The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  King Joyse didn’t stand or in any other way return the Prince’s salutation. Gruffly, he muttered, “Kragen, is it? I know you.” The tremor of age in his voice made him sound petulant.

  The Prince’s smile shifted a few degrees. “Have we met, my lord King?”

  “Yes, we have, my lord Prince.” King Joyse articulated the title sourly. “You should remember. It was seventeen years ago. You led several squadrons of Alend horse to protect one of your Imagers from me. When I beat you, I had to have you bound to make you accept defeat – yes, and gagged to make you keep your insults to yourself. You were an overeager puppy, Kragen. I hope that seventeen years have made you wiser.”

  Now Prince Kragen wasn’t smiling. His men weren’t smiling. One of them whispered something Terisa couldn’t hear. Nevertheless Kragen’s manner remained suave and sure. “My thanks for the reminder, my lord King. I doubt that I am much wiser, since I have always been too ready to forget my defeats. For that reason, I am not bitter. Howsoever, it is well that I have come as an ambassador instead of as an opponent, is it not? Since I am an ambassador, you will not need to have me bound and gagged in order to save yourself from an overeager puppy.”

  At that, Castellan Lebbick made a noise between his teeth that could be heard across the hall. Though he sat back in his chair with his arms folded, he gave the impression that he was ready to spring at Prince Kragen’s throat.

  King Joyse scowled. “I have often said,” he answered the Prince slowly, “that a puppy is more deadly than a dog. A dog learns from experience. A puppy has none, and so his behavior cannot be predicted.”

  The Alend ambassador’s eyes had a yellowish cast, like a tinge of anger. Yet his manner remained unruffled. His stance suggested that he was incapable of quailing. “My lord King, do you keep hunting dogs? I do not know if you enjoy the sport. It is one of my passions. Among my people I am not considered a poor master of the hunt. I can assure you that it is never the puppy that brings down the stag.”

  The King’s hands gripped the arms of his throne. “That,” he snapped, “is because dogs hunt in packs.”

  “Oh, Father,” Elega groaned softly.

  The indignation of Prince Kragen’s companions was becoming stronger than their training – or their good sense. One of them put a hand on his sword; the other turned his back halfway to the King and whispered hotly in Kragen’s ear. But the Prince stilled them both with a sharp cut of his hand. He appeared determined not to take public offense.

  “My lord King, it seems that you harbor some enmity toward me – or perhaps toward the Alend Monarch himself. If that is true, it may have a bearing on my mission. I am prepared to discuss it openly, if you desire. But would not a more private audience be better? That was my request, as you will recall.”

  “That was your demand, as I recall,” rasped the Castellan.

  “Nevertheless,” King Joyse said as though he were following a different conversation, “I apologize for calling you a puppy. You have become wiser than you admit. In that, you resemble your father.”

  In response, Prince Kragen brought back his smile. “Oh, I think you misjudge the Alend Monarch, my lord King,” he drawled. “He has become openly fascinated with wisdom over the years. My mission to you is evidence of that.”

  The Castellan continued to glare at Kragen. “The Alend Monarch,” he said in an acid tone, “has caused more death in Mordant than any man except the High King of Cadwal. Come to the point, my lord Prince, and we’ll judge your father’s wisdom for ourselves.”

  For the first time, Prince Kragen shifted his attention away from the King. Still smiling, he said, “You are Castellan Lebbick, are you not? If you do not keep a civil tongue in your head, I will have you garroted.”

  Terisa stiffened. Despite his casual manner, the Prince was convincing. She heard stifled gasps around the hall. The guards tightened their grips on their weapons; Lebbick’s officers poised themselves. Myste was alarmed; but Elega watched the Castellan or the Prince – Terisa couldn’t tell which – with admiration and envy on her face.

  Lebbick’s expression didn’t flicker, yet he looked more like a threat of violence with every passing moment. Slowly, he rose to his feet. Slowly, he turned toward the King. Then he waited in silence for the King to speak.

