Mordant's Need

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  ‘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.

  King Joyse said nothing. Castellan Lebbick sneered and said nothing. Master Barsonage fretted in his seat. Master Quillon seemed to have disappeared from her range of vision. Neither of the King’s daughters moved. No one came to Terisa’s aid.

  It was up to her to save the Prince.

  She didn’t look into his face: she concentrated on the board. It seemed impossible that she had ever played this game before. The servant who had taught her had been fired. Perhaps he had been a friend of hers without quite intending to be. Perhaps that was why he had been fired. Close to panic, she thought, Why? Not, Why is King Joyse doing this? But, Why am I?

  She knew the answer. Because the King was behaving like a lunatic, and a humiliation like this would make war with Alend inevitable. Because Mordant couldn’t afford a war with Alend. Because Cadwal was already mustering. Master Quillon had given her the answer. He was watching her keenly. And Geraden had shown it to her in a mirror. Because gnarled shapes with terrible jaws had been sent out of nowhere to tear men apart.

  If her past didn’t exist, what did she have to lose?

  After a long moment while sweat gathered on her scalp and fright clogged her chest, she reached out and made her first move.

  At once, Prince Kragen unfolded one arm, picked up his matching piece, and slapped it down in a move which mirrored hers. His gesture betrayed the dark stains spreading through the silk under his arm.

  She nodded to herself, and a bit of her tension relaxed. What else could he do? He knew nothing about the game. He was in her hands.

  Like a distant calling of horns, the realization came to her that there was a way out of this dilemma.

  She made another move.

  Kragen copied it.

  Quickly, so that she wouldn’t falter, she moved again.

  He copied her again. After a few more moves, she was able to turn in her seat and look up at King Joyse. Her heart pounded as though she had just taken an important risk, done something that would make a difference.

  ‘It’s a stalemate.’

  The passion on his face resembled apoplexy. He was almost bursting with rage. Or else he was tremendously amused – she couldn’t tell which.

  The Prince took his cue promptly. Rising to his feet without so much as a glance at Terisa, he gave King Joyse an ironic bow. ‘I thank you, my lord King. It is indeed a most instructive game. An excellent gauge of persons. The Alend Monarch will be fascinated to hear of it.

  ‘Now with your permission I will withdraw. I fear that the journey from Scarab has exhausted me. I cannot continue without rest.’

  He nodded to his bodyguards; they bowed also. Then he turned and started for the doors.

  King Joyse swallowed his emotion with difficulty. ‘Go rest, if you have to.’ He sounded petulant again, like a disenchanted child. ‘You’re more of a puppy than I thought.’

  Prince Kragen’s stride checked for an instant; his shoulders bunched. Shocked by the suddenness with which the ambassador’s mission had been refused, the people in the hall stared at him – or at King Joyse.

  But the Prince didn’t stop. The doors were opened for him, and he stalked out of the hall of audiences.

  Before anyone else could react, Elega was on her feet. Lightning flared in her eyes. Her cry rang against the high ceiling of the hall:

  ‘Father, I am ashamed!’

  As quickly as her long, heavy skirts and petticoats permitted, she ran after the Prince.

  No one else said anything. No one else dared.

  Softly, King Joyse sighed. With both hands, he pushed the hair out of his face and resettled his circlet. Then he scratched his fingernails through his beard. ‘That saddens me,’ he murmured as though he didn’t know that everyone in the hall could hear him. ‘I have always been proud of you.’

  Weakly, he climbed to his feet and stepped down the stairs from the throne.

  When he started toward the back of the pediment, Myste said in a quiet, aching voice, ‘Oh, Father!’ and went after him.

  Terisa should have been proud of herself. She had achieved a victory of a sort. In spite of that, however, Myste was in pain, and Elega was furious; and King Joyse had become so much less than he was, so much less than he needed to be. Terisa was left with a hollow feeling like a stalemate in her heart.

  The memory of horns was gone.

  ELEVEN

  A FEW DAYS WITH NOTHING TO DO

  Terisa would have had trouble finding her way back to her rooms by herself: she wasn’t familiar with this section of Orison. But Castellan Lebbick didn’t leave her alone. As soon as the lords and ladies began to depart, muttering and arguing their astonishment among themselves, he assigned one of the guards to escort her.

  The walk seemed longer than she remembered; but eventually she was in her suite, with the door bolted behind her, and she had her first chance to think about everything that had happened to her today.

