The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  In some strange way, the Castellan’s ire sustained him, as if it were the food on which he lived.

  “A beast that large would have been formidable under any circumstances. But this one, my lady – this one set fire to everything it touched. Flesh and iron were tinder for it, and it butchered my men like cattle. Only two escaped. They left it feeding on charred carcasses. I’m lucky I didn’t send two hundred men. I can’t afford to lose two hundred men.

  “Since then,” he went on more quietly, “I’ve been out there. The snow makes it easy to see that the champion and that firecat left in different directions. Clearly, they didn’t do us the courtesy of destroying each other. Now we have two abominations on our hands, instead of just one.”

  Terisa shuddered involuntarily. Fifty men! And that was where Myste had gone— She nearly groaned aloud, That’s where Myste went!

  But all this had happened yesterday, and Myste hadn’t left Orison until last night. The odds were great that both the champion and the firecat were so long gone that she would never catch up with them.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Terisa said, “That’s terrible. I just don’t understand what it has to do with me.”

  “My lady,” he replied like a blade, “in some way you are responsible.”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Yesterday morning, right after you left here with Eremis and Geraden, I took your advice. I did ‘a little work.’ I searched your room.”

  For some reason, she found that she had to brace herself against the wall to keep her knees from folding.

  “I discovered a chair in your wardrobe.” His satisfaction was as keen as his anger. “And I found these.”

  From behind his back, he produced her moccasins.

  While she stared at them, he said, “You were able to wash the blood out of your clothes. But these are leather. You couldn’t do anything about the bloodstains on the soles.”

  At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Come in!” he snapped harshly.

  The door opened, and Geraden entered the room.

  Her attention jumped to him like a leap of the heart. For an instant, she saw his ready smile and the light of pleasure in his eyes, and she felt that she was already rescued, that his mere presence would be enough to save her. He was loyal to King Joyse – therefore logically on the Castellan’s side against her. But she was confident that he would stand by her, whatever happened.

  The next instant, however, his pleasure vanished in alarm as he grasped what was going on. Warily, he inquired, “Castellan Lebbick? My lady?”

  Lebbick nodded in recognition. “Geraden. Is this an accident, or are you intruding on purpose? Are you in this with her?”

  “In what?” asked Geraden.

  For a moment, the Castellan studied him. Then Lebbick said sourly, almost bitterly, as though he were disappointed, “No, I don’t believe it. You’re capable of almost anything misguided or blind. But you know better than to betray your King. The Domne would birchwhip you to ribbons if you tried it.”

  “Are you accusing the lady Terisa of treason?” Geraden sounded a little frightened by his own temerity, but determined nonetheless. “Isn’t that awkward? I mean, she isn’t one of his subjects. He has no claim on her. How can she commit treason?”

  Castellan Lebbick returned his gaze to Terisa. She met it so that she wouldn’t look at Geraden, wouldn’t let her need for him show in her face.

  Softly, her accuser growled, “Why are you here, boy?”

  “This morning,” replied Geraden promptly, “the Congery will hold a funerary commemoration for the two Masters who died yesterday. The lady Terisa is asked to attend.”

  “In other words,” – Lebbick’s tone sharpened into a lash – “the Masters need to decide what to do about Eremis and Gilbur, and they don’t want anybody else to know it.” He didn’t allow Geraden a chance to respond, however. “You can tell them the lady Terisa won’t be coming. She’s under arrest. You can visit her in the dungeon when I’m done questioning her.”

  Unable to restrain herself, she flung a mute appeal toward Geraden. She saw him mouth the words “under arrest” as if he were appalled. During the space between one heartbeat and the next, she believed that he would protest on her behalf, do something – that he might even jump at Lebbick and try to defend her physically.

  But he didn’t. He said, “I’ll tell them.” Turning away, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Geraden! He had abandoned her to Castellan Lebbick’s anger. Geraden! When she needed him, he turned and walked away.

