lamely. 'Where I come from, that's all we use mirrors for. To see ourselves.'

Still neutrally, Elega replied, Tor that reason we have maids, so that women who care for the decoration of their appearance will not make fools of themselves.' She couldn't hold down her real interests, however. More quickly, she asked, Then all the mirrors in your world are flat?'

Terisa tried to swallow another sigh. 'Yes,' 'And you are not translated by them?' 'No.'

The lady rose to her feet. Facing the hearth, she cupped her hands under her elbows, holding her forearms across her midriff as if to restrain herself from an outbreak of emotion. 'You insist that you are an ordinary woman. Perhaps that is true in your world. But is it possible that you are translated and do not know it-or take it for granted? Here, we are told that any man who faces a flat glass in which he sees himself facing himself will be lost in a translation which never ends. But what if you-if all the people of your world-possess a power which we lack? A power to master the most dangerous manifestation of Imagery? You might be unaware of it-and yet it would be fundamental enough to alter all our preconceptions.'

'No.' Terisa denied that idea as she had denied everything like it from the beginning. 'Where I come from, mirrors are just things. They aren't magic.' In an effort to shorten the discussion, she faced what she took to be Elega's point. 'I really do not know why the High King's Monomach wants to kill me.'

Her eyes flaming, Elega turned from the fire. That is not possible.' Terisa raised the towel to her cheek to hide her anger. 'It's still true.'

For an instant, Elega was on the verge of a shout. Then-' But at once she caught herself; calculations ran behind her eyes so clearly that they were almost legible. Then you must be protected.'

'Protected'?'

The King will not do it. He will not understand the need. And because the King will not understand the need, the Castellan cannot do it. He is too hampered. He has known that he cannot even limit Gart's access to Orison.

The lords of the Cares are useless to you. The Tor has become an old drunkard. The Armigite's foppishness shames the memory of his father. The Fayle does not know where his loyalties should He. And neither the Perdon nor the Termigan is here.

'As for the Congery'-she made a dismissive gesture-'the Masters are too divided among themselves to protect anyone. They all resemble Master Quillon, who is too timid to take risks -or Master Barsonage, who is too concerned for the reputation of the Congery to take action-or Master Eremis, who is too self-absorbed to take interest.

Terisa-' Elega seemed to hesitate, as if doubting whether she should finish what she had started to say. But hesitation wasn't a prominent part of her nature. Distinctly, like an avowal of faith, she said, 'You must let me protect you.'

Terisa was so startled that she stared.

Tor the present, I admit,' Elega hurried on, 'I can do little more than hide you. But that I can do very well. My knowledge of Orison's secrets is extensive. Soon, however, I will be able to protect anyone I choose.

'I can provide you safety, if you will entrust yourself to me.'

Though she wanted to think clearly-it was important to think clearly-Terisa's head whirled. She believed that she understood Elega. On the other hand, she would gain more information if she pretended ignorance. At the same time, however, her cheek hurt, and she was worried about Artagel and Geraden, and she feared that Elega was too cunning for her. And she was still angry-

With difficulty, she managed to ask, 'How?' instead of losing her temper. 'I've heard you complain about how left out you are. How little you have to do with what's going on. How are you going to protect me?'

Elega met Terisa's gaze steadily. 'I can provide you safety,' she repeated, 'if you will entrust yourself to me.' Then she added, Terisa, I have shown you nothing but friendship. I desire only your well-being-and the preservation of Mordant-and an end to evil in the realm. But if you will not trust me I can do nothing.'

You surely have some idea why Cart is here to kill you.

It was too much. 'You're going to have power,' retorted Terisa harshly. 'Where are you going to get it? I can only think of one place. From your father. But he won't just give it to you. That isn't the way he does things. You're going to betray him. You're going to cut his throne out from under him somehow. You and Prince Kragen.' She barely stopped herself from saying, And Nyle. You've even turned Geraden's brother against him. But the shock in Elega's face warned her that she had already gone too far. 'I don't want to have anything to do with that.'

'And why not?' Ire mounted through the lady's surprise. 'Do you have any alternative? Are you so pure that you can conceive some answer to Mordant's need which does not require betrayal?'

'He's your father. That ought to make a difference.'

Elega drew back her shoulders, straightened her spine. The violet flash of her eyes made her look regal and certain, like a woman who was within her rights. 'I assure you, my lady,' she said austerely, 'that it does 'make a difference'. You understand me so well that I am sorry to find you understand me so little.'

Giving Terisa a bow as correct and defiant as an offer of combat, the lady Elega left the room.

Terisa watched the door long after it closed. She had made a serious mistake: she had just ruined her only chance to learn how Elega and Prince Kragen intended to take Mordant away from King Joyse. In disgust, she tried to swear at herself. Her heart wasn't in it, however. After all, what Elega had offered her made no sense.

To keep her hidden. For how long? Until the end of winter? Until the Alend army arrived? Until Orison fell to siege? Twenty or thirty or forty days?

It made no sense.

She didn't want to think about such things. They were either irrelevant or impossible.

She wanted to know what was happening to Artagel and Geraden.

And she wanted to know what made her so valuable that people were willing to risk their lives over her. What was there about her that made her worth Gart's hate and Artagel's blood?

Outside, the sun shone warmly, as if it were immensely pleased with itself.

If she had been required to wait long alone, she might have done something foolish. That is to say, she might have done something', and she felt sure that anything she decided to do would be foolish. Fortunately, while she was still unable to make up her mind, Geraden arrived at her door.

He had a high spot of colour in each cheek and a slightly glazed look in his eyes; he was frowning as deeply as a cut of pain; his fingers made small twitching movements, though his hands were held pressed to his sides. Nevertheless he had come to her.

Because she had grown up in a household where she was seldom offered comfort-and never asked for it-she didn't put her arms around him, either for his sake or for her own. She invited him in quickly, however, and closed the door and swallowed the congestion in her throat to ask, 'How is he?'

He made an effort to look at her, to pull himself out of his distress and look at her. Gently, he reached out a hand and touched her cut cheek with his fingertips. Somehow, he managed to twist his mouth into a smile. 'Does it hurt? It doesn't look too bad. I'm glad you're all right.'

'Geraden. How is he?'

A spasm cracked his control. His smile broke, and his eyes brimmed with tears. 'The physician is doing everything he can. He doesn't know what's going to happen. Artagel's lost a lot of blood. He might die.'

Slowly, he hunched forward, and his arms rose to his chest as if he were crumpling inwardly, collapsing in on himself.

For just an instant, Terisa remained still. Then, as if she were turning her back on everything she had ever been taught about people and pain, she went to him and caught him in a hug as hard as she could.

They stood that way together for a long time.

When she finally let him go, he didn't look at her at first. Rubbing his face, he murmured, 'I don't think I ever told you, My mother died when I was just a kid. A fever of some kind- we never knew what it was, but it dragged on for a long time. I thought it was a long time, anyway. I was only five-and I was her baby, so she wanted me with her- and watching her die I thought I was being torn apart. I swore-' Slowly, he raised his head, letting Terisa see his grief. 'I was only five, but I swore I was never going to let anybody I loved die ever again.'

Then he sighed, and by degrees his expression cleared. 'I hope Artagel doesn't hold me

to it, because there's nothing I can do to save him.'

'I'm sorry.' She didn't know what else to say. 'This is all my fault somehow. I'm the one Gart wants to kill. I just don't understand why.'

He sniffed to clear his nose. 'Don't be silly. It's Gart's fault, not yours.' His frown came back as he tried to reassure her. 'Or you could say it's my fault, since I failed to stop him. Or, if you want to look at it that way, it's High King Festten's fault. After all. Gart is the High King's Monomach. He's just following orders,' His features clenched. 'You could even say it's King Joyse's fault. If he weren't being so detached, the High King wouldn't dare send Gart here.

'In fact'-he tried unsuccessfully to smile for her-'if you look at it right, you're the only one whose fault it isn't.'