  From her windows, she was surprised to see that the sky was clear and the snow-packed roofs and towers of the castle were gilded pink, while dusk shrouded the ground and the distant hills. She hadn’t realized that so much of the afternoon was gone. For a moment, she forgot everything else and simply watched the sunset, entranced by the way it made Orison look like a place in a fairy tale – old stone immured in winter and darkness, and yet reaching like hope or dreams toward the light and the sky and the delicate touch of the sun’s glory. Now she was able to remember the sound of horns. For a long moment, she ached to leave the castle, not to escape back to the illusion of her old life, but to go out into Mordant’s world and find the spot among trees and hills where it was possible to hear hunters or musicians calling joy and passion into the cold.

  How had the augury known about the riders in her dream?

  She could think of an answer, of course. If she had been created by a mirror, then a mi
rror had also created her dreams.

  For some reason, that didn’t help.

  She had so much to tell Geraden. Regardless of the way she felt about Master Eremis, Geraden was the only one she trusted to help her decide what to do.

  Some decision had to be made – that was obvious. Some action had to be taken. King Joyse was on the path to self-destruction – a path more dangerous than the passivity people ascribed to him. She knew now that he wasn’t passive. By refusing to shore up Perdon’s defenses, as much as by humiliating Prince Kragen, he was working actively toward Mordant’s ruin.

  Clearly, Mordant needed a leader strong enough to take command of circumstances – and intelligent enough to be constructive. Not Castellan Lebbick: he was too fiercely loyal to the King. And not the Congery as a body. Despite the power it represented, it was too divided to be effective. Adept Havelock? He was mad. Master Quillon? She didn’t know what his motives were, but she couldn’t imagine him leading the struggle for Mordant’s survival.

  That left Master Eremis.

  Geraden wouldn’t like the idea, of course. But maybe she could convince him. If they agreed to help the Master, she might get the chance to spend more time with him.

  The thought brought back the sensation of his mouth on her breasts. She hugged herself with her arms and shivered. Saddith had asserted, Any Master will tell me whatever I wish – if I conceive a wish for something he knows. And she had said, The same is true for you, if you choose to make it so. Well, why not? She lacked Saddith’s experience – and expertise. But Eremis found her desirable.

  No one had ever found her desirable before.

  While the sun set and darkness swallowed the castle, she turned away from the window, poured a goblet of wine, and made herself comfortable to enjoy what she was thinking.

  Later, Saddith brought her supper. The maid wanted to talk: Orison was full of rumors about Prince Kragen’s audience, and she had heard them all, but she wanted to know the truth. Terisa found, however, that she was too tired – as well as too self-conscious – to do the subject justice. The day’s events had exhausted her emotional resources. And her reveries of Master Eremis had put her in the mood for sleep. After a few halfhearted apologies, she dismissed Saddith. Then she ate her supper, drank one more goblet of wine, hung up her clothes in the wardrobe which didn’t have a chair propped in it, and went to bed.

  She fell asleep almost at once—

  —and was awakened by a dull, wooden pounding. Dreams she couldn’t remember fogged her brain: she felt sure, with a certainty like cold, congealed oatmeal, that what she heard was the sound of her clothes knocking on the door of the wardrobe, begging to be let out – frantic to dissociate themselves from the false petticoats and misleading gowns which had been loaned to her to seduce her from herself. Something about that didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t figure it out: the oatmeal was too thick to stir.

  The pounding was repeated. After a long, stupefied moment, she realized that it came from the wrong wardrobe.

  It came from the door to the secret passage.

  At first, she was so mush-headed with sleep and fatigue that she didn’t consider answering the knock. At this rate, she thought as clearly as she could, I’m never going to get any rest. Does everybody here spend all night sneaking around behind everybody else’s back?

  The problem didn’t go away when she ignored it, however. The knock was repeated; a muffled voice croaked, ‘My lady!’

  As far as she knew, only Master Quillon and Adept Havelock knew about that passage.

  If the pounding became any louder, the guards outside would hear it.

  ‘All right,’ she muttered as she pushed back the covers and stumbled out of bed, ‘I’m coming.’

  Fortunately, the fire in the hearth had burned down. As a result, the air was cool – and that reminded her that she was naked. Her head began to clear. She detoured to the safe wardrobe, pulled out her clothes and put them on. The pounding began again. ‘I’m coming,’ she replied as loudly as she dared.

  As soon as she had unwedged the chair, the door opened, and lamplight spilled out of the wardrobe.

  Though her eyes weren’t accustomed to the light, she had no trouble identifying her visitor. Master Quillon shrugged past the hanging clothes and stepped out of the wardrobe. ‘My lady,’ he whispered with some asperity, ‘you are a sound sleeper.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She made no effort to sound sorry. ‘I’m still not used to having people break into my room in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I would rather be asleep myself,’ he retorted. ‘Some things are more important.’ Anger made his nose twitch. In the lamplight, he looked more than ever like a rabbit. But the intensity of his manner didn’t suit his face. It gave his eyes a manic gleam, like the gaze of a cute pet gone rabid. ‘Have you seen Geraden since Prince Kragen’s audience?’