  Her knees threatened to fail her. She could feel the courage running out of her like water from a broken jug. She had been so sure that he was her friend—

  “I see I finally have your attention,” the Castellan commented maliciously. “Yes, you’re under arrest. For lack of anything better, you’re accused of participating in the murder of Prince Kragen’s bodyguards.”

  Really, it would have been better if she had never come here, if she hadn’t let Geraden’s smile and his earnestness (and his brief, unaccountable authority) persuade her to ignore her common sense. She had no business pretending that she had anything to do in this place, that she could make a difference.

  “I’m going to lock you in the deepest, darkest cell I’ve got – the one with the biggest rats – and let you rot there until you tell me the truth.”

  Everybody was betraying everybody else; she was just a minor item on everybody’s list. She couldn’t defend herself because she couldn’t figure it all out. And she didn’t have anybody to betray because there was nobody on her side.

  “If you get lonely, you’ll be able to talk to your lover. Eremis will be in the cell beside you. If I have my way, you’ll get to hear him scream.”

  That halted the downward spiral of her dismay. Eremis? Eremis was arrested? That was bad – worse than what was happening to her. He needed his freedom. Mordant needed him to be free. Especially now, with the hope of the champion turned to disaster and the lords gone back to their Cares.

  “I wish you knew how silly that sounds,” she said as if a total stranger were speaking for her. “I haven’t done anything. I never do anything.”

  “Is that a fact?” Lebbick’s sarcasm was as thick as blood.

  “You’re really doing a good job,” she continued so that she wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t realize how dangerously she was behaving. “I’m probably the only person in Orison who is innocent of everything. And Master Eremis is probably the only one who doesn’t deserve to be locked up.”

  “Sheepguts!” snarled the Castellan. “You’re trying my patience, my lady.”

  “Which was never your best feature anyway,” she retorted.

  For a moment, he gazed at her in silence, perhaps in surprise; and for that moment she failed to realize she was giving him exactly what he wanted. Then his smile warned her. But of course the warning came too late. Her unpremeditated goading had already provided his anger the object it desired.

  “No,” he said almost mildly, “it was never my best feature.” He was grinning like a barracuda.

  Her audacity turned to fright. Instinctively, she tried to retreat; but the wall held her where she was.

  “Of course, as you pointed out earlier, I don’t have much proof. Yesterday I was too busy to question either the Fayle or that whelp the Armigite. And today they insisted on leaving. I couldn’t refuse them.

  “But I’m not stupid.

  “The night before last – the same night my guards found Prince Kragen’s men, after the Armigite warned them – the Fayle somehow came by the knowledge that Eremis and Gilbur intended to translate their champion. The same night, you left here with Eremis – and came back alone, covered with blood.” He flung the word at her. “Of course, you’re innocent. You innocently washed the blood out of your clothes, trying to get rid of anything that might connect you to those dead bodyguards. You innocentl
y lied to me. But you innocently forgot” – he brandished her moccasins – “that your footwear would give you away.

  “By some staggering coincidence, all of the lords except the Domne were here at the same time. Prince Kragen was here, the Alend ambassador. The next day the Congery rushed to its translation, hurrying to get done before I could interfere. When my men tried to stop that champion, he was rescued by another exercise of Imagery.

  “What do you expect me to make of all this, my lady? Do you expect me to be impressed by the purity of your innocence, my lady, or by the sincerity of your lover’s motives, my lady?”

  He swore at her with intense relish. “I’ll tell you what I make of it.” His oaths were unfamiliar to her, but their passion made her quail. “First, it’s obvious that this translation has been planned for a long time. Mirrors don’t come into existence overnight. Although I don’t know how they did it,” he muttered half to himself. “Where’s the glass that worked the translation?” Then he resumed his attack. “Since Eremis and Gilbur were the ones who spoke to the Fayle – and since Gilbur has disappeared now – it’s obvious they’re responsible.

  “But what happened to produce two men dead and enough blood for five or six more?

