The Mirror of Her Dreams (58 page)

They're coming,' he said. 'They're going to rescue us. We're going to be rescued.'

Unable to control herself, Terisa burst into tears.

It seemed to take forever. Then it happened all at once. The air grew colder and colder, cooling the rocks, cooling the desperate pressure in her lungs; but there was no other change except an increase in the shifting. That nearly pushed her into panic: every subtle movement threatened to break the bones of her back. She couldn't keep from sobbing. Nevertheless Geraden's nearness helped her. And she knew how to hang on when every part of her seemed to be fading.

And suddenly the weight on her simply vanished as though it were no longer real. She heard voices; more stone vanished. Hands came scrabbling through the debris to grab her arms with alarmed roughness and haul her upright.

She was still crying, but the tears washed the grit out of her eyes. She got her vision back in time to see Artagel pull Geraden out from under the place where she had been lying.

Master Quillon held her. 'Are you all right, my lady?' He seemed to be weeping himself. 'Are you all right?' His concern sounded as wonderful as the grip of his arms, and the cold, open air full of snow, and the freedom to move.

Geraden clung to his brother and coughed as if his lungs were torn. Yet he was breathing. Nothing about him looked crushed. Dust hid the traces of blood on his temple.

Falling snow made the air as dim as twilight; but she could discern what was left of the Congery's meeting-hall. Beyond the shattered stumps of the pillars, the doors were open. Enormous quantities of broken stone still covered the floor. At least a dozen Masters-and many guards with shovels, picks, and crowbars- stood holding mirrors among the debris.

She caught a glimpse of Master Eremis; then he strode away as if he were in a hurry.

Abruptly, Artagel shouted, 'We did it!' and the guards dropped their tools and started cheering.

'It was a terrible mistake,' muttered Master Barsonage. Behind the dust caking his face, his eyes were red with weariness. He gripped a tall mirror that she recognized-the glass with the reflected seascape. The mediator's shoulders shook in exhaustion. 'We should never have risked that champion. We were all mad. Castellan Lebbick has fifty men chasing him, but I doubt that they will be enough. Still, we have been luckier than we deserve. We have lost only two Masters.' He named men she didn't know. 'And you are alive.'

'Please forgive us, my lady,' he finished unsteadily. 'We were stupid-but we did not mean you harm.'

Geraden rubbed a cloud of dust from his hair. 'Tell that to Master Gilbur.' He was smiling. 'If he hit me any harder, he would have broken my neck.' But he seemed unable to keep his eyes in focus. 'With your permission, my lady,' he said to Terisa, 'I think I'll lie down for a while.'

Smoothly, as though it were the most graceful thing he had ever done, he fainted in Artagel's grasp.

There was a gaping breach in the ceiling of the chamber, and that section of the level above it had been gutted; but the worst damage was off to the side, where the champion had burned his way up and out through the wall. Snow whirled inward on an eddying wind. It was falling heavily enough to gather in Master Quillon's hair and form clumps on the mediator's wide shoulders.

Geraden believed that she was going to save Mordant.

When she looked up into the snow, she thought she heard the distant thrill of horns.

SHE WAS SHIVERING. The temperature of the air seemed to drop rapidly-although that was just reaction, she knew, just her body and mind suffering the consequences of what she had been through. Her grey gown, so warm and self-effacing earlier, now gave her no protection at all. Granite dust coated every fibre of the material, covered every inch of her skin, made her hair feel like ruined wool.

On the other hand, she was able to understand why Geraden had fainted.

But someone thrust a rude, soldier's goblet in front of her face. She took it and swallowed deeply because she thought it contained wine.

The liquid turned out to be harsh brandy. A spasm knotted her chest. When she was done coughing and gasping, however, she felt better. More dirt had been washed from her eyes, and her lungs were clearing. She felt warmer.

Geraden remained unconscious. Artagel had stretched him out on the rubble, and a man in a grey doublet and baggy cotton breeches was examining him. After listening to his chest and feeling his pulse, the man sponged the dirt from his face, noticed and cleaned the wound on his temple, then took a vial from a leather satchel and poured some liquid between his lips.

Rising to his feet, the man announced quietly, 'He sleeps.' Apparently, he was a physician. 'He does not appear seriously hurt. Take him to his bed-let him rest for an hour or two. Then awaken him for a bath and food. If he has any complaint-or if he is difficult to awaken-I will come at once.'

Artagel nodded, and the man turned to Terisa. 'Are you hurt, my lady?'

She tested her arms and legs. They felt unnaturally stiff, and she couldn't stop shivering; but nothing was damaged.

The physician watched her analytically. 'Bruises and headaches must be expected. But if you discover any deep pains or swelling

-or if you suffer dizziness or prolonged faintness-you must send for me.'

Taking his satchel, he left the chamber.

Artagel scooped Geraden into his arms. Take care of him,' Terisa murmured. He gave her a smile and moved away, carrying his brother easily.

'Come, my lady.' Master Quillon was still supporting her. 'We will return to your rooms. You, too, will profit from rest, a bath, and food.'

'Yes,' sighed Master Barsonage. 'We must all rest. And think. We must find some way to combat this champion. Now that his proper glass is broken, we have no good weapon against him.'