He misunderstood her. What she felt about Artagel's wound wasn't blame, but rather a regret as piercing as iron. The distinction was unimportant at the moment, however. Instead of trying to explain it, she said as if she were still on the same subject, 'I'm not so sure. I think I've done something pretty stupid.'

His incomprehension seemed to warn him to listen to her closely. 'Wait a minute. You mean you think Gart attacked you because you've done something stupid?'

She shook her head. 'Elega brought me back here. She offered to protect me.'

He scowled at her; his jaws knotted. Unexpectedly, she became aware that it might be possible to be afraid of him: the intensity he focused on her was daunting. As if he were holding back an eruption, he said, 'Maybe you'd better tell me the whole story.'

As simply as she could, she described her conversation with Elega and watched his anger mount. Then she concluded, 'As soon as I mentioned Prince Kragen, I ruined the chance that she would ever tell me what she's doing. She's never going to trust me.'

Geraden turned away to hide his face. 'Glass and splinters!' he muttered fiercely. 'Now she's been warned. She'll be more careful. Before long, she's bound to notice Argus and Ribuld. As soon as that happens, they won't be able to follow her any more. We've lost before we even got started.'

This time, Terisa could have said, I'm sorry, without being misinterpreted. But the apology she owed him now was nothing compared to the one he would deserve soon. For a moment, she quailed. Why not keep this a secret as well? At least until his unfamiliar rage declined. Who would be hurt?

Nevertheless she knew the answer. She had learned it in this place of secrets. Whenever he discovered the truth, he would be hurt. And the fact that she had kept the truth from him would cripple their friendship.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she said, 'Maybe we haven't lost yet.' He swung around to confront her.

He looked so extreme and vulnerable that she could hardly speak. 'She left me alone with her seamster. I was finished before she got back, so I left his shop.' Remembering what had happened, a momentary faintness passed over her. 'I saw Nyle.'

Without transition, Geraden's anger disappeared.

'I followed him-I don't know why. I guess I wanted to know why he snubbed you.' A feeling of despair rose in her. Geraden would hate her for this. 'He met someone behind that tent. He didn't see me, but I saw him. I saw who it was.'

She faltered. Geraden looked nauseous with anticipation.

'It was that mountebank. The one we talked about. This time I recognized him. I know who he is. I'm sure of it.' Rapidly, so that she wouldn't break down, she said, 'He's Prince Kragen. He met Nyle behind that tent.'

For a second, Geraden looked as surprised and wounded as she had feared. His love for his family was one of his sovereign passions-and she had just accused his brother of plotting treason. The stark and intimate dismay on his face was more than she could bear.

After that first second, however, his entire posture shifted. The bones in his spine and shoulders straightened themselves, making him taller. His expression became at once bleaker and stronger, as if all the weaker or more awkward lines of his cheeks and jaw were being honed away. His eyes gave hints of authority.

That explains it,' he said flatly. 'No wonder he wants to stay away from Artagel and me.'

Then he added, 'Elega got him into this.'

She knew on some level that his crisis wasn't over-that perhaps it was just beginning- but his immediate reaction relieved her so much that she almost kissed him. 'So we haven't necessarily lost,' she breathed. 'You can tell Argus and Ribuld to forget Elega. They can follow Nyle.'

Geraden didn't appear to be listening: he looked like he was concentrating hotly on his own thoughts. But he replied in a murmur, 'If they can find him. That's going to be the hard part. If they can find him, maybe we can stop him before he does something even King Joyse will have to punish.'

Abruptly, he swung into motion. 'Come on. We've got to tell somebody about this.' He was already at the door. Starting after him, Terisa blurted, Tell who? Why?'

'Not King Joyse,' he answered as if she were thinking fast enough to keep up with him. 'He probably wouldn't listen anyway. And Castellan Lebbick would probably over-react. He might have Nyle cut down on sight. The Tor would be better.' The way he held the door for her was like a command for haste. 'It's the only thing we can do right now to protect Nyle. If we aren't able to stop him-and he gets caught-he'll be less likely to be executed if what he's doing doesn't come as a surprise.'

He said this with such conviction that she believed him. In spite of her mud-streaked clothes and blood-marked skin, she kept pace with him.

He hurried all the way to the King's apartment without tripping once.

They were admitted to the suite readily because King Joyse wasn't there. 'Off somewhere with his Imager, I suppose,' the Tor muttered in explanation. 'His courtesy never fails, but he tells me as little as he can to keep me from howling.'

His voice was a subterranean gurgle, as though it emerged from somewhere deep in his great fat-and the passages that let it out were filling up with wine. Days of use were marked on his green robe by wine and food-stains. His unshaven jowls and oily hair showed that he had been neglecting his toilet.

'I am a patient man, young Geraden,' he confided past his flagon. 'I have spent no small number of years in the world, and I have learned that fat is more enduring than stone. But the truth is that my presence here has not accomplished quite what I intended.' He flapped one hand in a gesture that made Terisa notice the absence of the King's hop- board table. 'He has simply moved his games elsewhere.'

He sighed lugubriously, and his eyes misted. 'It is a sad thing to be neglected at my age.'

Listening to the Tor, Terisa began to lose confidence. Nevertheless Geraden was wound too tightly to be deflected.

'You appointed yourself chancellor, my lord,' he reminded the Tor. 'You said you

would take action in the King's name. That ought to be easy, if he isn't here to contradict you.'

The Tor gave Geraden a sour look. 'You are too young to understand. If I wish mutton rather than duckling for my next meal, I have only to speak. If I decide to appoint a holiday and make every lady in Orison do without her maid, I can do so without raising my voice. Who here has any desire to oppose the will of the King's old friend?' One fist beat out the words as his anger rose. 'If I take it upon myself to declare war tomorrow, I have no doubt that I will be obeyed.

'But the King, young Geraden!' He raised his bulk to emphasize his point. 'Where is the King? Where is the man who ought to be shamed by every command I issue in his name? Off playing hop-board with Adept Havelock while his realm crumbles.'

Slowly, the Tor subsided.'As for Castellan Lebbick,' he sighed, 'he now holds what little effective power is left in Orison. But even he finds it difficult to ignore me. And he does not want to submit his decisions for my opinion, so he avoids me. I suspect he secretly passes judgement on all my orders before they are carried out.

'It appears I have chosen a foolish way to grieve for my son.'

Terisa tried to catch Geraden's eye; she wanted to send him a mental message, urging him not to tell the Tor about Nyle and Elega. The old lord was starting to remind her of Rev Thatcher.

Geraden refused to receive her signal, however. He was fixed on the Tor, and his expression had softened, although his manner remained grim. 'I'm sorry, my lord,' he said roughly, 'I don't have time for your grief.'

Under his fat, the muscles of the Tor's face tightened dangerously; but Geraden went ahead without pausing. 'I need to talk to King Joyse. Since he isn't here, I'll have to talk to you. I can't take this to the Castellan. I'm not going to tell it to anybody who isn't a friend of my father's.'

He had caught the Tor's attention, 'I consider the Domne a friend,' the lord rumbled slowly. 'And your past courtesy outweighs your present rudeness.' He had blinked the blur of wind from his eyes: his gaze was hard. 'I am interested in what you need to tell the King.'

Terisa was suddenly ashamed of herself. Rather than distrusting the Tor's despondency, Geraden was trying to help.

The perception made her squirm. She had never done anything to help Rev Thatcher.

She had listened to him for hours, but she had never tried to help.

'You've probably heard the rumour that King Joyse thinks the lady Elega has turned against him.' Geraden didn't need to feign harshness; the bleak strength which had brought him here rasped in his voice. 'Well, he's right.'

As gently as the bite of a crosscut saw, Geraden told the Tor what he knew about Elega and Prince Kragen and Nyle. When he had recited the basic facts, he added,Two of my friends- two guards-are following her around. But she knows we're suspicious of her now. She'll be more careful. I'm going to tell my friends to forget her and concentrate on Nyle.' He said his I brother's name in a tone of forced impersonality. 'Maybe he'll lead us to the answers.'