  “One of two things, my lady, both of them treason. Either Eremis and Gilbur met with the lords to plan the betrayal of Mordant by means of their champion, and Prince Kragen was caught spying on them, and his men died saving his life. Or Eremis and Gilbur met with Prince Kragen, and the lords caught them planning the betrayal of Mordant, and his men died saving his life. Either way, the Fayle spoke to me because what Eremis and Gilbur intended to do appalled him.

  “How do I account for the quantity of blood – or the insufficiency of bodies? The chair in your closet answers that. The men who fought for you and died were removed into one of the secret passages.

  “In fact, that chair explains a lot. It tells me how you contrived to survive being attacked the first night you were here. Your allies – I mean Eremis’ allies – came out of the passage long enough to save you. Then they went back into hiding.”

  A sensation of horror rose in her throat, choking her. He was so close!

  “In addition,” he went on, “ordinarily, I would have said you haven’t been here long enough to become so deeply involved in treachery. Eremis may be the greatest fornicator in all Mordant, but even women usually need time to be so degraded. But you’ve had more time than I realized – you’ve had all the time I thought you were safely locked in your room.

  “What do you think, my lady? Which evil did you share? Or is there a third explanation, a worse crime?”

  He stepped closer to her, aimed his rage straight into her face. She flinched, but couldn’t look away. His passion held her.

  “What do you gain here? Is the way Eremis abuses his lovers reward enough for you? Or do you have some other purpose? Did the arch-Imager send you here to destroy us?”

  Tossing aside her moccasins, he gripped her arms and ground his fingers into her triceps.

  “Who fought for the King, my lady? Is everyone a traitor?”

  No leave me alone it’s not my fault I don’t know what you’re talking about!

  He shook her as if he meant to fasten his teeth in her throat. “Why didn’t you use your secret passage to come back to your rooms? That way, you would have been safe. No one would have known you had anything to do with those dead bodyguards.”

  “Because that isn’t where it goes!” she cried.

  Then she stopped and stared at him while the blood froze around her heart and a look of triumph filled his face.

  “That’s a start, my lady,” he whispered between clenched jaws. “Where does it go?”

  She couldn’t tell him that. If she did, she would expose Master Quillon and Adept Havelock, as well as Myste. She had already said too much.

  This time she defied the Castellan deliberately. It was Terisa herself, not some audacious stranger, who said, “I don’t deserve to be treated like this. If your wife were here, she would be ashamed of you.”

  After that, panic made her giddy. She saw the widening like a flare of madness in his eyes, but she didn’t understand it. She heard him say, as if he were speaking in a foreign language, “Thank you, my lady. I haven’t had this much fun since King Joyse let me punish that garrison commander.” Through a veil of dread, she watched him let go of her arms, cock himself back, and swing the back of his hand at her head.

  Instinctively, she jerked her head down, jerked her arms up.

  Deflected, his blow was still hard enough to knock her to the floor. Pain began to roar in her ears. She had the impression that she was going blind: the only thing she could see was the Castellan staring at his hand as though it belonged to someone else.

  The pain had a voice. It said distinctly, “What am I doing?”

  Then she heard someone pounding at the door.

  “Go away!” Lebbick roared.

  “Your pardon, Castellan.” A guard’s voice. “The King’s orders.”

  “The King?” Castellan Lebbick verged on apoplexy.

  “He wants to speak with the lady Terisa. I’m instructed to take her to him.” The man’s tone conveyed a squirm in the face of Lebbick’s rage. “He wants to speak with her now.”

  “She’s under arrest. She should be in the dungeon.”

  “Castellan, I was specifically told to assure the lady she isn’t under arrest.”

  The Castellan made a hoarse, strangled noise.

  Abruptly, hands took hold of her and stood her on her feet. After a moment, she saw that they were his. “Someday, my lady,” he said softly, “my chance will come. When that happens, you aren’t going to escape me.”

  He left her to the support of the guard.

