A Man Rides Through (59 page)

'"Da,"' Terisa put in happily. "You promised to call him 'Da.'" Artagel's smile told her everything she needed to know. Now she was just glad that she had never told Geraden about Artagel's distrust.

Nevertheless Artagel's next words reassured her further. Instead of trying to answer Geraden's questions, he commented half casually, "I heard what he said." He nodded toward the Castellan. "We all heard him. Actually, he isn't the
only
one who believes you. But I have to admit we're in the minority."

Terisa beamed with pleasure and relief.

"Don't worry about it," said Geraden. "We'll get that straightened out as soon as we see King Joyse. Tell me something important.
How's your side?"

Artagel laughed easily. "Terrible. All this rest is giving me the twitches." Humorously, he whispered, "If I don't get to fight somebody soon, I'm going to end up like Lebbick."

"My lady Terisa. Geraden." Prince Kragen addressed them coldly, but his expression was one of bemusement rather than irritation. "It might be wise to conduct this reunion later. The present circumstances are less than cordial. We must meet with King Joyse promptly."

Artagel laughed again. "He's right. First things first. I'll follow you to the hall. When you're done there, we'll talk."

Waving his hand cheerfully, he retreated among the horses and guards.

When Terisa looked at Geraden, she saw that his eyes were full of tears.

He was happy: she knew he was happy. He loved Artagel. For that reason, she was surprised by the pain on his face.

Until she noticed Geraden's pain, she didn't absorb the fact that Artagel moved with a slight limp, as if he had an unhealed stiffness in his side.

And he wasn't carrying a sword.

Oh, Artagel!

Had Gart hurt him that badly? Or had his long sequence of overexertions and relapses aggravated the damage enough to cripple him? A swordsman of Artagel's prowess didn't have to be maimed or broken to be crippled. A few muscles which didn't heal properly in his side could do it.

"It's too much, Terisa," Geraden gritted between his teeth. "Too many people have been hurt. Too much harm has been done. This has got to stop. We've got to stop him."

She put her arm through his and squeezed it: she knew whom he was talking about.

Unfortunately, she couldn't get the feeling out of her stomach that a lot more people were going to be hurt soon.

"Come on," she murmured so that Prince Kragen wouldn't summon them again. "If we're going to stop him, this is the way to do it."

Geraden nodded; he scrubbed the expression of sorrow off his face.

Together, he and Terisa joined the Prince and Castellan Lebbick.

Lebbick considered them balefully. He didn't look like a man who believed them. He also didn't sound like a man who believed them. Without preamble, he asserted, "You'll leave your men here, my lord Prince."

Prince Kragen stiffened. "What an odd idea, Castellan. Why would I do such a thing?"

The Castellan's mouth twisted. "I understand your problem. You don't think you're safe here. Well, I have a problem, too. I could be wrong about you. You could be plotting treachery.

"If you're honest, I can tell you one thing for certain. I'll die before you do. But if you aren't—" He shrugged. "You'll leave your men in the courtyard."

Prince Kragen's fingers stroked the hilt of his sword lightly. His demeanor was unruffled, but Terisa could sense his ire. Softly, he asked, "Are you so unconcerned about the lady Elega's position, Castellan?"

Castellan Lebbick returned a snort. "She isn't
my
daughter. I don't care what happens to her. I'm in command of Orison. If you make me cut you down, King Joyse will never know the difference. I'll report it any way I like."

He faced the Prince, daring the Alend Contender to doubt him.

The darkness in Prince Kragen's eyes scared Terisa. She thought she ought to do something, intervene somehow. But Geraden was holding her arm now; he kept her still.

After a moment, the Prince said, "If you had come to me, Castellan, you would have received better treatment."

"Swineswater," remarked Lebbick succinctly.

Prince Kragen's jaws bunched; blood deepened the hue of his skin. After a moment, however, he nodded.

"My guard will wait outside the gates. If we do not return in an hour, they will ride to the Alend Monarch. The lady Elega will be killed. Tell King Joyse what you will."

Castellan Lebbick gave another of his crushed-rock laughs. "Let the Alends wait outside the gates," he told one of his men. "Be civil about it. Keep the gates open."

Without waiting for a reply, he headed toward the nearest doorway.

Prince Kragen glanced at Terisa, at Geraden. She chewed her lip; but Geraden assented promptly. "It's the best chance we've got. He's never stabbed anybody in the back."

"You are a bad influence," murmured Prince Kragen, "both of you. You urge me to accept horrifying risks as if they were entirely plausible. If I am ever crowned the Alend Monarch, I will have to become more cautious."

Smiling ominously, he led Terisa and Geraden after the Castellan.

Inside the castle, past the guards at the door, the halls were deserted. The spectators who packed the inner windows and balconies were nowhere to be seen; every indication of Orison's overcrowding was gone. "Curfew," Castellan Lebbick explained as he strode along the echoing passage. "I thought you were going to break through the gates today. I ordered everybody out of the way. Nobody's allowed to use the halls except the King's guard."

He may have intended his explanation to be reassuring. Nevertheless the unnatural silence of the place plucked at Terisa's nerves. She seemed to feel vast numbers of people crouched out of sight, waiting—

Rumors would travel fast in a besieged castle. When enough people heard that Nyle's murderer and Master Quillon's murderer and the Alend Contender were in Orison, the curfew wouldn't hold. No curfew would hold.

