A Man Rides Through (33 page)

"How so?" Myste's tone conveyed a suggestion of alarm.

Remembering the reservoir, Elega drawled, "She has learned to make the same mistakes he does."

Again, Myste nodded; she clearly didn't understand what Elega meant—and didn't want to pursue it. She thought for a moment, then asked slowly, as if she wanted better words, "Elega,
why
are you here? If our father still rules in Orison, how have you come to take the part of his enemies?"

There it was: the place where all their common ground fell away, the point on which they would never comprehend each other. If the truth hit Myste too hard, Elega might be forced to summon guards and have her sister delivered to Prince Kragen.

Nevertheless she was faithful to the risk she'd chosen. Dryly, she replied, "That is the wrong question, Myste. You should ask why the Prince and his forces are here. My reasons hinge on theirs."

Myste studied her intently. "I suspected as much. That is why

I feared for Father. I thought the Alends might have come because he was dead. But I had no wish to offend you by leaping to erroneous conclusions.

"When I left Orison, Prince Kragen had been insulted in the hall of audiences. Yet the fact that he remained made me think that he had not given up hope for peace.

"Why
is
he here, attempting to pull the King from his Seat?"

"Because," Elega answered, bracing herself for Myste's reaction, "I persuaded him to do it."

In a sense, Myste didn't react at all; she simply went still, like an animal in hiding. The change was so unlike her, however, that it seemed as vehement as a shout. Where had she learned so much self-possession—and so much caution?

"I made his acquaintance after his audience with the King." Elega struggled to keep a defensive tone out of her voice. "He taught me to believe him when he said that Margonal's desire for peace was sincere. Yet Alend faced a dilemma he must resolve. Cadwal has no desire for peace—and the King's strength had become plainly inadequate to keep the Congery out of Festten's hands. Alend must take some action, so that the High King would not gain all Imagery for himself.

"First I required of the Prince some indication of his good faith. He replied with the promise that if Orison fell to him he would make the Perdon King of Mordant—that Alend would keep nothing for itself if the Congery was made safe from Cadwal.

"Then I persuaded him that a siege was his best hope."

"But, Elega," Myste protested, "that is untrue. Father is the only man who has ever taken Orison by storm. A siege may well last for seasons. And High King Festten surely will not allow seasons to pass before he comes to prevent the Alend Monarch from claiming the Congery."

"It
is
true," insisted Elega. Honesty, however, forced her to admit, "Or it
was.
Two things made it so. First, the curtain-wall is fragile at best—and no one could have foreseen that one of the Masters would conceive a way to defend it.

"And second—"

Involuntarily, she wavered. This lay at the heart of her ache for action, her desire to see the siege succeed. It was her doing: she had convinced Kragen to attempt it.

If he held her to blame for her failure, he gave no sign of it.

Perhaps he had accepted the hazards of what he did, and felt no recrimination. Or perhaps he found a new hope in the reasons for his present inaction. In either case, she blamed herself enough for both of them. Sure of herself, determined to save her world, she had taken Mordant's fate in her own hands.

And she had dropped it.

"Second?" Myste prompted.

"Second," said Elega, more harshly than she intended, "I promised to deliver Orison to him with little or no bloodshed."

Myste sat completely still; not a muscle in her face shifted. Yet her eyes seemed to burn with outrage.

"How?"

Elega's knuckles tightened on her goblet. "By poisoning the reservoir. Not fatally. But enough to indispose the defense until the castle could be taken."

Without a flicker of expression, almost without moving her mouth, Myste said, "That should have sufficed. What went wrong?"

Deliberately, Elega permitted herself an obscenity which she knew Myste particularly disliked. Then she said, "Geraden and Terisa caught me. They were unable to stop me—or indeed capture me. But they warned the Castellan. No one was indisposed because no one drank the water. The defense holds—and I was forced to flee."

Unable to contain her self-disgust, she concluded, "Does that answer your questions? Can you make your decisions wisely now?"

Gradually, Myste let herself move. Her gaze left Elega's face; she lifted her goblet and drained it. Automatically, far away in her thoughts, she poured more wine and drank again.

"Ah, Elega. How terrible that must be for you—to attempt the betrayal of your own home and family, and to fail."

"It is worse," retorted Elega fiercely, "to do
nothing
—to let every good thing in the world go to ruin because the man who created it cannot be bothered to defend it."

Still slowly, still peering into the distance, Myste nodded. "Perhaps. That is one of the decisions I must make.

"Please tell me. Why does the Prince 'do nothing'? Since the first day of the siege, he has taken no action I can see. To all appearances, he is simply waiting for High King Festten to come and destroy him."

Abruptly, as if a stunned part of her mind had just been kicked.

Elega realized that Prince Kragen was overdue. Usually, he finished discussing the day with his father and came to her tent before this.