  SIXTEEN: WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE

  On the whole, she reflected with a loopy clarity while pain clanged back and forth in her head and the guard held her upright, she liked being rescued. It was better than not being rescued. Definitely.

  But what had inspired King Joyse to send for her now? How did he know she needed rescuing?

  How did he know she was under arrest?

  Considering how little information she herself possessed, it was truly astonishing how much everybody else seemed to know.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” asked the guard.

  She heard relief and concern in his tone. On the other hand, no one had mentioned Myste. Hadn’t they missed her yet? She speculated on that until she forgot the guard’s question.

  He shook her gently and repeated, “Are you all right?”

  Her vision appeared normal. Nevertheless she had the odd impression that everything was distorted. The angles where the walls met the floor looked false. The doorway was insidiously straight, not to be trusted. She was out of her mind, of course. She didn’t object, however. This kind of craziness helped her bear the way her head hurt.

  “My lady?” The guard’s concern was becoming stronger than his relief.

  Do you know—? she began, but no sound came out. She made an effort to clear her throat, hold her head more upright. “Do you know why he hit me?”

  “No, my lady.” The guard was standing beside her with one arm around her back and the other hand on her shoulder. She still had no idea what he looked like. “I wasn’t here.”

  “He hit me,” she said precisely, “because I insulted him.” Suddenly, she wanted to laugh. Or cry: it was hard to tell the difference. She had insulted him, she, Terisa Morgan. It was worth getting hit for. Maybe. “Oh, my head hurts.”

  “Here, my lady.”

  Carefully, the guard maneuvered her into a chair, then pressed a goblet of wine into her hands. She drank deeply; for a moment she felt spikes hammering through her skull. After that, however, she began to feel better.

  With an effort, she said, “Thanks.” Now what she wanted was a nap. But there was some reason why she couldn’t take one. What was it? Oh, yes. “Did you say the King wants to see m
e?”

  “Yes, my lady. When you’re well enough to walk.”

  She turned her head to look at him and smile. She didn’t remember ever having seen him before. He was a relatively young man with a thin face and earnest eyes – perhaps not the most promising candidate to convey a message that would infuriate Castellan Lebbick. But he had carried out his orders. And she was grateful for his courtesy.

  “We might as well try,” she said. “Maybe the walk will do me good.”

  Nodding encouragement, he assisted her to her feet. Then he gave her his arm to lean on. She took a few experimental steps and found that the condition of her head continued to improve. Incredible. Judging by appearances, it was actually possible to survive having a man like the Castellan furious at her. A man like her father. She could hardly believe it.

  Moving cautiously, she let her escort guide her to the tower where King Joyse and his daughters had their suites. By the time she arrived at the high, carved door of the King’s apartment, she felt reasonably stable – balanced between light-headedness and the aftereffects of Lebbick’s vehemence.

  The King’s guards opened his door without question: clearly they were expecting her. One of them announced her while the other bowed her inward. In a moment, she found herself standing for the second time in the richly furnished chamber where King Joyse played his games of hop-board.

  The room was lit by candles in candelabra and brass wall-holders, and the thick blue-and-red rug contrasted warmly with the decorated blond wood paneling of the walls, bringing out the carving and the delicate black inlay-work. An ornamental mantel framed the fireplace. On the hop-board table, a game was in progress. No one was playing, however.

  “My lord King,” the guard pronounced firmly, “here is the lady Terisa of Morgan.” Then he withdrew, taking his companion and Terisa’s escort with him and closing the door. But King Joyse didn’t react. He sprawled in a gilt-edged armchair with his legs extended on a fat hassock and his head propped against the chair back. His purple velvet robe covered him like a shroud: it was starting to look as old and ratty as Adept Havelock’s surcoat. A long sheet of parchment – an open scroll – was draped over his face; his arms dangled beside him, his swollen knuckles nearly scraping the rug. The floor around his chair was littered with more scrolls, some of them open, others haphazardly tied with string.