Mordant's Need

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Smoothly, almost contemptuously, Terisa’s attacker brushed aside the onslaught that followed. He gripped her defender’s blade with one gloved hand long enough to chop his elbow down on the man in gray’s neck.

  The man in gray staggered to the floor. He caught himself on one knee, countered a brutal assault, regained his feet. He was still smiling, still smiling. But his opponent had single-handedly beaten Argus and Ribuld. Sweat ran from his face. The lanterns showed a glare of desperation in his eyes.

  Shouts rang along the corridor. He made the mistake of glancing to see what they meant.

  His opponent responded with a belly-thrust so swift it couldn’t be parried.

  He parried it.

  The convulsive effort cost him his balance, however. Although he stopped the next blow with his blade, it was so powerful that it knocked him on his back.

  For a fraction of a second, he was as helpless as Terisa.

  Then Prince Kragen sprang into the struggle, whirling his bloody blade.

  The Perdon was only half a step behind him.

  The man in black flung a look of yellow hate at Terisa.

  An instant later, he leaped back. His hands and sword made a strange gesture.

  Without warning, he disappeared. Before the echoes of combat died, he was gone from the passage as completely as if he had never been there.

  The Perdon gaped. Prince Kragen dropped his sword in stunned surprise. The man in gray regained his feet, hunting the air as though he thought he might hear or smell some sign of his opponent.

  Shivering, Terisa got her arms under her and pushed her chest off the floor.

  The Prince was breathing in harsh gasps, near exhaustion, but he went to look at his men. When he saw that one of them had been beheaded, he clenched his fists over his heart, and his face twisted into a snarl. ‘They were my friends,’ he rasped. ‘I was in your debt, my lady. But now I think I have made repayment.’

  The Perdon spat, ‘Pigswill!’ He wasn’t talking to Prince Kragen. ‘Who were they? How could they know we would be here?’

  Braced on her hands and knees, Terisa watched her rescuer wipe his sword and sheath it, then kneel in front of her to help her to her feet. He had a nice smile – he was trying to reassure her – and his face was strong. It reminded her of someone. Nevertheless his eyes were clouded with trouble.

  ‘My lady, I am Artagel. One of Geraden’s numerous brothers. He asked me to watch over you. I haven’t done very well.

  ‘Apparently’ – he grimaced – ‘someone really wants you killed.’

  The smell of blood on her clothes was so strong that she simply couldn’t help fainting.

  THIRTEEN

  FOLLY IN GOOD FAITH

  When she came to, she suffered a moment of disorientation. Half of her seemed to be standing up: the other half was upside down. She thought she was going to fall, but something hard held her by the waist.

  ‘We were betrayed,’ the Perdon rasped. ‘Does this not make you suspicious? Perhaps in Alend the word “alliance” has another meaning. What better way to fill Mordant with dissension than by bringing violence to an unprecedented meeting between the lords of the Cares and the Masters of the Congery? This ensures that we will not be strong enough to defend ourselves.’

  ‘My lord Perdon—’ Prince Kragen began in a dangerous tone.

  ‘And if we are not strong enough to defend ourselves,’ the Perdon snarled, ‘where else shall we turn for help, but to Margonal and you?’

  ‘Two of my friends are dead!’ the Prince retorted. His diplomatic self-control was badly frayed. ‘If I desired dissension in Mordant, I would have one of the lords killed, not any of my men!’

  As her eyes squeezed into focus, she saw that she was indeed upright; but her arms and torso dangled toward the floor. The backs of her hands scraped lightly on the cold stone. A forearm clasped about her waist kept her from falling on her head.

  ‘If you must have traitors,’ Prince Kragen went on fiercely, ‘I advise you to look for them among your fellow lords. Who gains if the Cares are not united against their King?’

  ‘Precisely, my lord Prince,’ demanded the Perdon. ‘Who?’

  ‘Any lord who can hope to become King directly, without disloyalty to Joyse. The Tor does not mean to return to Marshalt. Queen Madin has had considerable time to forge a bond between her husband and the Fayle. Is it inconceivable that the road to power may be shorter if it does not pass through a union of the lords with Alend and the Congery?’

