The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  He had: the bolt was fixed.

  The rooms had also been cleaned and tidied. The strewn peacock feathers of the previous night were gone. A decanter of wine and a few goblets had been set on a table near one wall.

  She was relieved when Saddith unfastened the hooks at the back of the gown and the pressure around her chest was released. Her lungs felt tight, as though she hadn’t taken a decent breath for hours. Gladly, she dressed herself in her flannel shirt, corduroy pants, and moccasins. Then she waited as patiently as she could until Saddith had built up the fires, replenished the lamps, and made her departure.

  At once, Terisa bolted the door. Then she went to the wardrobe with the concealed door and made sure her chair was still propped securely against that entrance. It was impossible that she would ever be formidable. She didn’t want any man to look at her as Master Eremis did.

  Unless Eremis himself did it again. Just once. So that she might have a chance to learn what it meant.

  But when she went to one of her windows to gaze out over the winterscape of Orison and try to make some sense of her emotions, the face she remembered most vividly was Geraden’s – his expression flat and neutral, held rigidly blank because she had hurt him and he didn’t intend to show it.

  ***

  During the afternoon, as the sun westered toward the cold, white hills, she was watching a squad of guards exercise their mounts in the courtyard when she chanced to see a figure that looked like the Perdon stride out into the wet snow and mud. Men on horseback were waiting for him, their shoulders wrapped in heavy cloaks against the weather. He sprang onto a beast they held ready for him. With as much speed as the horses could manage on that footing, they rode out of Orison.

  To her, he looked like a man who had made up his mind.

  ***

  After breakfast the next morning, she gave herself a bath, put on her own clothes, and tried to decide what she was going to do. For some reason, she hadn’t been troubled by the sensation that she was fading – even though she had spent the evening alone with her fears and the strangeness of her situation; even though her existence seemed to be more doubtful than ever; even though there were no mirrors anywhere, no kinds of glass in which she could see herself reflected. Nevertheless her problem remained. The mirror that had brought her here was false. She wasn’t an Imager – and Mordant needed help at least as powerful as an Imager’s. A man in black had tried to kill her. She had seen men torn apart like raw meat by creatures out of nowhere. People who counted on her were going to get hurt.

  She had to do something about it.

  Well, what, exactly?

  She still had no idea.

  For that reason, she jumped up and ran to answer it when she heard a knock at her door. It sounded like an offer of rescue.

  Unbolting the door, she pulled it open.

  Master Eremis stood outside.

  He had Geraden with him.

  “Good morning, my lady,” the Master said cheerfully. “I see that you have slept well. Your eyes are altogether brighter this morning – which I had not thought possible. I must confess, however” – he leered at her – “that I prefer yesterday’s apparel. But no matter. I have come to escort you to the meeting of the Congery. “

  This was too sudden. Her heart was still pounding in reply to his unexpected presence. “The Congery?” she asked as if she were deaf or stupid. “Am I invited?”

  Instinctively, she turned to Geraden for an answer.

  The Apt’s face was deliberately blank. He looked like a man who had taken an oath to stifle his emotions. Apparently, he still felt hurt, but didn’t want to show it. Or was he just trying to keep his reactions to Master Eremis under control? She couldn’t tell.

  Nevertheless he was the one she trusted to tell her what was happening.

  He didn’t quite meet her gaze. “Actually, neither of us is invited,” he said neutrally. “But Master Eremis wants us to go with him anyway.”

  “I do, indeed,” said the Master. “I have told you that I mean to show my friendship toward you. And today the Congery will attempt to decide what action the lady Terisa’s presence and Mordant’s need require. Surely that discussion will be of some interest to you, my lady?”

  Because she had hurt him – and because she had no idea where she stood with Master Eremis or the Congery – she tried to find some way to ask Geraden what she should do. But the words wouldn’t come. Eremis’ smile seemed to stop them in her throat.