The Tor's gaze held: his eyes looked like bits of glass embedded in pastry dough. 'I hear quite a number of rumours,' he commented when Geraden was done. 'Duty outside this door is dull, and many of the guards liven it with conversation. I have heard a rumour that your brother Artagel, who is reputed to be the best swordsman in Mordant, faced the High King's Monomach and fell.' His tone didn't become clear until he asked, 'Is he seriously injured?'

Geraden swallowed convulsively. 'Yes.'

Unblinking, the Tor studied Geraden for a moment. Then he said, 'I have lost a son, I will not have it said to the Domne that I sat drunk on my hams while one of his sons was killed by the High King's Monomach and another sold himself to the Alend Monarch. What do you wish me to do?'

At once, Geraden replied, 'Don't let Castellan Lebbick interfere. Make him leave Nyle alone.' He was plainly relieved to get away from the subject of Artagel. 'And tell him to assign Argus and Ribuld to me. Tell him I'm doing you some kind of favour and I need their help.' He sounded clear, almost authoritative, as if he had been involved in situations like this all his life. The last time they tried to help me, he roasted them for it. They'll do a better job if they don't have to dodge him the whole time.'

He sounded so sure of what he was doing that Terisa wanted to give him a round of applause.

Nevertheless he was sweating by the time he was done.

The Tor regarded him gravely for a little while longer. Then he turned his head and let out a cheerful yell that made Terisa jump and brought the guards promptly into the room.

'Yes, my lord Tor?' one of them inquired. He was on good terms with the self- appointed chancellor. 'You bellowed?'

'Mongrel!' snorted the Tor. That was not a bellow. That was a polite request for attention.' His chuckle sounded like belching. 'If you ever have the misfortune to hear me bellow, you will not speak of it so calmly.

'But now that you are here-' He rolled his eyes at the ceiling as though he were contemplating an entire litany of desires. 'I want cranberry sauce with that duckling which the cook is already so late in providing. I want more wine. I want peace or war with our enemies, whichever will cause them the most consternation.' He rubbed a fat hand over his jowls. 'I believe I want a barber. But most of air-suddenly, his voice seemed to have a knife hidden in it somewhere-'I want the Castellan.'

Briskly now, he said, 'Be so kind as to inform him that I require a few moments of his time-almost immediately.'

'As you wish, my lord Tor.' Grinning, the guards withdrew.

The Tor looked at Geraden and shrugged. 'He may not come at once, but I will nag until he does.'

Thank you, my lord Tor,' the Apt breathed sincerely. 'That should make things easier.'

With a flutter of his free hand, the Tor waved gratitude aside. After a moment's consideration, he said severely, 'Young Geraden, your reputation for mishap is entirely misleading. You have shown me that my King has a need for his chancellor which I did not suspect. I believe I will begin to assert myself.'

Pointing a pudgy finger at the Apt, he added in an ominous rumble, 'In the meantime, I advise you to stop Nyle before he goes too far. The union of the Cares already grows fragile. An open rupture now between King Joyse and the Care of Domne may bring us all to grief.'

Quickly, he emptied his flagon. Then he drawled happily, 'While you are otherwise occupied, I will take it upon myself to teach my lady Elega the fear of discovery.'

For an odd moment, Terisa felt like laughing. The idea of a confrontation between the huge old lord and the regal princess tweaked her fancy. But her amusement was primarily a reaction to strain: as soon as she glanced at Geraden, it evaporated. His grin was a rather feverish imitation of the smile Artagel wore into combat.

Fortunately, the Tor also noticed his expression. 'You may go now, young Geraden,' he

said firmly, 'unless you have more treachery to reveal? I do not mean to share my duckling with anyone. Send me word as soon as you have news of Artagel.'

Thank you, my lord.' At once, Geraden headed for the door.

Terisa wanted to thank the Tor more thoroughly, let him know how much he did for Geraden. But she couldn't do that and still follow the Apt.

The old lord seemed to understand, however. Take care of him, my lady,' he muttered, dismissing her. 'He has need of you.'

Flashing him her best smile, she left the apartment and pursued Geraden down the stairs.

He slowed his pace after a flight or two so that she could catch up with him. 'I've been away from Artagel too long,' he said. 'Will you excuse me? I would take you with me, but the physician won't let you in. I practically had to threaten his life to see Artagel myself. You can find your way back to your rooms, can't you? Will you be all right?'

'Geraden-' She put her hand on his arm to make him hear her. 'You did the right thing with the Tor. You gave him what he needed.' Unaccustomed to saying such things, she sounded terribly stilted to herself-and she hated it. But she didn't back down. Tin proud of you.'

That reached him. The muscles around his eyes unclenched, and something that looked like a smile caught at the corners of his mouth. 'I like him,' he explained simply.

'I'll be all right,' she promised. 'Go see Artagei. Send me a message right away.' He nodded and immediately took off at a run.

She went back to her rooms alone and spent the rest of the day trying not to think.

The next morning, Artagel's physician ventured the opinion that his patient might live.

At once haggard with exhaustion and giddy with relief, Geraden brought the news to Terisa before going to his own rooms for some rest. 'Now it's just a question of infection,' he reported. 'If he can get through that, he's going to make it.'

As an afterthought, he added, The Tor did it. Argus and Ribuld are working for me now. Castellan Lebbick doesn't like it-but I guess the Tor told him I had some ideas

about how to protect you from Gart. So far, they haven't been able to locate Nyle.'

Terisa wanted him to stay with her. She was losing whatever ability she once had to support being alone. When she was by herself, the High King's Monomach and Castellan Lebbick and Master Eremis seemed to crouch in hiding all around her, waiting for her most vulnerable moment. And she wasn't much comforted when she succeeded at concentrating on Elega, Nyle, and the Alend Contender, or worrying about Myste and the champion,

or trying to analyse the relationships between Master Quillon, Adept Havelock, and King Joyse, or wondering what obscure talent for Imagery either she or Geraden might have. Every question was dangerous.

But Geraden looked so tired-emotionally drained as well as physically weary-that she took pity on him. As firmly as she could, she sent him on his way, ordering him not to return until he had caught up on his sleep.

Alone, she turned to meet the day in the same spirit in which she had too often faced her evenings in her old apartment: as if the only thing she could hope to do with her time was cling to a tenuous and necessary sense of her own existence.

The view from her windows interested her for a while. The early thaw was settling in as if for a long stay. Sunlight poured over the piled bulk of Orison, melting more snow, raising more mud. Crowds milled through the bazaar, as eager as they had been the previous day. Carts and wains lumbered down the road to the gate of the castle, their iron-rimmed wooden wheels cutting the snow and mud together. Again, she wanted to go outside. But she couldn't-not alone.

She felt lost alone.

Before long, Mindlin the seamster arrived to return her old clothes and announce that he expected to receive the material he needed for her tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the very latest, unless something dramatic happened to the weather. As a friend of the lady Elega, she would command his first and best attention, so he believed that he could promise her with confidence that her new garments would be ready for their first fitting no later than six days from now.

Unfortunately, the question of what her new clothes should look like had no power to divert her. She had other things on her mind.

Where was Master Eremis?

What was she doing here?

How could she know anything about herself without a mirror?

Why was it that the only times she was able to reach out to Geraden were when he was hurt? Why was she still keeping secrets from him as if she didn't trust him?

If she kept this up, she might drive herself frantic. These impossible questions only reminded her of what she lacked. They ignored what she had: Geraden's friendship, and Artagel's; the Tor's respect; perhaps even Myste's gratitude, if Myste were still alive. So she was glad for the distraction when a knock at the door announced that she had a visitor. It could be Master Eremis. And even Castellan Lebbick might be an improvement over her own company.

It was Master Barsonage.

The mediator of the Congery was such an unexpected arrival that at first she didn't notice the change in his appearance. But the vague way he failed to meet her gaze as he greeted her made her look past her surprise and see his distress.

'Master Barsonage. Come in.'

Thank you, my lady.' With an aimless air, as if he didn't quite know where he was going, he shuffled into the sitting room.

