The Mirror of Her Dreams (33 page)

'As it happened, he fled straight into the arms of King Joyse. The King had learned of my attacker before I had, and he was riding towards us to deal with the man when I fell. Instantly, my attacker turned his power against the King. But he was no match for Adept Havelock in those days, and he was killed.

'Weakened by the damage it had suffered, the ceiling of my cave continued to fall. But King Joyse risked his life to enter and lift the stone and carry me to safety. He could not heal the harm done to my back-the harm which marks me still. But he restored my health, recovered my researches, and gave my life purpose in the Congery.'

'And for this you hate him?' asked Master Barsonage incredulously.

Master Gilbur slashed the air with hooked fingers. 'Yes!

'Oh, he was wise in the creation of the Congery. He was strong and valiant in the making of Mordant. And he was good to me. But he did not teach me to look upon his subsequent weakness, his folly, his refusal to act as though such things were anything except
betrayal.

'I despise what he has
become,
Master Barsonage. If you or I slipped into our dotage, the servants of Orison would tend us in our beds, and our responsibilities would pass elsewhere. Our incontinence or our loss of mind would do no hurt. But
he
remains King. And he takes no action except to prevent any action which might offer us hope.

'You should be savage, as I am. The man in all Mordant whom we have most cause to love has
betrayed usl'

His shout echoed through the chamber. At once, however, he sat down. Into the silence, he growled softly,
'
I have been attacked and broken once. We must have power to defend ourselves.'

Then he bowed his head into his hands and sat still.

No one spoke. Master Eremis shifted in his seat as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. Master Quillon appeared to be shrinking: he might have been making a conscious effort to disappear into the background. The mediator clenched his arms over his heavy chest like a man who felt like raging and did not intend to let himself go. Some of the Imagers watched the rest of the circle as if they were looking for hints: others studiously avoided anyone else's gaze.

Terisa listened to the tension and wondered what the implications of being real were. What did it demand of her? What should she do?

Abruptly, Master Gilbur hit the rail in front of him so hard she thought she heard the wood crack. 'Balls of a dog!' he roared. 'Will you sit there forever? If you consider me wrong, say so. Does not one of you possess bowels enough to tell me to my face that I am wrong?'

At once, the young Imager who had jeered at Master Eremis said loudly, 'I second Master Gilbur's proposal. We must call our champion to us.'

His words broke a dam: suddenly, the air was full of voices urging that the matter be put to a vote.

Still gripping himself hard, Master Barsonage waited until quiet was restored. Then he said stiffly, like a breaking board, 'Very well. This is madness, but it must be answered. I know my duty. You have heard the proposal. Shall it be accepted? What is the will of the Congery?'

Terisa counted the show of hands as rapidly as she could. Master Barsonage, Master Eremis, Master Quillon, and several others voted against the proposal.

They were in the minority. Master Gilbur won.

The mediator snarled his disgust.

As if shocked by what it had just done, the Congery relapsed into silence. Imagers blinked at each other uncertainly. A grin of anticipation bared Master Gilbur's teeth; but he savoured his victory and said nothing. Nobody seemed to know what to do next.

Then Master Eremis rose to his feet. If anything, his manner was more nonchalant than ever; but Terisa saw in his face- especially in his eyes-a new excitement, a taste for the game he was playing.

'I am surprised,' he drawled. 'This
is
madness, as Master Barsonage has said. I will not challenge the vote, however. It is conceivable, I suppose, that my judgement may be in error.' He flashed a smile to which no one responded.

'Be that as it may,' he continued, 'you must next decide
when
to attempt this translation. Let me beg for a delay. Six days should suffice.'

Master Gilbur jerked up his head as though he had been poked in the ribs. Master Quillon watched Eremis like a small animal staring at a snake.

'A delay, Master Eremis?' asked Barsonage. 'Six days?' A quickness had come into his attention: his distress receded. 'If Master Gilbur has his way, we will begin the translation at once. Why should we delay?'

'Why should we not?' Master Gilbur retorted trenchantly. The peril thickens around us like quicksand. Thirty thousand Cadwals are poised against Perdon. The Alend Monarch alone knows what treachery he contemplates. We are attacked by Imagery of all kinds-and in all places, as if our enemy has no limitations of time and distance. In six days we may all be dead. But doubtless we will bow to the wisdom of our esteemed Eremis.'

'Master Gilbur'-once again, the insouciant Imager looked hugely and secretly amused-'I advise you to watch your tongue. If you do not, I will watch it for you. In order to watch it well, I will remove it from your head.'

Gilbur replied with a bark of laughter.

'Master Barsonage,' Eremis went on smoothly, 'I do not make this request lightly. Here is my reason. Yesterday, after his audience with King Joyse, I spoke with the Perdon. We spoke at some length, and we agreed that Mordant's plight is dire, that the King's passivity is insufferable, and that some action must be taken in spite of him.

'Our own dilemma is severe, Masters,' he said to the circle, 'but consider the situation of the Cares. It is Perdon which will die first when Cadwal comes to war, Armigite that has always been the first victim of Alend's aspirations, Termigan and Fayle and Tor which will have their people decimated. Therefore the Perdon promised that he will summon all the lords of the Cares to Orison-with the exception of the Domne, of course, who is too great a friend of the King's-so that they can try to determine an answer to their common need. And so that they can try to forge an alliance with us.'