  Geraden scanned the room. Still neutrally, he said, “It may not be pleasant. At least half the Imagers are going to be offended when we show up without being invited. But Master Eremis doesn’t seem to care about that. And the opportunity is too important. I don’t think we should miss it.”

  Listening to him gave Terisa the odd impression that he had aged since the previous day.

  In an effort to show him how much she appreciated his reply, she said, “All right,” without a glance at Eremis. “I’ll go.” Then she stood still under the Master’s quick frown of vexation, although it made her heart quake.

  Unfortunately, Geraden’s gaze didn’t rise above her knees; he didn’t see that she was trying to apologize.

  Master Eremis got even with her by giving her an exaggerated bow in the direction of the door and saying, “If you will so graciously condescend, my lady?” His mockery was plain, but his quick smile took the sting out of it. The way he looked at her reminded her of his finger’s touch on the curve of her breast. Before she was altogether sure of what she was doing, she returned a shy smile of her own. Somehow, she accepted his arm, and he escorted her out of the room.

  Geraden followed without expression.

  At once, one of the guards stepped forward to call attention to himself. “Master Eremis.”

  Eremis paused, cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Castellan Lebbick’s orders. We’re supposed to know where the lady is at all times. Where are you taking her?”

  Terisa was a bit surprised. No mention of those orders had been made the previous day, when she had left her rooms with Geraden. She glanced at him and saw that he, too, was surprised. His blankness lifted, and he concentrated as if he were thinking hard. The exertion improved his appearance considerably.

  But this discrepancy in the guards’ behavior was something that Master Eremis obviously knew nothing about. “I have invited her to a meeting of the Congery,” he answered smoothly – acid under a satin surface. “Doubtless Castellan Lebbick – by which I mean King Joyse – will also wish to know what the Congery means to discuss in her presence.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And doubtless his spies will tell him shortly after the event. Come, my lady.”

  As though she were dressed for a formal ball, he took her grandly down the stairs.

  His route toward Orison’s former dungeons was the same one Geraden had used yesterday. As they walked, he bent his tall form slightly over her, at once deferential, proprietary, and courtly. They must have looked like they were sharing secrets. She didn’t have anything to say, however; all the talk was his. She was looking among the people they passed in the halls for any face that might remind her of the man who had attacked her. So he caught her completely off guard by commenting casually, “The Perdon and I discussed you at some length yesterday, my lady.”

  She was too startled to respond. Surely she wasn’t the kind of woman men discussed at length?

  He chuckled as if she had said something clever. “He has a – what shall I call it?” – he savored the word in anticipation – “a vast experience of women, but he and I disagreed as to which of your many attractions would prove to be the most delectable. I have promised to give him an answer when he returns to Orison.”

  The idea made her shiver. What did he mean? Something intimate and presumptuous – but what? Her mind remained stubbornly blank on the question. How would he touch her? What emotions would he draw out of her? She was too ignorant: ignorant of men, of course, but also of herself.
<
br />   Unconsciously, she held his arm as though she were cold and needed warmth.

  Crossing the disused ballroom with Geraden behind them, they took the corridor which went down to the laborium of the Congery. Again, she lost her bearings immediately among the doors and turns; but at last she recognized the straight passageway leading to the former torture chamber which the Imagers now used for their debates. The guards outside saluted, then opened the massive wooden door for Master Eremis, Terisa, and Geraden to enter the meeting hall.

  From its perimeter, beyond the four heavy pillars that supported the ceiling, the large, round chamber seemed to clench around the Masters who had already gathered there. But when Eremis took Terisa toward the curved circle of benches and the better light of the lamps, her perspective changed; the space began to feel a bit less oppressive, a bit less like a crypt buried under a pile of old stone.

  There were at least ten Imagers staring at her and Geraden as Master Eremis led them forward. A few of them sat on the benches, leaning toward or away from the carved railing that circled the center of the chamber; the rest stood around the dais. Two days ago, that dais had held the mirror of her translation. No mirrors were present now, however. As a result, the dais looked more like what it had once been: a raised platform to display the interrogation of prisoners.