  King Joyse had slumped back in his seat. He seemed to be shrinking. Wearily, he said, “I wish you would come to the point, Kragen. I’m too old to batter my wits against yours for the rest of the day.” To the Castellan, he added, “Sit down, Lebbick. If he is puppy enough to attempt harm to anyone or anything in Orison, he’ll deserve what happens to him. I’m confident you’ll feed his liver to the crows.”

  Castellan Lebbick glanced at Kragen, then bowed his acquiescence. “With pleasure,” he murmured as he sat down.

  Terisa heard Elega and several other people sigh. Some of them were relieved; the rest sounded disappointed.

  More sternly, King Joyse went on, “We have little reason to love Alend. I ask you simply, Kragen: Why are you here?”

  As if nothing had happened, the Prince replied, “I will answer you simply, my lord King. The Alend Monarch wishes to know what takes place in Mordant. He wishes to end the chaos of rumor and implication. And” – Kragen paused for an instant of drama – “he wishes to propose an alliance.”

  The reaction in the hall was as strong as he could have desired. Unable to restrain herself, Elega sprang to her feet – as did the Castellan, two of his officers, and Master Barsonage. Master Quillon gaped. Whispers of surprise spattered toward the ceiling. Clapping her hand to her mouth, Myste stared up at her father with excitement and hope.

  Terisa had no reason to share Castellan Lebbick’s hostility. As far as she was concerned, the Prince had just spoken the first sensible words she had heard in the hall of audiences.

  “An alliance?” snapped Lebbick. “With Margonal? Sheepdung!”

  One of his officers demanded, “Does the Alend Monarch think we have lost our minds?”

  But another cried, “But if we are allied against Cadwal? The High King musters his armies beyond the Vertigon. The Perdon should hear this!”

  At the same time, Master Barsonage protested, “An alliance? An alliance against our doom?” He looked almost frantic. “My lord King, you must accept!” For an instant, Terisa thought he was going to shout, You must accept, so that the Congery will not need to call its champion!

  More quietly, but with equal fervor, the lady Elega was saying, “Bravely said, Prince Kragen! Bravely done.”

  But King Joyse said nothing until the hubbub stilled itself. He didn’t appear surprised. In fact, he hardly seemed to be interested. His face was tight, as if he were stifling a yawn.

  At last the hall became quiet again. Castellan Lebbick and the others seated themselves reluctantly, as though pushed down against their will. Soon, every eye was fixed on King Joyse.

  Muttering under his breath, he pulled himself straighter in his seat. His circlet had been nudged askew, and a few strands of hair hung down over his eyes. “An alliance, Kragen? After several dozen generations of war? Why should I agree to such a thing?”

  “My lord King, I have not the least idea,” the Prince replied equably. “I have no facts. But the rumors coming out of Mordant suggest that you are in need. They suggest that the need is growing dire. Therefore it occurred to the Alend Monarch to offer his assistance.”

  “What does the Alend Monarch think our need is?”

  The Prince shrugged delicately. “I must repeat that he hears only rumors. But the import of these tales seems clear.” He nodded past Lebbick toward the Masters. “It appears that some – perhaps many – of your Imagers have turned against you.”

  “Impossible!” Master Barsonage objected at once. “You are offensive, my lord Prince.”

  King Joyse ignored the mediator. “And what does the Alend Monarch think to gain from this alliance?”

  “Your trust, my lord King.”

  That made sense
to Terisa.

  King Joyse had a different reaction, however. He sat forward, his incredulity plain on his face. “What? Trust? He does not wish to rule half of Cadwal? He does not desire Imagers of his own?”

  “As I have said,” Prince Kragen explained patiently, “the Alend Monarch has given himself to wisdom. He understands that things may happen between rulers who trust each other which are impossible otherwise. Of course he desires the resources of Imagery for his people. Of course he desires the wealth of Cadwal, so that he can purchase more of what Mordant has and Alend lacks. But he sees that these wishes will not be fulfilled without trust. And trust must begin somewhere.

  “He offers you his assistance and asks nothing in return. If what he wants can be achieved, it will come of its own accord when his cooperation has taught you to know him better.”