  He took her aback. His demeanor was frightening. Intimations of danger suddenly filled the air.

  ‘Is he missing?’

  ‘Missing? Nonsense. Why would he be missing? I only want to know if you have spoken to him at any time today – at any time since I separated you.’

  Terisa took a deep breath, tried to steady herself. ‘What’s going on?’

  Half snarling, Quillon demanded, ‘My lady, have you spoken to him?’

  ‘No,’ she retorted defensively. ‘I haven’t seen him. I haven’t spoken to him. What’s going on?’

  Master Quillon glared at her for a moment. Then he sighed, ‘Good,’ and his face relaxed a little. ‘That is good.’ But his gaze didn’t release her.

  ‘My lady, you heard a great deal in the meeting of the Congery. And I will venture to guess that you heard a great deal more from Master Eremis. You must not speak of these matters to Geraden. You must tell him nothing.’

  ‘What?’ A pang went through her; alarm closed around her stomach. She had been looking forward to seeing him again, to spending the day with him, to telling him everything. ‘Why?’ He’s the only one I can talk to!

  ‘Because,’ the Master articulated distinctly, ‘that is the only way we can keep him alive.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘As long as he is ignorant, his enemies may not risk exposure by killing him. If you tell him what you know, he will surely act on it. Then he will become too dangerous, and he will be killed.’

  ‘Killed?’ She was reeling inwardly. The floor and the lamplight seemed to tilt. ‘Why would anybody want to kill him?’

  ‘My lady,’ he returned heavily, ‘it must be obvious to you that your presence here cannot be an accident. You were translated through a glass which could not have been used for that purpose. How was that done? No mistake or blunder can explain it. You insist that you are not responsible. Then who is?

  ‘My lady, you are important.’ Abruptly, Master Quillon turned and began to push his way back through the wardrobe. His voice was obscured by clothes. ‘Geraden is crucial.’

  For a moment, she stared after him while he entered the passage and closed the door, cutting off the light. Then she wrenched herself into motion. The thought that Geraden’s life depended on her silence was so sharp that it nearly made her cry out. Thrusting garments aside, she reached the door and jerked it open.

  Master Quillon was on the stairs below her. He turned at the noise she made, looked up at her. The angle of the lamplight left shadows like pools of darkness in his eyes. ‘My lady?’

  ‘Who are his enemies?’

  She couldn’t see his expression. His voice was flat. ‘If we knew that, we would be able to stop them.’

  Before she could speak, he turned away again and continued his descent. His silhouette twitched like a marionette.

  ‘Who are his friends?’

  The echoes of Master Quillon’s feet didn’t answer.

  When she could no longer hear his sandals on the stair, or be sure of the glow of his lamp, she left the passage. Closing the door, she wedged the chair against it again.

&nb
sp; After a while, she went back to bed.

  By the next morning, she had made at least one decision.

  She wasn’t going to talk to Geraden.

  Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. Her desire to confide in him was strong. And she knew he would be hurt by her silence.

  In order to protect him, she would have to avoid him for a while.

  So she got up early. Despite her inexperience, she managed to build up the fires in her hearths. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she bathed thoroughly. Then, defying the awkwardness of clothes that hadn’t been designed to be put on without help, she struggled into a demure, dove-gray gown which, she hoped, would enable her to blend into the background.

  She intended to ask Saddith for a tour of Orison – as complete a tour as possible. If she were occupied doing something Geraden didn’t expect and couldn’t predict, and if she were camouflaged against accidental discovery, she might win herself a day’s respite from choices and crises.

  Getting dressed alone took some time, however. When she was done, she didn’t have to wait long for breakfast. Saddith soon knocked on her door and entered when it was unbolted, bringing a tray of food with her. Today she appeared a bit more cheerful – or perhaps a bit more highly spiced – than usual: there was more sauce in her smile, more zest in her step. On impulse, Terisa said, ‘You look happy. Did you have another night with that Master of yours? Or have you found someone better?’

  ‘Why, my lady,’ Saddith protested, fluttering her eyelashes, ‘whatever do you mean? I am as chaste as a virgin.’ Then she grinned. ‘That is to say, I am as chased as most virgins dream of being.’

  Giggling at her own humor, she began to set out Terisa’s breakfast.

  As she ate, Terisa proposed the idea of a tour. The maid agreed at once. ‘However,’ she said, studying Terisa critically, ‘we must first repair your dress. If it was your intention to appear as if you had spent the night in your gown, wrestling for virtue, you have succeeded. Really, my lady, you must let me assist you with such things.’