He appeared deflated: that was the only description she could think of to fit him. When she had first met him, his girth had appeared almost equal to his height. His eyebrows had sprouted thickly, like bracken. His skin had had the colour and texture of cut pine. Now, however, that yellow hue had turned sickly, and his flesh seemed slack across his bald skull. His eyebrows sagged; lines ran down his cheeks. His movements and his bulk resembled each other: they were flaccid, like bladders without enough substance in them.

This is an honour.' She spoke without sarcasm because he looked so woebegone-and so unconscious of it. 'What can I do for you?'

His eyes persisted in missing hers. 'I hardly know, my lady.'

Well, she couldn't leave him standing in he middle of the peacock rug. 'Why don't you sit down?' She gestured towards one of the chairs. 'Would you like some wine?'

He accepted the chair. A weak push of his hands rejected the wine. When he spoke, his tone was as aimless as his appearance. 'You were attacked, my lady.'

At that, she groaned to herself. She had already had this conversation more than she wanted. But then she reflected that it wasn't her fault he was unhappy. With more asperity than she intended, she replied, 'Again. That was actually the third time.'

He blinked in her general direction. The third?'

'Didn't Master Eremis tell you about the second? It was right after his meeting with the lords. Prince Kragen and the Perdon almost got killed.'

'No,' he breathed. His voice also was deflated. 'Master Eremis made no mention-he has left Orison. To return to Esmerel, he said. Yesterday-when the thaw began. I had to restore his chasuble, of course. There is no evidence against him. He could not bear our debates, he said.' Unconscious of her reactions, he asked simply, as if they were both children, 'Why were you attacked, my lady?'

He made her heart flutter against her ribs. So there was a reason why Master Eremis hadn't come to see her since Gart's attack. He had probably left Orison before it happened. On the other hand, he hadn't said goodbye-

Painfully confused, she tried to concentrate on the mediator. 'Everybody wants to know why I was attacked.' Her mother would have sent her to room for speaking in that tone. 'You, Castellan Lebbick, Geraden and Artagel, Prince Kragen'-with an effort, she prevented herself from mentioning Elega-'even King Joyse. Even I want to know why I was attacked. What difference does it make to you, Master Barsonage?'

Still his gaze wouldn't shift to hers. All the anger seemed to have gone out of him. In that same simple voice, he answered, 'I have given my life to it. The Congery is ruined, my lady.'

''Ruined'?' What he said was more unexpected than his appearance. 'How? What do you mean?'

'We are disbanded.'

She stared at him. 'Wait a minute. Say that again. You've disbanded the Congery?'

The name still exists, of course. King Joyse does not will that we should come to an end. Therefore we continue. But it has no meaning now. We are done with it-done with our King's impossible ideals and his abandonment of us. Each of us will go his own way.

'Unless you will tell me why you were attacked.'

Her blood felt like cold tallow around her heart, congealed and sickly.

'My lady, we have debated and debated until we have lost our voices-and our hearts. I will not trouble you with the arguments. Without purpose, we are nothing. Either Master Gilbur is a traitor or he is not. In either case, there is nothing we can do.

He is beyond our reach. Either the translation of the champion was a mistake or it was not. In either case, there is nothing we can do. We have no glass to return him to his own life. And we cannot reach him for any other translation.

'Either the translation which brought you among us was a mistake or it was not. In either case, there is nothing we can do. Unless we know.'

''Know'?'

His limp hands gestured nowhere. 'We could serve you, my lady. If you had a reason for being here. The High King's Monomach risks his life to end yours. Are you not a threat? Are you not an Imager? Then turn to us, my lady. Give us your purpose. Let us serve you.'

No. That was too much. No. She backed away from it. 'Aren't you afraid I might be an enemy?'

He shrugged his empty shoulders. The High King's Monomach risks his life to end yours,' he repeated. 'You are not a friend of Cadwal. That is more certain than anything else we have. We will trust it-if you will give us purpose.'

He couldn't do that. She couldn't let him make her responsible for the Congery-for all those Masters who despised her, despised Geraden, This was the same man who had forbidden her information when she had first arrived. Bitterly, she retorted, 'You haven't got any easy answers, so you're just going to give up. Have you told Geraden about this yet?'

Quietly, Master Barsonage admitted, 'I have not had the courage.' Then he added, 'None of the Apts has been informed. They continue to tend the fires and the laborium, so that we will be able to do our work-if we are able to find any purpose for it.'

For just a moment, she considered telling him what she had never told Geraden-or anyone else-telling him that she had seen the three riders of her dream in the Congery's augury. But the thought of what he might do with the knowledge stopped her.

He might put the responsibility for the Congery on her shoulders in earnest, making demands that she wouldn't know how to either meet or refuse.

'Master Barsonage,' she said while the pressure increased in her veins, 'don't you think

you're asking a little too much? You've barely been civil to me since I got here. You certainly haven't been decent. You've ignored my ignorance-and what it cost me. And you're still ignoring it. You're ignoring me. I don't know why Gart wants to kill me. Where I come from, mirrors just reflect. They don't do anything. I am not an Imager.'

In spite of her vehemence, he still didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he took several deep breaths, as though he were pumping himself up, and his hands closed into fists.

'My lady, this is wrong. The Congery is precious, whatever King Joyse now thinks of it. It stands between us and bloody chaos-between Mordant and horror. War is only war. Men are killed. Women are mistreated. Then the struggle shifts elsewhere, and there is peace for a while. But without the Congery to control it Imagery will wreak such evil upon the innocent-

'It will, my lady. It must. Even if every Imager living is a man of good heart, intending what is beneficial, his Imagery must come to abomination in the end. Because he will fall to High King Festten-or to the Alend Monarch-or to whoever takes power in Orison- and these rulers will require his Imagery for destruction. They must, because they are at war. Yet it is not they who suffer. Their soldiers pay a price-and the rest is borne by the innocent of the world.

'Because King Joyse has turned his back on us, there is no other hope. Only the Congery can prevent this. If it is safe and strong-if it has a purpose to unite it.

'You are the answer, my lady. You must not leave us to ruin.'

He moved her. In spite of her anger, her instinctive rejection, he moved her. Perhaps his belief that she could help him was an illusion: nevertheless the fear which drove him to it was real.

'Master Barsonage,' she said softly, 'the honest fact is that I don't know what's going on. I don't understand any of this. But I'm like you. I don't think Imagery should be used for destruction.

'I'll tell you the truth about me-as soon as I find out what it is. If it turns out to be an answer, it'll help both of us.'

She couldn't tell whether he grasped what she was saying. In fact, she couldn't tell whether he so much as heard her. His eyes stayed away from hers, and his face sagged on his skull as if she had refused his appeal completely.

After a while, he rose from his chair and slumped away.

She was left with one more terrible thing that she would have to tell Geraden.

The advantage was that she no longer had to worry about her grasp on substantiality.

She was too worried about him to be in any danger of fading.

Around noon the following day, he came to her rooms to take her to see Artagel.

She had spent the night groping for courage. But there was no kind way to say what needed to be said, so she simply described her conversation with the mediator. Then she bit her lip and held her breath, waiting to see how he would take the news.

To her dismay, he took it laughing.

He laughed so hard that he had to lean against the wall-a strange, silent laughter which shook his whole body but didn't make a noise. He huddled into himself as if he were weeping; tears smeared his face like grief. Yet he was obviously laughing, so astonished with amusement that he was almost hysterical. His hands pounded against each other like applause.

'Well, you have to admit,' he cried through his mirth, 'it's logical.'

She had no idea what to do. Was he really hysterical? He had a right to be: he was under enough strain. Did that mean she was supposed to slap him?

She was supposed to tell him about the riders of her dream. She knew that. Yet she couldn't do it. She was afraid.