  “I see.” King Joyse leaned back again. “Doubtless that explains why Margonal has an army of tremendous size gathering beyond the borders of Fayle and Armigite. I mean, of course, that I have heard rumors of such an army.”

  “Then you have also heard,” the Prince answered smoothly, “that High King Festten musters a massive assault against you. Doubtless” – he allowed himself a hint of sarcasm – “he means to take advantage of your weakness – I mean your need – to crush your kingship, enslave the Cares, and capture all Imagery for himself. I think you will understand, my lord King, that the Alend Monarch cannot permit Cadwal such a victory. Whether or not you accept his alliance, he must oppose the High King. In forging the Congery, you have created something which must not be surrendered.”

  “That is true,” acknowledged the King. “That is true.”

  For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling with his mouth open, stroking his beard as though he were deep in thought. His eyes closed, and Terisa thought suddenly, Oh, no, he’s going to sleep! Abruptly, however, he looked back down at Prince Kragen and smiled.

  His smile seemed to light his face like a touch of sunshine.

  “My lord Prince,” he said as if he were happy for the first time since the audience began, “do you play hop-board?”

  Terisa’s throat closed against a mounting sense of panic as Kragen replied, “Hop-board, my lord King? I am unacquainted with it.”

  “A game.” The wobble in the King’s voice began to sound like ardor. “I find it most instructive.”

  With a noise like a slap, he clapped his hands together. Instinctively, Terisa flinched. Myste and Elega stared worry and consternation up at their father.

  Almost at once, two of the wooden screens across the hall parted, revealing a door in the wall. The door was already open, and through it came two servants carrying a small table between them. Two more followed, each bearing a chair. Heads bowed, they brought their burdens forward to the long run of carpet and set the table and chairs down roughly midway between the Prince and the base of King Joyse’s throne. While the lords and ladies of Orison gaped, the chairs were placed at the table as if to accommodate Kragen and the King. Then the servants withdrew, closing the screens and the door after them.

  Terisa’s alarm tightened another turn. She recognized that table, those chairs: she had last seen them in King Joyse’s private apartment.

  His checkerboard was set up on the table, ready for play.

  “Oh, Father,” Myste whispered, “have you fallen to this?”

  Elega’s cheeks were hot with color. “He is mad,” she answered. “Mad.”

  But King Joyse ignored the reactions of his people. Sitting forward eagerly, he said to the Prince, “On the surface, it is a simple game. A child can master it. Yet it is also subtle. In essence, you force your opponent to win battles against you so that he will lose the war. Will you play?”

  “I?” Prince Kragen betrayed some surprise of his own. “As I have said, I am unacquainted with this game. I will gladly watch it played, if that is your wish. If,” he commented casually, “you can find no better use for this audience. But I cannot play.”

  “Nonsense.” The King’s voice held a note that Terisa hadn’t heard before – a note of hardness. “I insist. Hop-board is an excellent gauge of persons.”

  “And I must decline.” Kragen spoke firmly, yet he had begun to sweat. “My lord King, I have spent nearly thirty days in the snow between Scarab and Orison because the mission entrusted to me by the Alend Monarch could not wait another season. I do not like to let it wait another day. If I must, however, I will. Shall we meet again tomorrow, privately?”

  King Joyse dismissed this speech with a toss of one hand. Coughing to clear his throat, he said, “I mean to be as fair as I can. I will not play you myself. Though I am hardly the equal of Adept Havelock, I have had much experience. No, my lord Prince.” His tone became sharper. “I have not seen you measured for seventeen years. Your strengths and abilities are unknown to me. I will match you against another who is similarly unknown.”

  With no forewarning except her own imprecise alarm, Terisa heard the King say formally, “My lady Terisa of Morgan, will you be so kind as to test Prince Kragen for me?”

  Now everyone in the hall was staring at her. Her face grew hot. She looked up at King Joyse. In front of all these people—? Fear made her vision acute, immediate, as if there were no distance between them; every line of him was distinct. She could see the veins pulsing in the thin old skin of his temples. His watery eyes seemed weak, almost lost. The hair straggling across his features caused him to appear faintly ludicrous.