  ‘Are you all right, my lady?’ Artagel asked. He was the one holding her.

  Now she understood: he had put her in that position because she had fainted. He helped her pull herself upright, and she found that she was able to keep her balance. Watching her closely, he withdrew his hands from her waist. A glance down the passage showed her that he had moved her a short distance from the scene of combat. Her clothes still stank, but now she was able to stomach that. She took a deep breath, pushed her hair back from her face, and murmured, ‘I think so. Thanks.’

  He gave her a fleet smile and at once turned away. ‘The alternative, my lords,’ he said, striding toward Prince Kragen and the Perdon, ‘is that you were betrayed by an Imager.’

  ‘I would like to believe that,’ said the Perdon gruffly. He seemed to regard Artagel as an equal. ‘But only Master Eremis and Master Gilbur knew the place of our meeting. And it was Master Eremis who brought that meeting about. If he desired disunion among us, he did not need to go to such lengths. All that was required was to leave us alone.’ He paused, then said, ‘I cannot speak so positively for Master Gilbur.’

  ‘And I,’ said Prince Kragen, ‘did not know that Imagery could do such things. Is it not true that such a translation would require a flat glass? And is it not true that translation through flat glass produces madness? Who could have performed the feat we have witnessed?’

  No one had spoken to Terisa. She wasn’t sure they knew she could hear them. But she replied, ‘The arch-Imager. Vagel.’

  For a moment, the three men stood still. Then the Perdon growled, ‘As Master Eremis said. But who in Orison – or in all Mordant – would be foolish or vile enough to ally himself with that fiend?’

  ‘Let us look, my lords.’ Artagel moved past the Perdon and Prince Kragen toward the nearest of the fallen attackers.

  Terisa followed, walking warily back into the memory of bloodshed. Artagel was kneeling over the body when she drew near him. He turned it onto its back; she flinched at the sight of the gory wound in its chest. Nevertheless she watched as he pushed aside the cloak in order to inspect the dead man’s face and armor.

  The hardened leather chestplate was so black that she couldn’t make out any of the details Artagel appeared to be analyzing. She didn’t know what he was talking about when he suddenly tapped the covering over the dead man’s heart and said, ‘Here.’

  ‘I lack your eyes,’ growled the Perdon. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A sigil.’ Abruptly, Artagel rose to his feet. ‘I’ve seen it before.’ His eyes held no expression; his face looked as hard as the stone around him. ‘This man is a Cadwal. The sigil indicates that he trains with and serves the High King’s Monomach.’

  ‘Gart?’ Prince Kragen asked incredulously. ‘Here? Was that Gart you fought?’

  ‘I don’t know who I fought.’ Artagel’s voice was like his face, blank and rigid. ‘Whoever he was, he beat me. But this man is one of Gart’s Apts. The others must be the same.’

  ‘Entrails and carrion!’ spat the Perdon. ‘An Apt of the High King’s Monomach!’

  ‘But here?’ the Prince persisted. ‘How could such men come here? How could they gain admittance to Orison? They could not simply enter the gates. Castellan Lebbick is not so lax.’

  Artagel nodded curtly. ‘They must have come the same way their leader vanished.’

  ‘Vagel?’ Prince Kragen scowled in frank dismay. ‘Why did we ever believe the story that he was dead?’

  The
Perdon had no answer. At the mention of Lebbick, he had jerked up his head as if he were reminded of something important. Now he glanced rapidly back and forth down the corridor, trying to watch both directions at once. ‘I have a better question. Do we wish to be found here when the Castellan comes?’

  The Prince became instantly alert. ‘Will he come? Are we not beyond earshot of his nearest guard?’

  ‘That spineless fop, the Armigite,’ explained the Perdon. His voice dripped venom. ‘When we heard the sounds of attack that brought me to your side, he fled in the opposite direction, yowling murder. He must have missed his way, or the Castellan would already be here. In any case, we have little time.’