'It all comes back to you.' Trying to stop himself, he set his teeth into one knuckle hard enough to draw blood. The pain helped him regain a measure of steadiness. 'Even if you didn't have anything to do with it. Even if you're just here because I have some amazing new talent no one has ever heard of before. There still has to be a reason. A reason why I translated you instead of somebody else. Otherwise it was only an accident. Doesn't mean anything. One way or another, it's the fundamental question of Imagery. You are the answer.'

Like Master Barsonage, he couldn't meet her gaze.

'Disbanded. My whole life-ever since I came to Orison- Oh, Terisa.'

But he didn't let her touch him. 'It's probably just as well,' he said, making a gallant and miserable attempt to sound gay. 'I spent most of my time trying to get out of doing

my work anyway. Now I can concentrate on more important things.' Roughly, he insisted on escorting her to visit Artagel.

Along the way, he walked like a man who had something broken in his chest and didn't know what it was. Nevertheless he kept moving. His self-control gave the impression that he had no conception of how much he had been hurt.

Artagel's quarters were in a part of Orison which she had only visited once, during Geraden's tour-a vast warren of rooms built every which way around and on top of each other. She wouldn't have taken it for the castle's equivalent of a barracks if she and Geraden hadn't encountered so many guards, and if she hadn't seen interspersed among the rooms the obviously military halls where the guards mustered. From the look of the place, she guessed that each man had at best one room to himself: the larger rooms were probably shared. Artagel, however, had a modest suite-a bedroom, sitting room, pantry, and lavatory which together took up less space than her bedroom.

Most of the suite was unadorned, almost unfurnished: its occupant apparently didn't spend enough time in Orison to care about his rooms. Or perhaps his sense of home was focused exclusively on Houseldon. Whatever the reason, his quarters contained only one piece of decoration-a long rack, stretching across two walls of the sitting room, from which hung a clutter of variously snapped and shattered swords.

They're all blades that failed him,' Geraden whispered in explanation as he led her towards the bedroom.

There Artagel lay on an austere bed, a simple wooden frame with strips of cloth woven across it to support a pallet. He had no fireplace, and the air was cool. In addition, he was naked to the waist, except for the bindings wrapped around his middle. Nevertheless sweat streaked his skin, and his eyes smouldered darkly, like secret fires.

Geraden had warned her that he was feverish; but she was still taken aback to see him grinning as though he were about to go down under Gart's next attack.

She had rehearsed a speech for him, wanting to thank him; but it failed her. There was no fat on him: all his muscles were outlined clearly under his skin. And the sweat emphasized his scars, making them catch the light differently so that she couldn't ignore them. He had been cut and cut-part of his chest looked like someone had once stuck a pole through it, and he hadn't been able to grow enough tissue to refill the wound. And under his bandages was another wound-

Her eyes spilled tears, making him a blur of reflected lamplight. 'I'm sorry. I don't know why he wants to kill me. I swear I don't know why he wants to kill me.'

'My lady.' His eyes glittered through the blur, and his voice sounded like his eyes. 'Your cheek is almost healed. That's good. When he hit you, I couldn't see how bad it was. I thought I was too late. Then this idiot'-he was referring to Geraden-'jumped him and nearly got his neck broken. I thought you were both lost. I'm glad you've got quick reflexes.'

While Terisa blinked her vision clear, he added, 'I've been practising that counter he used on me. I think I know what to do about it now.'

'If you ever get the chance to find out,' Geraden put in gruffly, 'I'm going to tie you down until it's all over. That way, we won't have to find out whether he can beat you three times in a row. I can't stand the suspense.'

Artagel's smile looked like the fire in his gaze. 'That's the trouble with you. You don't have any confidence in me.'

Geraden wasn't having a good day. For a moment, Terisa feared he might lose his grip on himself. But somehow he managed to smile back at his brother. 'Oh, shut up,' he muttered in a thick growl. 'You're breaking my heart.'

'You heard him, my lady.' Unexpectedly, Artagel began falling asleep. 'If you wake up one morning and find yourself dead, with me tied up on the floor beside you, you'll know what happened. No confidence.' He closed his eyes, and a subtle tension faded out of him.

She and Geraden left him to rest.

For two more days, nothing happened. The thaw weakened, but didn't break. Mindlin sent word that her material had arrived. Argus and Ribuld found no trace of Nyle. To pass the time, Terisa took long, aimless walks through Orison; she even revisited the bazaar because she wanted some fresh air. Now whenever she left her rooms alone at least one guard accompanied her: Castellan Lebbick had made his orders for her protection stricter. But she saw no sign of Prince Kragen or the High King's Monomach anywhere.

Not long after breakfast on the third day, however, Geraden came to her rooms. 'I've just had a talk with the Tor,' he announced, trying to sound cheerful. He was feeling too much stress to carry it off, unfortunately.

She asked the natural question. 'What did he want?'

'He wanted to tell me about his conversation with Elega.' 'And how did it go?'

'Not very well. I think he underestimated her.' Geraden shook his head. He didn't like what he was thinking. 'You remember he said he wanted to teach her 'the fear of discovery'. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to fear discovery. 'She declines to be taught,' he said. In fact, she defied him to produce one scrap of proof that she was in communication with Prince Kragen.

'That was bad enough,' he commented. 'Whatever her plan is, it's already at work. And she's sure we can't stop her. But-' He grimaced and met Terisa's gaze glumly. 'She was so convincing the Tor isn't sure he believes us any more.'

Terisa winced.

'He made quite a speech about it. He told me that before I aimed any more accusations at my own brother and the King's eldest daughter I should make an effort to produce a witness or two, instead of relying on empty-headed suspicions.'

'But I saw Prince Kragen and Nyle meet each other,' she protested.

He shook his head again. They both emerged from behind the same tent. Maybe they just happened to go back there at the same time to relieve themselves.'

'Do you think I'm wrong?'

'No,' he answered at once. 'He's behaving too strangely. There has to be an explanation.' A moment later, however, he added in a pained tone, 'But I wouldn't want Castellan Lebbick to throw him in the dungeon for reasons as thin as what we have.'

That expression of certainty did little to make her feel better.

Geraden returned to spend the evening with her. They were together when a guard brought a message from Argus and Ribuld. It was cryptic:

'Got Nyle. See Artagel.'

So Terisa and Geraden went to see Artagel.

He was half sitting up in bed, with several pillows propped behind his back, and he looked clearer and cooler of eye, less feverish. His smile was distant and a little sad, rather than fierce. 'He came to visit me,' he explained. 'They picked him up when he left.'

'I don't understand,' muttered Geraden. 'He's been hiding out for days. Why did he suddenly decide to visit you?'

Artagel tried to shrug; the movement hurt his torso. 'If you don't understand, don't expect me to figure it out.' He wasn't being sarcastic. 'I don't understand him any better than I understand you.'

Geraden ignored that remark. 'What did he want to talk about? What did he say?'

The memory emphasized Artagel's unaccustomed sadness. In a thin voice, he said, 'He didn't look glad to see me. I suppose that's because I'm hurt. But he's seen me hurt before. At least I'm not dead. If he was worried about me, wouldn't he be glad to see I'm getting better?

'Anyway, he asked me if there was any news from Houseldon. But he's been there more recently than I have. He asked me'- Artagel's eyes avoided Geraden's-'when you were going to stop embarrassing the family here and go back home where you belong. I didn't try to answer that.'

Geraden held himself still.

'Then he asked me what would happen to Orison in a siege, now that we've got that breach. The last time I saw it, the wall Lebbick is building wasn't very impressive. He asked me if we had any defence left. He asked me how long I thought it would be before King Joyse got us into a war with somebody. But he wasn't listening to the answers.

Then-' Artagel stared at the ceiling while the lines in his face got deeper, cut by what he remembered. Then he told me how much he admired me. I was his hero-I was always his hero. The first thing he could remember about his own life was wanting to be like me. But he just didn't have the balance, or the reflexes. And his muscles refused to develop the right kind of strength for a longsword.

'And everybody in the family seemed to be content with him the way he was, when the way he was wasn't what he wanted. Having his parents and his brothers content with him did nothing except make his heart ache. Nobody expected him to be good at anything. They were proud of me. And they were ambitious for you. They wanted you to marry Elega and become a great Imager. But nobody wanted anything from him. Or for him.'