  Terisa had no trouble identifying Master Barsonage: she remembered his bald head, his eyebrows like tufts of gorse, his face the color and texture of cut pine, his wide girth. And two or three of the other Imagers she recollected vaguely: they must have been standing nearby when Geraden had pulled her out of the glass. But most of the Masters had a strange and hostile appearance, as though they were prepared to judge her sight unseen. To put her to the question without mercy.

  “What is this, Master Eremis?” Master Barsonage asked darkly. “Did we not explicitly determine that neither Apt Geraden nor the lady should take part in our discussions?”

  Geraden studied the groins of the ceiling.

  “You did, Master Barsonage,” replied Master Eremis in good humor. “But I am prepared to persuade the Congery otherwise.”

  The mediator frowned sternly. “This does not please me. It is frivolous. Our survival – and indeed the fate of all Mordant – hinges on the choices we must make. We have not the time” – he faced Eremis squarely – “and I have not the patience to reopen finished decisions.”

  Several of the Imagers nodded, muttering assent. Eremis didn’t appear popular among them.

  “Let us not be hasty,” a familiar voice put in, as if the speaker were meek and disliked calling attention to himself. “For my part, Master Barsonage, I am willing to hear Master Eremis. Perhaps he has too little concern for the dignity of the Congery, but surely he is not frivolous.”

  Until she heard his voice, Terisa didn’t realize that Master Quillon was sitting on one of the benches halfway around the circle from her. His gray robe and nondescript demeanor blended into the stone background. Involuntarily, her gaze leapt to him, at once glad to see someone she thought of as a friend and fearful that in his presence she wouldn’t adequately keep his secret. But he didn’t meet her look. His bright eyes watched the other Masters, and his nose twitched alertly.

  “In any case,” drawled Master Eremis, “it is my right to bring whatever I see fit before the Congery. That is one of our rules, Master Barsonage, as you well know.”

  An Imager said, “That’s true.” Another agreed.

  Master Barsonage made a snorting noise, but he didn’t trouble to argue the point. Turning away, he resumed his conversation with the Masters standing near him.

  For a moment, Master Eremis grinned at the mediator’s back. Then he drew Terisa toward an empty bench and seated her there, with the railing between her and the center of the chamber. With a gesture, half brusque, half cheerful, he commanded Geraden to the bench as well. Eremis himself remained on his feet, however.

  From her seat, Terisa received an exaggerated impression of how much taller he was than any of the men near him.

  The room didn’t seem as cold as it had been two days ago.

  Alone or in small groups, more Imagers arrived. She noticed now that two or three of them were young enough to be recently elevated Apts – as young as Geraden. Among the others was someone else she recognized: heavyset Master Gilbur, a scowl cut deeply into the thick flesh of his face under his black-flecked white beard, his crooked back counterbalanced by the power of his hands. She remembered his voice, as guttural as the bite of a saw. But young or old, familiar or otherwise, they all stared at her and frowned at Geraden. Apparently, none of the Masters had improved his opinion of the Apt and her. As he passed, Gilbur rasped rhetorically, “What foolishness is this?”

  Shortly, she heard Master Barsonage murmur, “Well, we are here. Let us begin.” Imagers shuffled themselves to the benches, their yellow chasubles dangling. There was no escape: all the doors were closed. And they were strutted and bolted so that they could only be opened from inside. The Congery valued its privacy. If Master Eremis hadn’t brought her here so confidently, she would never have come. She had nothing in her that might enable her to outface twenty-five or thirty antagonistic men.

  As soon as all the Masters were seated and the mediator was alone beside the dais, he said abruptly, “Be brief, Master Eremis. We have more important questions to confront.”

  In response, Master Eremis stood taller. His smile appeared easy, impervious to insult; but his skin had an underhue of blood, and his pale eyes glittered dangerously. “Master Barsonage,” he said in a conversational tone, “with deference to your age, place, and experience, I doubt whether your questions are more important than mine.