Leaning on Master Quillon because her legs seemed to have developed ideas of their own, Terisa let him help her out of the meeting-hall.

As soon as they gained the relative privacy-and the warmer air-of the corridors leading out of the laborium, she asked the question which was uppermost in her mind. 'Is Geraden safe now? Do his enemies have any reason to kill him now?'

He hesitated momentarily. 'My lady, let me first explain that I do not know what the enemies of Mordant hope to gain by the presence of this champion. For that matter,' he added, 'I do not know what
we
hoped to gain. I abide by the decisions of the Congery because I am an Imager-but that decision I do not understand. He appears to be a danger without aim, allegiance, or purpose. As such, his actions will be random in effect. Perhaps they will aid our enemies-perhaps us.

'Nevertheless,' he continued, 'it is clear that Geraden's immediate peril is now less. If you were to tell him everything you have heard, what action could he take which would threaten those who do not wish him well?

'And yet, my lady,' he said pointedly, 'the
reason
for his peril

-I have never been able to say what that is. I do not know what it is which makes him a threat to his enemies, and so I cannot claim that their malice against him has been made less. The reason for his peril remains.'

Master Quillon's words drew a shudder from her; but she accepted them. She needed to keep her mind moving. Since he seemed willing to talk, she asked, 'Why didn't King Joyse stop them? Why did he wait so long before sending Castellan Leb-bick?'

The Master cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'My lady, the Fayle tried to warn King Joyse, but he was not heard. The King refused. Castellan Lebbick had no orders to intervene. He acted upon his own initiative, after the Fayle spoke to him.'

'But why?' she pursued. 'I thought King Joyse opposed that kind of translation. I thought that was one reason he created the Congery in the first place-so he could have all the Imagers in one place and make sure they didn't do any more involuntary translations.'

Master Quillon gave a snort of exasperation. 'If I were in a position to explain our King's actions and inactions, Mordant's need would be very different than it is now.'

That was the best answer she was able to get out of him.

He took her through frightened, tense, and curious crowds in the direction of her tower. When they reached her suite, they found that the doors were unguarded.

'Wonderful!' he muttered angrily. 'By the stars, this is perfect.'

Confusion had begun to creep like fog through the cracks and crevices of her brain. Her reaction to what had happened was growing stronger. Like a woman with a head full of cotton, she asked, 'What's perfect?'

The guards.' He stopped and cocked his fists on his hips; his head made twitching movements as his gaze darted in all directions. They were all called to dig in the rubble. You are unprotected. If that butcher who desires your life should choose this moment to attack again, you are lost.'

Obviously, what he was saying was important to him. Yet somehow she had missed the point. Carefully, she inquired, 'How do you know about that?'

He looked at her sharply, his nose wrinkling. 'My lady, you need rest. And I suggest a quantity of wine. But you are unprotected.'

'I mean it.' It was difficult to speak aloud. I didn't tell anybody. Artagel didn't. I'm sure Prince Kragen and the Perdon didn't. 'How do you know I was attacked last night?'

'Last night?' Surprise made his voice squeak. 'You were attacked last night? By the same man?'

She nodded dumbly.

'Ruination! By the pure sand of dreams, why does Lebbick bother to train the dead meat he uses for guards?' With an effort, Quillon controlled himself. Facing her squarely, he asked, 'My lady, how did you survive?'

'Artagel saved me. Geraden asked him to keep an eye on me.'

Thank the stars,' Master Quillon breathed fervently, 'for that impetuous puppy's interminable interference!' Almost at once, he demanded, 'Why did you tell no one?'

She blinked at him, unable to fathom his distress. This was going on too long. She wanted to lie down. To make him stop, she asked, 'Who do you expect me to trust?'

For just a moment, he looked as miserable and desperate as a soaked rabbit. Then he shook his head and scowled. 'I take your point, my lady. You are not in an easy position. Someday it will improve-if you live that long.

'Go to your rooms,' he continued brusquely. 'Bolt the door. I will guard you until Lebbick's men return to duty.

'As soon as I can, I will have your maid bring food and wine.'

The fog was growing thicker. She stared at him blankly.

His expression softened. 'Go, my lady.' He took her arm to urge her towards the door. 'You need rest. And if you remain standing here your mistrust will become unbearable to me.'

Somehow, his strange mixture of concern and sorrow was enough to move her. She entered her rooms, and he closed the door behind her.

After that, however, the capacity to act abandoned her. She forgot to bolt the door. Standing in the centre of the room, she looked at her windows. They were blinded by the storm. Snow mounted on the ledge outside the glass; snow caught the light from the room and reflected it back. Flakes swirled and swirled forward like bits of light, but behind them everything was dark, as impenetrable as stone.

After a while, she realized that she was lying on the rug.

She felt weak and light-headed, but clearer, less fog-bound.

Cautiously, she got to her feet and located the decanter of wine. It had been refilled, a fact which gave her a sensation of detached surprise until she realized that her bed had also been made, her fires rebuilt, her stores of firewood replenished-until she remembered that a long time had passed since she had left her rooms this morning. Plenty of time for Saddith to do that part of her job.

Because Master Quillon had told her to do so, she poured a goblet of wine, drank it, and poured another.

The wine seemed to increase her detachment as well as make her feel steadier. Now she wasn't surprised when she heard voices outside her door.