Swallowing hard, Artagel stopped.

Ts that it?' asked Geraden quietly. 'He didn't say anything else?'

'I told you,' Artagel snarled. 'Don't expect me to explain it.' But his anger wasn't aimed at Geraden. The best I could think of was to ask him how he managed to admire me, when I didn't even have a home of my own or a woman who could put up with me, not to mention children, and I was lying here with a stupid hole in my ribs after the High King's Monomach had already beaten me twice.'

Geraden put a hand on his brother's shoulder. 'Don't worry about it. There was nothing you could have said that would have made a difference. He's already committed.' His tone was more reassuring than his expression. 'He was just trying to apologize.'

'Apologize? For what?'

Tor choosing the other side.' Geraden sounded like he understood perfectly. 'If everything he and Elega and Prince Kragen are planning works out-and you and I don't turn our backs on King Joyse-he might end up being responsible for our deaths.' A note of grimness came into his voice. That's why we have to stop him. He'll hardly be able to stand the rest of his life if he has both of us on his conscience. On top of everything else.'

Terisa watched the two brothers study each other. Finally, Artagel managed a crooked smile. 'Well, I'm not going to be much help. That physician swore he'll have me clubbed if I try to get out of bed too soon. But there probably isn't a guard in Orison who doesn't know Ribuld and Argus are trying to do you a favour for me. You should be able to get all the support you need.'

Somehow, Geraden chuckled. 'I would rather have you. But I suppose I ought to be satisfied with one or two thousand of Castellan Lebbick's best men.' Then he sighed. 'I hope he doesn't keep us waiting much longer. I want to know what's going on.'

Terisa felt the same way.

As it happened, Nyle didn't keep them waiting much longer. In fact, if Argus and Ribuld hadn't found him when they did, they probably would have missed him altogether. Before dawn the next morning, while Terisa was still in bed, tangled in sweaty sheets and dreaming that she could see Gart's blade as it came for her like the edge of a star, she was awakened by a wooden pounding and Geraden's voice.

Terisa. Terisa.'

Naturally, she decided the noise must be coming from the door to the secret passage. She peeled the sheet off her naked back and climbed, instantly shivering, out of bed to let Master Quillon or Adept Havelock in. But that didn't make any sense. Why were they knocking so loudly, when she had forgotten to put a chair in the wardrobe to block the door?

With a wrench, her perceptions corrected their orientation. Was it really this cold, or was she just chilled by the effect of her dreams? Her robe was on the chair which should have been in the wardrobe: she snatched it up, got her arms into the sleeves, knotted the sash around the deep velvet. Geraden? Shivering so hard that she nearly lost her balance, she went into the sitting room and unbolted the door.

Light from the lamps outside washed inward, sweeping Geraden with it. 'Come on,' he whispered at once. 'We've got to hurry. He's leaving.'

'Leaving?' Her voice shook wildly. 'What are you talking about? What time is it?'

'Almost dawn.' He was breathing hard: he had been running. 'It's Nyle. This is our chance to find out what he's doing. Maybe it's our chance to stop him.'

'Leaving?' she repeated. Her robe seemed to hold no warmth at all. 'How can he be leaving? Where can he go?'

That's what we'll find out,' Geraden hissed. 'Just get ready. He was in the stables when Argus and Ribuld finally figured out what he was doing. He's probably in the courtyard by now. He'll be out the gate by the time you get your clothes on. We've got to hurry.'

Some of his tension reached her. She turned to look for some clothes. Which clothes? Her old shirt and pants. And the sheepskin coat. The warm boots. There was still a small fire in the hearth. Why was she so cold? 'How can we follow him?' she asked, trying to get herself under control. 'He's practically gone already.'

Geraden permitted himself a growl of exasperation. 'Argus is waiting for us. Ribuld will follow Nyle. He'll leave us a trail. Come on.'

She got herself moving and tried to hurry.

Violent tremors made her hands fumble. As familiar as these clothes were, she had trouble putting them on. From the privacy of the bathroom, she asked, 'What's happened to the weather? I'm freezing.'

'Bitter, isn't it,' he muttered. 'The thaw is over-at least for a while. But there's no new

snow. We would be better off if there was. It would slow down anybody who might be marching in this direction. And it might make it easier for us to follow Nyle.'

A part of her was glad that she was too cold and rushed to think about what she was doing. If she thought about it, it might turn out to be crazy. Her rooms were still full of nightmares. It would be good to escape them.

A moment later, she pulled on her coat and left the bathroom. 'I'm ready,' she said, although that was probably nonsense. 'Let's go.'

He took her hand, and they left.

They went down the stairs almost at a run. Holding his hand gave her the illusion that she could keep him from falling; but he didn't stumble. All she remembered about the stables was that they were somewhere near the warren of rooms where the guards were quartered. And she had never ridden a horse. The route he chose appeared convoluted because it bypassed a number of long, straight halls and passages that ran in the wrong direction. The exercise was just starting to generate a little humane warmth inside her coat when he brought her to the place where Orison wintered its horses.

The guard at the side entrance nodded sleepily and said, 'Argus is waiting. Keep it quiet. Nobody's supposed to be here this early. Upsets the horses.' Then he let them in.

The low ceiling was supported by a great number of stone pillars, as well as by bulky wooden posts which also anchored the sides and rails and gates of the individual stalls. In addition,

many of the stalls had been constructed haphazardly, with the result that the aisles between them were crooked. Consequently, the true dimensions of the place were hard to see. Its size was only apparent from one of the main aisles which met like roads in the centre of the stables.

During his tour, Geraden had taken Terisa to the centre and showed her that the stalls stretched cavernously for a hundred yards in each direction.

The ceiling multiplied noise; but the place was much quieter now than she remembered it. Still, a constant rustling murmur punctuated with staccato thuds and coughs filled the air as hundreds of horses shuffled in their sleep, broke wind, shifted positions and knocked their hooves against the slats of the stalls. So many animals put out enough heat to make the cavern warm, one of the most noticeable effects of which was to perfect the sweet, thick stench of horse droppings and urine fermenting in sodden straw. Together, the noise and the warmth and the smell were comforting in an odd way, like a return to a primitive womb. And the womb-like atmosphere was increased by the

fact that at night the stables were lit only by a few small lanterns placed at considerable intervals along the aisles. Nevertheless the air made Terisa feel that she had fungus growing in her lungs.

Geraden put his finger to his lips unnecessarily and led her forward.

She spared as much attention as she could to keep her feet out of the brown piles that dotted the aisles; but she had a number of other things to think about. Now that she was more awake, she was both excited and fearful. She was going to go out. For the first time since this whole experience began, she was going to see the outside of Orison. On the other hand, she believed instinctively that something was about to go wrong-

Geraden spotted Argus. The guard stood near a lantern with three horses, already saddled. They nickered and snorted softly, complaining about being put to work so early in the morning. Geraden waved and hurried towards the grizzled veteran.

Bracing herself to endure Argus' crude sense of humour, Terisa followed.

Over leather clothes, Argus wore a mail shirt and leggings: over his mail, a cloak that looked like a bearskin. His iron cap was on his head, A dagger hung at his belt opposite his longsword;

but he had left his pike behind. As Geraden and Terisa reached him, he grinned, showing the gaps where several of his teeth had been knocked out. 'Good,' he leered. 'I have horses. I even have brandy.' He indicated a small pouch tied to the back of one saddle. 'You have a woman. This is going to be more fun than guard duty.'

Geraden brushed that remark aside. 'How far ahead do you think he is?'

'She's in my debt, don't you think?' Argus persisted. 'I don't care how fine a lady she is. The finer the better. I've risked my life for her twice now. She owes me a little gratitude.' He reached a grubby hand towards Terisa's cheek.

'Argus.' Suddenly, Geraden clamped a hold on the guard's wrist. Though Argus was much larger, Geraden wrenched his hand down. 'Do not trifle with me.' Strength echoed in his voice -strength which Terisa hadn't heard for a long time. 'Nyle is my brother. How far ahead is he?'