  “No one here has failed to note that I have brought with me two persons expressly prohibited from this meeting – Apt Geraden and the lady Terisa of Morgan.” He didn’t glance at either of them: he was playing to the Masters. “They are the questions we must confront. He is the issue of power, for we still have no understanding of how he contrived to find her in a mirror focused upon our chosen champion.”

  Geraden lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.

  “She represents action – the action we wish to take for our own preservation and the saving of all Mordant. Who belongs in our discussion, if they do not?

  “First let us consider Apt Geraden—”

  “Paugh, Eremis!” Master Gilbur interrupted rudely. “All this has already been said. A child could make the same arguments. Come to the point.”

  “The point, Master Gilbur?” Eremis waggled his eyebrows. “Do you wish me to forgo the fine speech I have prepared for this solemn occasion? Very well. I will trust to your penetrating good sense and make no further defense of my proposal.

  “I propose” – suddenly, he raised his voice until it rang around the stone walls – “that Apt Geraden be granted the chasuble of a Master!”

  While his shout died away, the Imagers gaped at him. Geraden’s head jerked up, his eyes were wide with emotion. Terisa thought, I mean to show my friendship toward you. So this is what he meant. Master Eremis had been planning to gain recognition for the Apt, to see that he was finally rewarded for his years of devotion. She couldn’t understand why the expression in Geraden’s face was neither pleasure nor gratitude, but rather a kind of fear.

  Then through the silence she heard a faint sound like muffled laughter. Scanning the circle, she saw Master Quillon biting the side of his hand to keep himself quiet.

  Several other Masters were less successful. One of them let out a guffaw like the burst of a ruptured wineskin, and half the chamber broke into chuckles and hoots of laughter.

  Slowly, Geraden’s skin turned red until it looked hot enough to catch fire.

  Master Eremis’ grin was like his gaze – at once sharp, ominous, and vastly amused.

  The mediator didn’t laugh. He faced Master Eremis, his chin out-thrust. Without effort, he made himself heard through the glee of the Imagers. “Master Eremis,
it is not kind to humiliate the Apt in this way.”

  “Humiliate, Master Barsonage?” returned Master Eremis instantly in a tone of protest and outrage, though he didn’t lose his grin. “I am entirely serious.” More laughter greeted this assertion. In response, he began to shout at all the Masters together. “Apt Geraden has accomplished something that no Imager before him has ever achieved! Even the arch-Imager Vagel could not use glass as he has! Will you laugh at him? By the pure sand of dreams, you will not!” His voice quenched the mirth around. “Geraden is as worthy of the chasuble as any of you, and I will have my proposal answered!”

  Still he didn’t lose his grin.

  “Oh, forsooth,” said Master Gilbur before anyone else could speak. “ ‘I will have my proposal answered.’ ” His sarcasm was as heavy as a truncheon. “You dream, Eremis. You have put your head into a flat mirror and brought it out as mad as Havelock. Make Geraden a Master? Must I explain even this to you?”

  “You must indeed,” Master Eremis replied like sweet poison, while the rest of the Congery watched him in various states of uncertainty and annoyance. “I ignore the offense, but I must have the explanation.”

  “Have it, then,” Gilbur growled. “We could not accept him to the Congery, were he the greatest Imager in recorded time. We do not have his loyalty. While his body serves us, his heart and mind belong to King Joyse. It is no secret that when he left with her two days ago he took her straight to that old dodderer. But what did he say to her along the way? Ask him that, Eremis. What did he say of us to the King? Ask him that. And how has he served our interests with her since then? Master Barsonage commanded him not to reveal anything to her until the Congery had made its decisions. I will wager that command was broken before Apt Geraden and the lady left this chamber.”

  The muscles at the corners of Geraden’s eyes flinched at every word. Yet he didn’t lower his head or look away. Instead, he grew pale, as though his emotions were being honed out of him, leaving him focused and sharp. Holding her breath for him, Terisa thought that at any moment now someone was going to mention the flat glass which had changed. Then he would be asked to explain what he and she had been doing there.