  But he was smiling.

  And his smile hadn’t lost its power. It reassured her, like a promise that he meant her no harm; an assertion that she was too valuable to be mistreated; a belief that she would acquit herself well, whatever he asked of her. It was innocent and clean, and she couldn’t resist it.

  Without consciously making the decision to move, she rose to her feet and went toward Prince Kragen.

  At once, she wished she had remained seated. She understood too much of what was happening to be calm, but not enough to be sure she was doing the right thing. And virtually all of the important people in Orison were going to watch her do it. The daughter of her father wouldn’t have done this. She could hardly bring herself to meet the Prince’s gaze.

  His black brows were knotted over his eyes, and he seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek. His easy and confident manner had deserted him: he didn’t smile at her, bow to her, greet her. The hint of yellow in his eyes darkened as his anger increased. He was strung so tight that she expected him to pull out his sword at any moment.

  She went as near to him as she dared – no closer than ten feet. Then she stopped.

  “My lady”– King Joyse seemed to be speaking from the far end of a tunnel – “may I present Kragen, Prince of the Alend Lieges and son of Margonal, the Alend Monarch? My lord Prince, this is the lady Terisa of Morgan.

  “My lady, I am sure that Prince Kragen will grant you the first move.” With one hand, the King motioned her toward the chair which faced Kragen and the audience.

  The Prince turned back to King Joyse. “Do not waste your time, my lady,” he said. “I will not play.”

  “I think you will.” King Joyse no longer sounded old – or innocent. He sounded like a sovereign who was nearing the end of his patience. “Please be seated, my lady.”

  As if she were helpless, Terisa went to the chair King Joyse had indicated. She pulled it back, sat down, and focused her eyes on the checkerboard, all without risking a glance at Prince Kragen. If she met his eyes, she felt sure he would scathe her to the ground. The whole hall was focused on her. The air around her was heavy with alarm and doubt.

  But surely she wasn’t helpless? If the mirror had created her, everything she believed about herself and her past might be an illusion. In that case, she belonged here. She had been created to be where she was, and the things she had to do wouldn’t be too much for her.

  “You are mistaken, my lord King.” Though he spoke quietly, Kragen’s voice was as passionate as
a shout. “I understand you now. When I came to you as my father’s ambassador and desired an audience, you determined at once to humiliate me. You chose this public occasion when I wished a private meeting. And you meant from the first to confront me with this”– he swallowed a curse –”this game. You had it ready and waiting for your signal. Doubtless you have chosen the lady Terisa of Morgan because in some way she increases the mockery. Really, my lord King, I am surprised that you troubled to wait until I had explained my mission before beginning this charade.

  “It is enough. I will return to the Alend Monarch and inform him that you do not wish an alliance.”

  “You will not.” The King’s tone made the back of Terisa’s neck burn. “You will sit down and play.”

  “No!”

  “By my sword, yes! I am King in Mordant yet, and my will rules!”

  Before the Prince or his bodyguards could react, Castellan Lebbick gave a small signal. Around the balcony, archers raised their bows, pulled back the strings.

  All the arrows were aimed at Kragen.

  “Treachery!” one of the bodyguards spat. Fortunately, he retained enough sense to leave his sword in its sheath.

  “Treachery, is it?” rasped Castellan Lebbick with evident relish. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I’ll have you fed to the hogs.”

  Slowly, Prince Kragen turned in a complete circle, studying the balcony, the screens, the arrangement of the pews and seats; there was no escape. He faced King Joyse again. His expression was flat, closed. The people in the hall watched him without a sound.

  Then the lady Elega cried, “Go!” as if she were in torment. “Leave this madness! You are an ambassador. Your mission is one of peace. If he has you killed, the execration of all Mordant will hound him to his grave!”

  The Prince didn’t glance at her. He didn’t speak.

  In one swift motion, he seated himself across the table from Terisa and folded his arms over his chest, glaring at her as if his gaze were a spike which he meant to drive through her.