Involuntarily, Argus winced. 'He has his own horse,' he replied as if he were surprised to find himself backing down. 'He didn't have to get permission to take it and go. And he didn't have to stand around here waiting for you. But Ribuld has him. We should be able to catch up.'

'Then let's go,' said Geraden impatiently. The echo was gone. 'Who gets which horse?'

This one's mine.' With a slap to its rump, Argus shifted a raw-boned roan stallion out of his way. 'You get the mare.' He indicated a smaller horse the colour of fresh axle- grease. 'She likes to kick, but you can handle her. At least she's tough. The lady can have the gelding.'

Terisa found herself staring at a horse with rancid eyes, a mottled coat, and an expression of sublime stupidity.

With an effort, she cleared her throat. Her voice sounded small and lost. 'I don't actually know how to ride.'

Argus flashed her a look that might have been anger or glee. 'Geraden mentioned that. He didn't explain why you have to come with us. I mean, if you can't ride, and you think you're too good to spread your legs for a man who saved your life, why bother?' He gave a massive shrug. 'But at least he warned me.

'The only way this gelding can hurt you is if he steps on you.

He hasn't got the brains to do anything except follow the nearest thing he recognizes- and the only thing he ever recognizes is another horse. Just hold on to the saddlehorn and let him do the rest.'

Still she hesitated, Geraden and Argus stared at her. Abruptly, Geraden came and took her to the side of her mount. Holding the stirrup, he said, 'Put your left foot here, grab the saddlehorn, and swing your right leg over. Leave the reins where they are. We'll adjust the stirrups when you're in the saddle.'

She looked at him hard and saw that his eyes were dark with suppressed urgency. Swallowing a lump of alarm, she nodded her head. Then, before she had time to panic, she put her foot into the stirrup and lunged for the saddle.

Argus caught her on the other side and squared her in her seat. The ceiling seemed perilously close. Argus and Geraden made her stirrups longer or shorter without consulting her. The gelding shifted its weight. She gripped the saddlehorn until her knuckles ached. To no one in particular, she said, 'Why am I doing this?'

'Because'-Argus flashed his remaining teeth-'you've heard it said that a few hours on a horse makes a woman desperate for a man.'

Geraden was already on the mare. 'If you don't stop harassing her,' he muttered, 'I'm going to wait until we're several miles from here, and then I'm going to break all your

legs and leave you to walk back.'

Argus let out a guffaw which made several of the nearby horses whinny in protest and brought an angry insult from a watching stablehand whom Terisa hadn't noticed before. Argus wasn't daunted, however. Chuckling to himself, he took hold of the gelding's reins and tugged the beast into motion behind him.

Terisa clung to the saddle while Argus led her and Geraden out to one of the main aisles and along it towards the closed passage which went in the direction of the courtyard.

The guards at the main entrance lifted the gate without a word: apparently, Argus had already spoken to them. But when he and his companions reached the gate to the courtyard-with Terisa shivering again at the sudden drop in temperature-he had to stop and speak to the sentries for several minutes. She saw him point at Geraden, heard him mention Artagel. Finally, the gate opened, and the horses crunched out into the frozen mud of the courtyard.

'One more gate,' Geraden told her softly. Then we can start hurrying.'

The sky was clear above the high, dark walls of Orison, but most of the stars were gone, washed out by the oncoming grey flood of dawn. The air was so sharp it cut her throat: she could feel it in the bottom of her lungs, pricking like needles. From horseback, the ground looked faraway and dangerous. The cold seemed to make the leather of her saddle slick; because she couldn't stick to it, she had trouble keeping her balance over the stiff-legged lurch of the gelding's stride. Geraden looked like a shadow beside her. Argus was nearly invisible against the darkness of the wall ahead.

Other people moved in the courtyard, waking up, getting ready for another day. Small lights flickered on the inner balconies. A few more showed in the bazaar. One or two cooking fires had been started. She barely noticed them.

The predawn gloom and the shadow of the wall hid the gate; but she remembered it-a massive shutter raised or lowered by winches. Because Mordant was said to be at peace, the gate stood open during the day. At night it was down.

When the horses reached it, Argus dismounted and went to talk to its guards. For some reason-perhaps because his back was turned-his voice was an indeterminate murmur, but the sentry could be heard clearly.

'You're out of your mind, Argus.' Argus made some response.

'We had to let him out. He's a son of the Domne. We don't have any orders to keep him in.'

Again.

Try explaining that to the Castellan.'

Geraden shifted in his saddle, fretting. Terisa could feel her face freezing stiff.

Then: 'All right. He's a son of the Domne, too. And you're assigned to him. And we thought it was just some strumpet with you. If you don't back us up, I'll personally see to it you never have children.'

A faint call rose. Geraden let a breath of relief through his teeth as Argus came back to his horse. His boots on the mud sounded like he was striding through broken glass. After a moment, Terisa heard a long creaking noise as rope began to stretch between the winches and the gate.

She saw the gate go up, a deep darkness lifting off the lighter background of the road. 'Come on,' Argus muttered. Taking Terisa's reins again, he put his heels to the stallion

and started forward so sharply that she let out a yelp and nearly lost her seat.

When they were outside, Geraden caught up with Argus. 'Well done,' he rasped sarcastically. 'Do you want her to fall?'

'Don't be so prickly,' replied the guard. 'I didn't know she's a squealer.' Terisa had the impression he was grinning.

She unknotted her muscles, flexed her grip on the saddlehorn, and began making a conscious effort to find the point of balance on the gelding's back.

Overhead, the paling sky seemed impossibly open. The gradual hills immediately around the castle were naked of trees, kept that way so that Castellan Lebbick could watch his enemies approach him; in the dawn twilight the bareness of the slopes made them feel as expansive as the heavens, wide and unmeasured to the extreme horizons after the relative constriction of Orison. In spite of her precarious perch, she felt her excitement rise.

If anything, the air was even colder here. Most of the road had been chewed to mud and iron ruts by days of wagon wheels; but whenever the hooves of the horses hit a patch of snow, the distinct clatter of horseshoes against hard dirt changed to an oddly resonant crumpling sound, a break-and-echo as the hooves stamped to the ground

through the iced surface, the snow melted by the thaw and then refrozen. The greying of the sky grew stronger, enabling her to see the black trees which lined the road after it branched. One branch, she remembered, went south; another, northwest; the third continued northeast towards the Care of Perdon: roads running towards secrets and surprises in every direction. The world was something she had hardly begun to discover.

Although spring was drawing closer, the sun was still so far to the south that she couldn't glimpse the source of the dawn past Orison's bulk until she had ridden almost to the road's branching.

By then, the trees were tipped with light as if they were catching fire. Sunshine glowed coldly on the towers and battlements behind her, making Orison look less dire-but larger somehow, as though a sense of its true size were impossible from inside. Its grey stone appeared stronger and more enduring than she had expected.

From the branching, she watched the sun come up and wished that she were a little less cold so that she could feel its touch on her face.

'Now what?' Geraden demanded of Argus. His mind was clenched to what he was doing. 'How do we know which way to go?'

That's Ribuld's job.' Argus scanned the area. 'He's supposed to leave signs. Probably in the snow beside the road.' Tossing her reins to Terisa, he moved towards the left edge of the road. 'Start looking.'

Geraden took the other side. The two men began to work around the branching. Experimentally, Terisa picked up her reins, gripped them as her companions did, and gave the gelding a tentative kick, trying to make it follow Geraden. But it went after Argus instead.

When Argus burst out laughing, she looked where he pointed and saw a mark shaped like an arrow in the snow. It had been drawn rather unsteadily with a warm, yellow liquid.

Northwest.

Geraden came to look at the sign and grinned in spite of himself. That's got to be him.' 'Right. Now we can start moving faster.' The guard glanced at Terisa as if he

anticipated entertainment. 'But we've got to be careful. They might turn off.'