  ‘He will question me, whatever I do,’ mused Kragen. ‘My men are dead. But if I am not here, he will not be able to connect me to this bloodshed.’ Promptly, he made his decision. ‘My lord Perdon, Artagel of Domne – I thank you for my life. But I will not remain with you, to give us all the look of treachery. My lady, farewell.’

  Retrieving his sword, he slapped it into its sheath and ran. Swiftly, the sound of his strides receded into the distance.

  ‘I will leave you also,’ the Perdon said to Artagel. ‘I do not know what role this woman means to play in our doom, but I will not risk an accusation of treason to protect her.’

  Muttering angrily, ‘Cadwals? Horsepiss,’ he rushed away after the Prince.

  Terisa looked at Artagel and saw that the gleam was back in his eyes; he was smiling again. In reply to her gaze, he bowed humorously. ‘For my part, my lady, I haven’t got anything worth hiding. Whatever happens, all Orison will assume I had something to do with this many dead bodies. I’m afraid I have that kind of reputation – I don’t know why. In any case, I have a better opinion of Lebbick than most people do. But there’s no reason why you should have to spend the rest of the night listening to him sneer at you.’ He gestured down the passage. ‘Shall we go?’

  Again, she said, ‘Thanks.’ She wished he would take her arm: she needed the support. ‘I don’t think I can face him. He doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ As if guided by inspiration, he slipped his arm through hers and braced her companionably. His tone jollied her along. ‘You don’t know him as well as I do. Our good Castellan only insults the people he likes. And if he likes you a lot, he becomes positively scathing. His wife – rest her soul – was the only person in Orison who was ever able to get civility as well as affection out of him.’

  Together, they moved through the gloom toward the next lantern.

  Almost at once, they heard running feet.

  He was undismayed. Still grinning, he drew her into a side passage and along a different route back toward the inhabited levels of the castle. With apparent ease, he avoided encountering the guards. In a shorter time than she was expecting, he brought her to the tower where her rooms were.

  By then, she had recovered at least some grasp on the situation. Artagel had saved her life. Because Geraden had asked him to keep an eye on her. Now he was taking her away from a session with the grim Castellan, in which she would have had to lie and lie and lie to protect Master Eremis, Prince Kragen, and the lords of the Cares. She should have started thinking about gratitude some time ago.

  Off the top of her head, she couldn’t imagine many ways to thank Artagel effectively. At least one small one was clear to her, however. So far, they had been fortunate: they hadn’t been seen closely enough to expose the mess that blood and dirty water had made of her clothes. But to reach her rooms she would have to pass within arm’s reach of the guards outside her door—

  At the foot of the stairway, she stopped and disengaged her arm. A bit awkwardly – she wasn’t accustomed to making decisions in this way, with a tall, strong man smiling at her quizzically – she explained, ‘I can go alone from here. We’ve been lucky so far. I don’t think you want to be seen with me.’

  He cocked an amused eyebrow. ‘I don’t, my lady?’ The events of the evening hadn’t seriously ruffled his self-confidence. ‘Well, I admit you aren’t as clean as you should be. But I don’t choose my friends on the basis of accidents like that.’ He chuckled. ‘If I did, poor Geraden would be at the bottom of my list.’

  His smile was disarming, but she persisted. ‘That’s not what I meant. The guards are going to notice’ – she twisted her mouth in disgust – ‘the way I look. And someone is going to realize that a woman covered with blood must have something to do with all those dead men. If you’re seen with me, you’ll be implicated.

  ‘I know you aren’t worried about that. But you should be. How are you going to explain it to the Castellan?’

  He was unpersuaded. Lebbick didn’t worry him. And she couldn’t ask him to lie, either for herself or for Master Eremis. So she shifted to a different argument. ‘Do you know what he did to Geraden the last time he caught him trying to give me independent protection?’

  At that, Artagel frowned thoughtfully. ‘You have a point, my lady. He tried to explain why he doesn’t trust the guards, but I didn’t understand all of it. It had something to do with the orders King Joyse gave the Castellan? Or the way he interprets those orders?’ He shrugged. ‘Geraden has always had a subtler mind than I do. Is it true that the guards don’t even ask where you’re going when you leave your rooms?’