Terisa saw dismay on Master Quillon's face. On the other hand, the mediator listened with visibly increasing enthusiasm.

They will meet during the night of the sixth day,' Master Eremis continued. 'I have been asked to confer with them, to speak for the Congery.'

'What? In
six days!
For messengers to ride out and the lords reply?' an angry Master demanded. 'At this time of year?' A mutter of agreement rose around him. 'If the Armigite is sent for, he may possibly ride the distance in time. Batten is little more than forty miles distant. But the Fayle? The Tor? That is madness. Under the best conditions, the Termigan has seldom made the journey to Orison in less than
ten
days.'

'Nevertheless,' Master Eremis replied, as suave as poison, 'the Perdon has promised it. Will you call him a liar?' Then he smiled.
'
I do believe, however, that he had decided on this gathering- and had sent out his call-well before he spoke to me.'

At once, he resumed what he had been saying. 'Masters, I believe that we must not ignore this opportunity to find support for what we do. If we ally ourselves with the lords of the Cares, explaining to them what we propose for Mordant, we will not risk their opposition to our champion. And we will gain friendships across Mordant which may prove of great value in the coming strife.'

Terisa found herself gazing up at him as though her face shone. The boldness and possibilities of what he proposed took her breath away. He was trying to fight for Mordant in a way that made sense to her.

'Also,' Master Barsonage put in promptly, 'it may be that the lords will propose a defence which will make the calling of our champion unnecessary. And we will have six more days in which to be sure of what we do. Master Eremis, I congratulate your foresight and initiative. This is well done.'

'Is it?' demanded one of the younger Imagers. 'By what right does Master Eremis speak for us in front of the lords of the Cares?'

'As Master Barsonage has said,' Master Eremis said with a gleam in his eyes. 'By right of foresight and initiative.'

'But you oppose the calling of our champion,' another man protested. 'How can we be sure that this is not some ploy to undercut our decision? How can we know that you will advocate our knowledge and position fairly to the lords?'

'Masters,' Eremis answered in a tone of good-natured sarcasm, 'the lords will not agree to bare their hearts before the entire Congery. However we may look at the matter, we are the creation of King Joyse, and all men who fear his present
policy
fear us as well.'

'My question remains,' put in the man who had spoken earlier. 'How can you be trusted to form an alliance for us, when you oppose what we mean to do?'

For a moment, Master Eremis looked around him-at Master Barsonage, at Master Quillon, whose eyes seemed to bulge with stifled distress, at the Imagers who challenged him. Then he shrugged. 'Very well. I will take one of you with me, to ensure that I deal rightly with your decisions. I will risk the ire of the lords.

'Master Gilbur, will you accompany me in this?'

Surprise echoed around the circle. Gilbur gaped. But he quickly nodded, murmuring, 'I will.'

Master Barsonage permitted himself a sigh of relief. 'Master Gilbur, I take that as a second. Masters, it has been proposed that we delay the translation of our champion for six days, until Master Eremis and Master Gilbur have spoken to the lords of the Cares. Shall it be accepted? What is your will?'

The vote was almost unanimous.

Terisa began breathing more easily, as if a threat had been averted, Six days: anything could happen in six days.

But Master Eremis wasn't done. Still standing, he said, 'One matter more. The lords of the Cares will come to Orison openly, as befits their station. But they will meet in secret.'

The mediator nodded briskly. 'I understand you.' The postponement appeared to have restored his confidence, his command of the situation, 'Masters,' he said in an incisive voice, his jaw jutting, 'my lady Terisa of Morgan, no one must speak of this. No one. Whatever your private opinion of us, and of what we mean to do, you must not speak.' He addressed the circle generally; but his gaze was fixed on Terisa. 'The lords will not trust us if any word of this meeting precedes them, If King Joyse interferes, all hope of any alliance will be lost. We do what we do, not to aggrandize ourselves, but to save Mordant. We must not be betrayed.' Slowly, he moved until he was standing at the rail in front of her; his eyes held hers. 'My lady,' he said quietly, 'you must not speak of
anything
you have heard today.'

He gave her a wry smile. 'Geraden will question you, I do not doubt. If you become acquainted with her, you will find that the lady Elega is insatiably curious. Castellan Lebbick desires to know everything that takes place in Orison. Even King Joyse may bestir himself to take an interest in you.

'My lady, you must say nothing.'

She tried to meet his eyes, but they were too frightening. He was asking her to make a choice and stand by it-asking her to accept at least a small share of the responsibility for Master Eremis' success. A passive share, perhaps; but a choice nonetheless. Wasn't that what people who believed in themselves did? -made choices and stood by them?

She hesitated because she wasn't ready to promise that she wouldn't talk to Geraden.

Fortunately, Master Eremis came to her rescue. 'Master Bar-sonage,' he said kindly, 'I am certain that we can trust her.'

The mediator glanced at Eremis, frowning as if he disliked his thoughts-as if something in Eremis' words or tone suddenly raised a host of questions. A moment later, however, he shook his head and turned away.

'Masters,' he said distantly, 'are there other matters we must discuss here?'

No one said anything.

Then let us have done. I think that we have cast enough votes which will shape Mordant's future for one day.'

Leaving the centre of the circle, he passed between the pillars, unbolted a door, and walked out of the chamber.