Geraden nodded and cantered his mare to the northern side of the road. Although he didn't appear especially smooth or self-contained in the saddle-his elbows flapped, and

his weight bounced with the horse's gait-his experience was evident. He knew how to ride well enough to do so without thinking about it.

Argus hadn't resumed his hold on Terisa's reins, 'Come on. You've got to learn sometime.' Watching her over his shoulder, he started away, matching Geraden's pace along the western margin of the road.

She was still trying to decide how hard to kick her mount when it lumbered ahead, following the stallion.

For one moment that seemed to last a long time because it was frozen by panic and cold, she dropped the reins and clutched for the saddlehorn; but the gelding's gait hit her so hard that she missed her grip and started to fall.

When she failed to fall, she didn't immediately understand why. By degrees, however, the strain in her legs made her aware that she was clenching the beast with her knees.

This development amazed her so thoroughly that she only put one hand back on the saddlehorn. With the other, she retrieved the reins. Then, borne along by a burst of exhilaration, she kicked the gelding to make it catch up with Argus.

The guard gave her a nod of disappointed approval and turned his attention to the road.

Her mount's spine pounded her up and down. Its tack jangled so loudly-and her legs and rear slapped the leather so hard- that she wanted to shout, Do we have to go this fast? But a residue of common sense told her that for her sake Argus and Geraden were already going slower than they wished. She closed her mouth so that she wouldn't bite her tongue and held on.

Orison looked surprisingly far away. She had to glance back over her left shoulder to see the castle. A purple flag flew from the King's tower now, raised to meet the day. Then the road crested a hill, dipped into a hollow, and Orison was gone.

A short distance later, a spur of the road ran north to a village nestled picturesquely in a little glen. Most of the twenty or thirty houses had wooden frames, but a few had obviously been constructed of stone. The snow had melted off their slate roofs; smoke curled from their chimneys as fires were built up for cooking and warmth. The angle of the sunlight enabled her to make out cattlepens in the shelter of the hills. These people raised meat for the castle.

In a war, a siege, they would have to evacuate their homes and live in Orison.

Geraden found no indication that Ribuld had taken the spur. The three riders went on.

Terisa's hands were red and freezing, despite the exertion of holding herself on her mount's back. Her face was so stiff it felt like it might break. Whenever a scrap of breeze caught her eyes, tears ran to ice on her cheeks. Gradually, she understood that it would actually be easier to keep her seat if the horse moved a bit faster. But Argus and Geraden now seemed to be going as fast as they dared. They had to watch for Ribuld's signs.

Over the rise of another hill, they came suddenly upon a wain loaded-Terisa would have said overloaded-with barrels of all sizes. Although it faced towards Orison, it was stopped by the side of the road for no apparent reason. At a glance, Terisa couldn't tell which looked more miserable, the shaggy, club-headed workhorse in the traces, or the driver huddling on the wagon-bench, clutching his reins with hands that barely protruded from the mound of wool blankets wrapped around him. A moment later, however, the driver explained himself by croaking, 'Argus? One of you Argus?'

The stallion skittered to a halt beside the wain. 'I'm Argus,' the guard said, studying the driver.

'Guard like you gave me a silver double to wait here.' The driver sounded like he was being strangled by the weight of his blankets. Too cold for that. About to give you up.' 'Now why would Ribuld do that?' drawled Argus. The man's eyes glittered shrewdly. Too cold. One silver double-' His horse snorted vapour. 'Not enough.'

At that, Argus guffawed. Tigshit! Taking this load into Orison won't earn you more than half a dozen coppers. You've already tripled your take. Don't push your luck.'

The mound of blankets moved in a shrug. The driver made a clucking noise, and his horse pricked up its ears. When he twitched the reins, the horse leaned into its harness, and the wagon started to move.

Geraden swore under his breath. Argus was unperturbed, however. Over the groaning of the wain's axletrees, he commented amiably, 'I'm thirsty. Before you leave, I think I'll knock a few holes in some of these casks.' He drew his longsword. 'Most of it's probably swill, but you may have something drinkable back there.'

The driver tugged his horse to a halt. He considered for a moment, then said, 'Glad to help King's guards. Guard like you left the road here. Asked me to mark the place.' 'Which direction?' demanded Geraden.

'North;

The Apt fisted his mare to the north side of the road. Almost at once, he called, 'I've

got his tracks. It looks like at least two riders went this way.'

Argus sheathed his sword and gave the driver an elaborate bow. In a tone of gratitude, he said, 'I'm sure it's ail swill,' and went to join Geraden.

Terisa's gelding followed with an air of lugubrious patience,

As soon as she and her companions left the road, she was surprised by the noise they made. Crunching through the frozen white crust and thudding to the ground beneath, the horses' hooves were loud enough to be heard half a mile away-a sound like a cross between shattering glass and a distant cannonade. Nevertheless, Argus set a somewhat faster pace and pulled ahead. After a moment, she realized that he was trying to match the stallion's gait to Ribuld's trail, riding as much as possible on already-broken snow. When Geraden swung in behind him, and the gelding transferred his affections from the stallion to the mare, their progress became noticeably less noisy.

Ribuld's trail ran along a shallow valley between small hills, then crossed a ridge and began to descend a series of slopes marked with brittle thickets and black copses. Woods filled a fold in the terrain ahead, and the fold deepened as the ground around it rose into sharper hills. Argus followed the trail straight into the woods.

There he had to slow down. The ground between the trunks wasn't particularly cluttered; the wood itself wasn't thick. But many of the branches grew low enough to swipe at riders.

Barely cantering now, listening to the way the metallic sound of tack seemed to echo delicately back from every tree because of the steeper hills on either side, and wondering why she felt so much like holding her breath, Terisa followed Geraden into a gully which became a rocky streambed with its bottom less than half full of ice and crusted water. The trees on the slopes grew more thickly together, pointing their dark twigs like fingers at each other; but the bed remained clear. Now when the horses broke fresh crust their hooves clicked and clattered on stone.

Her legs ached. Her hands hurt like raw ice. She had the impression that the cold had begun to peel her face back from the bone. How else could she explain the sensation of numb pain in her cheek and chin and nose? She should have been as miserable as the driver and his workhorse.

But she wasn't.

For some reason, she expected to hear horns.

Then the streambed debouched into a valley where its waters joined a larger stream

which had cut a ravine for itself among the hills. The ravine went roughly from east to west, and its northward wall especially was steep but climbable. As soon as Argus hissed a warning and pointed, she saw the horse tethered in the low flat made by the joining of the streams.

Ribuld crouched at the crest of the northward wall, peering over the rim: his cloak made him look like a shaggy rock. He turned his head, gazed downward, and waved.

This is it,' muttered Geraden. That ridge probably blocks the sound. But we still need to be quiet.'

'Right.' Argus dismounted, and Terisa did the same. While he tethered his stallion as Ribuld had done to an old piece of deadwood sticking up out of the snow, she nearly collapsed because her legs were suddenly knotted with cramps. She had forgotten how cold her feet were. And her feet had forgotten the ground: she expected it to wobble like the gelding.

Her companions were already labouring up the side of the ravine. Determined not to be left behind, she struggled after them.

The climb was easier than she expected. There was enough rock under the snow and dirt and the autumn's layer of fallen leaves to give her secure footing; and her legs were glad to do almost anything that didn't involve clutching at a horse. She reached Ribuld only a moment or two behind Geraden and Argus.

'Good timing,' Ribuld whispered, grimacing around the old scar that ran from his hairline between his eyes almost to his mouth. 'He's been here a while. The others just arrived.'

Kneeling in the snow at Geraden's side, she looked past the edge of the ridge into another ravine like the one behind her. Directly below her, a horse champed at the cold. Near it, a man with his back to her stood beside a small fire that burned almost without smoke. She took him. to be Nyle. His fire seemed so wonderful to her that she could practically taste its warmth,

On the other side of the bottom, four men were busy securing more horses. Three of them looked like bodyguards.

The fourth was Prince Kragen.