  Terisa felt a new touch of panic. So she wasn’t imagining it: the guards did treat Geraden differently than the other people who came for her. She nodded mutely.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Artagel commented. Then he shook his frown away. ‘But I’m sure it will eventually. That’s Geraden’s only fault. I mean, aside from clumsiness. He’s too impatient. Things always make sense eventually, if you don’t think about them too hard.’

  Smiling again, he added, ‘But you’re right. I don’t want to get him in any more trouble. I’ll leave you here.’ For a moment, his expression grew sober. ‘I’m still going to keep an eye on you. I take him seriously when he’s that worried. And this time he has good reason. The High King’s Monomach is training his Apts better than he used to. If you need me, I’ll usually be somewhere nearby.’

  He put on a jaunty grin. With a graceful and humorous bow, he saluted her. ‘Rest well, my lady.’ Then he strode away.

  She smiled at his departing back. As soon as he was gone, however, she began to shiver again, as if she had brought the chill of the lower levels up with her. Shock and reaction were setting in.

  She was alone. She would have no defense if more men in black appeared suddenly out of nowhere to attack her.

  She was going to have to face Castellan Lebbick by herself.

  She wanted to sit down. Her knees felt too weak to hold her. But she put her feet on the stairs and forced her legs to take her upward.

  When the guards at her door caught sight of her, they became immediately tense with concern. One of them said, ‘My lady, are you all right? Do you need any help?’

  She couldn’t meet their eyes. As firmly as possible, she said, ‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’

  Trying not to hurry, she went into her rooms. At once, she bolted the door. Then she checked to be sure that the entrance to the secret passage was still blocked.

  After that, she kicked her moccasins away and flung off her clothes in a rush of revulsion, alarm, and determination, unable to bear the touch of drying blood against her skin any longer. First she took a bath, splashing icy water over herself as though she thought she could sting or shock herself into being brave enough for what she had to do. Next she scrubbed her clothes thoroughly, almost brutally, and set them out to dry in front of the fire.

  She intended to be ready for Castellan Lebbick when he came.

  But she couldn’t stop trembling.

  He came early the next morning, a barely polite interval after she had finished breakfast. She was wearing her dove-gray gown because a cowardly instinct told her it would make her look more vulnerable, less deserving of abuse. But she met him in her sitting room as bravely as she could.


  As always, he wore the symbols of his office – the purple band around his cropped gray hair, the purple sash over one shoulder across his mail. But his real authority was expressed in the glare of his eyes, the stiff swagger of his movements, the thrust of his jaw. If he had held no position in Orison at all, he would still have commanded the room when he entered it.

  ‘My lady.’ His tone was as subtle as an iron bar. ‘I trust you slept well after your adventures last night.’

  She was determined to lie to him. It would have been better to face him squarely, but that great a display of courage was beyond her. After all, she had never lied to an angry man in her life. ‘What adventures?’ She cursed herself for sounding so small and weak, but perhaps that would work to her advantage in the end.

  Castellan Lebbick, however, appeared to be unsympathetic toward small, weak women. ‘Don’t be coy with me, my lady. I do my duty under a number of disadvantages, but stupidity isn’t among them.’

  ‘I’m not being coy.’ That was true, at any rate. She was doing everything in her power to refrain from running into the next room and hiding under the bed. Or from blurting out the truth. ‘I went out with Master Eremis. I came back alone. We didn’t have any adventures. You can ask him. He’ll tell you the same thing.’

  ‘My lady’ – he feigned a tiredness which didn’t show in his eyes – ‘I have no taste for manure this morning. Whatever you were doing, my night was longer than yours, and when I went to my bed it was cold. Do me the courtesy of being honest.’

  Her resolve was crumbling: she could feel it. The promises she had made to herself were all very well – but what did any of this have to do with her? Her father hadn’t raised her to be strong. ‘I am being honest,’ she said without conviction, already flinching in anticipation of his retort.