If he caught Myste here, he would have no real choice but to make her a prisoner. Her potential value as King Joyse's daughter was too great to be ignored. But Myste was also Elega's sister—and Elega wasn't sure yet what her own decision would be. The only thing she was sure of was that Myste wouldn't reveal any of her secrets as Prince Kragen's prisoner.

Muttering, "Wait here," Elega jumped up and hurried past the curtains into the back of the tent.

There she roused the Alend girl who served as her maid. "Hurry, child," she hissed. "Find the Prince. He may still be with his father, or on his way here. Beg him to forgive me. Tell him I feel unwell. Tell him I am half blind with headache—but it will pass if I am allowed to sleep.

"Go quickly."

She hustled the girl out into the night, paused to quiet the hammering of her heart, then returned to Myste.

Myste looked at her inquiringly. Elega explained what she had done—and was more relieved than she considered reasonable when she saw that Myste believed her. So Myste's new caution, her distrust, had its limits. Despite the things Elega had already done, Myste didn't expect her sister to betray her.

In the back of her mind, Elega began to wonder whose side she herself was on.

She sat down again, poured more wine. Myste was still waiting for an explanation of Prince Kragen's inaction. Elega took a deep breath because for the first time what she was about to say might be interpreted as evidence of disloyalty. Then she asked, "Do you remember the day we first met Terisa? The day the Perdon came storming into Orison, demanding help, and King Joyse refused him?"

"Yes." Once again, Myste's sober gaze was fixed on Elega's face.

"I think I told you about it." Elega remembered the Perdon's rage vividly.
You tell him
this,
my lady,
he had roared at her.
Every man of mine who falls or dies defending him in his blind inaction, I will send
here. "Well, he is doing what he said he would. In small groups and squadrons, injured or dead men and their families arrive almost daily from the Care of Perdon, sent to the purported safety of Orison—and as a reproach to King Joyse.

"They are Alend prisoners now—although it would be more just to say that they are under the care of the army's physicians, and not permitted to leave. Being hurt, exhausted, or bereaved, few of them have the will to refuse when they are questioned."

Myste watched Elega's face and said nothing.

"From them," Elega sighed, "we have learned that the High King's army is not coming here."

At that, Myste's eyes widened. "Not?" she whispered as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Not?"

Elega nodded. "Not directly, in any case. That much is certain. Festten's forces move with what speed they can manage through the hills of Perdon—through the Perdon's resistance. But all recent reports agree that the High King's movement brings him no nearer Orison.

"That is why Prince Kragen believes he can afford to wait."

At last, Myste sounded like her self-control might slip. "Then where is High King Festten going?"

"South and west," Elega answered. "Into the Care of Tor.

"The Perdon's survivors say that the Cadwal army moves along the best route it can find toward Marshall, the Tor's seat."

"But
why?"
demanded Myste. "Why go
there?
The Congery is
here."

Elega had no idea. "I have heard it rumored," she said for the sake of hearing how Myste would reply, "that the Castellan considers the Tor a traitor."

Myste's head twitched. "The Tor? Nonsense." She thought for a moment, then continued, "And if he
is
a traitor, that would be even less reason for High King Festten to invade Tor. It makes no sense.

"What is the Perdon doing?"

To preserve her composure, Elega put on a hard front. "Apparently, he is more dedicated to Mordant's service than his King deserves." The truth was that every thought of the Perdon made her chest ache—made her want to scream because there was nothing she could do. "Festten appears uninterested in Orison. But rather than taking this opportunity to flee—perhaps here, perhaps toward a dubious alliance with the Armigite, or a stronger one with the Fayle— the Perdon shifts his forces so that they are always in Cadwal's way. He began with scarcely three thousand men against at least twenty thousand. If the reports are true, he has less than two thousand now, and every day he is whittled down. And yet he continues fighting.

He spends every life in his command merely to hinder Festten's approach to whatever it is the High King wants.

"Clearly, he is engaged in a personal struggle against Cadwal. If King Joyse had not abandoned him long ago, he would have saved himself—and aided Orison—by coming here.

"Does
that
answer your questions?"

While Elega spoke, Myste's expression changed. Her gaze turned toward Orison; her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Father," she murmured thickly. "How have you been brought to this? How do you bear it?"

Elega's urge to scream intensified. "If it does," she snapped, "perhaps you will consent to answer mine. I have told you enough to get myself beheaded if I were not in the Prince's favor. I would like some return for my risk."

"Yes." Suddenly, Myste rose to her feet, facing through the wall of the tent toward Orison as though Elega weren't present. "I can make my decisions now. Thank you.

"I must go."

Without a glance at her sister, she started toward the tentflap.

For an instant, Elega was stuck, caught between contradictory reactions. She was full of outrage; she wanted to make scathing demands which would rip Myste's reticence aside. At the same time, the thought that her sister was about to leave her—without trusting her, without
trusting
her—went into her heart like a spike.

She was about to shout for a soldier when a new thought flashed through her like a bolt of illumination.

Before her sister reached the tentflap, she said, "Father sent me a message, Myste."