And when it broke, what would Lebbick do?

King Joyse had to listen to them. That was all there was to it. He had to listen. He had to believe them.

Otherwise she and Geraden and even Prince Kragen might not live long enough to find out what Master Eremis' trap actually was.

They were obviously being watched. She didn't see anybody, but she could hear voices. Just a murmur at first, an impression of whispering which filled the corridors with hints of menace. Then the voices grew louder, bolder. One of them said, "Killer." Another called out clearly, "Butcher!"

Castellan Lebbick didn't glance aside. He didn't seem to hear the voices. Or maybe he approved of them. He waited until they faded behind him. Then, to no one in particular, he commented, "They don't mean you. They mean me."

The way he walked was so tightly controlled that it made his whole body appear brittle.

He took Terisa, Geraden, and Prince Kragen directly to the audience hall.

Across a high, formal space marked with windows and pennons, they approached a set of peaked doors. Like the ones to the courtyard, those doors were guarded. Terisa took that as a good sign. She held Geraden's arm and tried to keep her respiration steady as the guards opened the doors into the hall of audiences.

She remembered it vividly—its cathedrallike height and length; the walls covered by carved wooden screens, their finials reaching twenty or thirty feet toward the vaulted ceiling; the two narrow windows high in the far wall. Working on short notice, a flustered old servant hurried along the rows of candles, past the batteries of lamps, trying to light them all as fast as he could. He still had a long way to go; yet he—and the windows—already gave enough illumination to show King Joyse's ornate mahogany throne on its pediment. A run of rich carpet led from the doors to the pediment; the rest of the wide area in front of the throne was open, surrounded by benches like pews. From each side of the pediment, a row of chairs reached toward the benches.

Because the light was so dim, the balcony surrounding the hall above the screens was shrouded in darkness. Terisa could see well enough, however, to note that the Castellan already had guards in position. Archers ranged there along the walls of the hall, four on each side.

Two pikemen closed the doors and stood to hold them. Four more were at attention beside the King's seat. She counted them again: fourteen guards. Sourly, she supposed that Lebbick's refusal to permit the attendance of Prince Kragen's honor guard made sense. If the Castellan could only produce fourteen guards, Kragen's ten soldiers might have been sufficient to protect him from the consequences of treachery.

Then, as the old servant continued to do his job, and the light improved, she realized that the benches and chairs weren't empty.

The gathering was small, compared to the one which had greeted Prince Kragen's first visit. Terisa suspected, however, that the people here were the ones who mattered. No courtiers were present, no lords or ladies whose sole claim to significance arose from birth or wealth. Around the benches were several more guards, each wearing the insignia of a captain: Lebbick's seconds-in-command. Artagel sat among them, grinning encouragement. She saw some of King Joyse's counselors, men she had met only once before: the Lord of Commerce, for example; the Home Ambassador; the Lord of the Privy Purse. And in the chairs—

To the right of the throne sat the Tor, sprawling his bulk over at least two chairs. To all appearances, he hadn't changed his robe since Terisa had last seen him: it was crumpled and filthy, so badly stained that it looked like it would never come clean. The dull red in his eyes and the way his flesh sagged from the bones of his face gave the impression that he was drunk. If he recognized either Terisa or Geraden, he didn't show it.

As if to avoid him—as if he stank or had lost continence— everyone else was seated on the left.

The men there were Masters. Terisa knew Barsonage, of course: the mediator was scowling at her as if she had betrayed everything he valued. And most of the Imagers with him she had seen before. But at least one of them looked so unfamiliar—and so young—that she thought he must be an Apt who had just recently earned his chasuble.

Two of the three of them were breathing hard. They must have come at a run. After all, the Castellan's men hadn't had much time to summon people to this audience.

The reason for the attendance of the Masters was obvious. King Joyse had threatened to defend Orison with Imagery. To do that, he needed the support of the Congery.

The Imagers made her think of Master Quillon, and her heart twisted.

Then she realized that Adept Havelock was missing. The High King's Dastard wasn't in the hall anywhere.

Neither was Master Eremis, however. That was a relief.

Soundless on the carpet, Castellan Lebbick strode toward the chairs on the right and sat down a few places away from the Tor, leaving Prince Kragen, Geraden, and Terisa in the open space before the throne. Inconsequently, she noticed the burned spot on the rug, where Havelock had once dropped his censer. No one had bothered to mend it. King Joyse hadn't had much use for his audience hall in recent years.

He didn't have much use for it now, apparently. He wasn't present.

Prince Kragen surveyed the hall; he scanned the balconies. The corner of his moustache lifted as if he were sneering. When he had completed his study of the King's defenses, he said clearly, "Remarkable. Is this the best audience King Joyse can produce? If an ambassador came to the Alend Monarch, at least a hundred nobles would commemorate the occasion, regardless of the hour—or the urgency." A moment later, however, he remarked politely, "Most impressive, Castellan. For the first time, I truly believe that you do not intend to harm us. You would not need so many men—and so many witnesses—to procure our deaths.

"What
do
you intend? Where is King Joyse?"

Castellan Lebbick remained sitting. In a voice which resembled his laugh, he barked, "Norge!"

Slowly, almost casually, one of the captains stood and came to attention. He saluted the Castellan calmly. In fact, everything about him seemed calm. He sounded like he was talking in his sleep.