Mordant's Need
Page 127
‘Or King Joyse is. If it weren’t for Elega, we probably wouldn’t have been able to talk our way in here. If it weren’t for the Castellan’ – she felt a pang whenever she remembered Lebbick – ‘Gart would probably have killed you and Artagel and Prince Kragen and the Tor. If it weren’t for the Tor, Orison might be in chaos by now. Eremis hasn’t won yet. We’re still able to lay here and make love and talk about fighting.’ Geraden kissed her, but she didn’t stop. ‘We’ve been lucky.’
In an unexpectedly somber tone, he returned, ‘Or King Joyse is better at this game than anybody realizes.’
She nodded. After a moment, she said, ‘I wonder why he can’t beat Havelock at hop-board.’
Geraden looked at her sharply. ‘That’s an interesting question. Do you suppose it’s just because Havelock is out of his mind most of the time?’
That sounded plausible. Terisa started to say, I guess so. But then, unaccountably, she remembered the time Adept Havelock had come to her rooms – had sneaked in through the secret passage and taken her to Master Quillon, so that Quillon could give her the raw materials with which to think about Mordant’s need. He hadn’t exactly been in one of his lucid phases. And yet he had said—
She groped for the memory momentarily; then it came to her, as clear as the note of a well-made chime.
No one understands hop-board. The King tries to protect his pieces.
King Joyse had protected her, protected Geraden. Had tried to protect the Tor. At some personal cost, he had done what he could to protect his wife and daughters. It was even conceivable that he had tried to protect Castellan Lebbick.
Individuals. What good are they? Worthless. It’s all strategy. Sacrifice the right men to trap your opponent.
Maybe that was the truth. Maybe King Joyse couldn’t outplay the Adept because he couldn’t match Havelock’s ruthlessness.
Maybe that was why he was gone now. Maybe he was out on a mad chase after Torrent and Queen Madin, driven by a need to protect individuals without regard to his overall strategy
Did that fundamental flaw cripple everything? Was his policy fatally marred by his inability to sacrifice individuals for the sake of something larger?
Geraden must have felt her shivering: he tightened his arms around her suddenly. ‘Terisa,’ he murmured, ‘love. What’s the matter?’
She couldn’t explain, not directly; the idea scaring her was too elusive, almost metaphysical. Instead, she said, ‘Do you remember the time King Joyse asked me to find a way out of a stalemate? It was the day after Master Gilbur translated his champion.’ That memory did little to improve her morale. ‘You rescued me from the Castellan by persuading the Tor to send for me in King Joyse’s name.’
Geraden nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘After you got me to the King’s rooms,’ she continued for her own sake rather than for his, strengthening her grip on what she meant, ‘he showed me a hop-board problem. A stalemate. He said Havelock set it up for him. He said there was a way out, but he couldn’t find it.’
Her shivers mounted. ‘So I tipped all the men off the board. No more stalemate.’
‘I remember,’ Geraden repeated, trying to steady her.
‘I think I almost made him sick. He was almost in tears.’
He had said, To you, it’s just a game. To me, it’s the difference between life and ruin.
And he had said, I suggest that you give the matter more consideration before you once again attempt to end a stalemate by tilting the board.
‘Geraden, what if that’s what we’re doing? Tilting the board?’ Instead of doing what King Joyse wants. Protecting his pieces. Or what Havelock wants. Sacrificing the right men.
‘Do you think we should go alone?’ Geraden countered. ‘Against Eremis and Gilbur and Vagel and terrible Imagery and twenty thousand men?’
Abruptly, her trembling stopped; it fell away from her like an old panic fading into the dark.
‘No,’ she said distinctly. That would be sacrificing men for no reason. ‘We wouldn’t stand a chance. Even if we could fight all that Imagery, we couldn’t stop High King Festten.
‘It’s just that I agree with King Joyse. Somehow, he persuaded me he’s right by leaving us in the lurch. At first, I was angry. But now I think I’m starting to understand.’
Geraden studied her face. ‘Terisa, you aren’t making any sense.’
‘I know.’ She mustered another indirect effort to explain herself. ‘Did I ever tell you about Reverend Thatcher?’
‘The man who ran the “mission” where you served before I came to you.’
She kissed Geraden’s nose quickly. ‘I probably told you he was futile. Sad – hopeless. He must have felt that way. But he taught me something— Something I didn’t understand for a long time.
‘He was trying to help the most miserable people in the city. Indigents. Street people. Crazies. Drunks. Trying to give them food and clothing and maybe shelter. And that was hard because nobody wanted to pay for it. If you feed and clothe and shelter them today, what have you accomplished? All you’ve done is save their lives, so they’ll need more food and clothing and shelter tomorrow. So if you have money and want to do some good, giving it to that mission is like throwing it away. There must be hundreds of things you can use your money for that would do more good for the city as a whole.’
‘Yes, but—’ began Geraden.
‘Yes, but,’ she agreed. ‘Doing good for the city as a whole wouldn’t make those poor people go away. It wouldn’t make their misery go away. And Reverend Thatcher couldn’t stop caring about them. If you gave him a choice between’ – she searched for an example – ‘I don’t know, between free education for the whole city and helping one drunk get through another day with a hot meal, he’d choose to help the drunk. Not because he didn’t think education is important, but because he couldn’t help caring about the drunk.
‘Maybe that’s sad. Maybe it’s even stupid. It’s certainly hopeless.
‘But it’s also wonderful.’
She stopped as if she had made herself clear.
Geraden had to struggle for a couple of minutes, but eventually he reached the conclusion she hadn’t been able to articulate. ‘King Joyse,’ he said slowly, ‘persuaded you he was right by abandoning us. You think he went after Torrent – after Queen Madin. When somebody he loves is in danger, he forgets all about Mordant – all about his plans for saving his kingdom. He leaves that to us. Not because he doesn’t think Mordant is important, but because he can’t help caring about her.’
Terisa’s spirit lifted. ‘He isn’t an idealist – not really. If anyone here is an idealist, it’s Havelock. King Joyse didn’t create Mordant and the Congery out of an abstract set of beliefs. He did it because people he knew and cared about were being hurt in the wars – hurt by Imagery. He wanted to save the world, a world made up of individual farmers and merchants and children who couldn’t defend themselves.
‘Don’t forget that he risked a lot to protect us. Treating us the way he did, he confused us – even hurt us. But that gave Eremis a reason not to kill us. And we were left free to make our own choices. Just to keep us alive, King Joyse took the risk that we might go against him completely. Just to protect our lives and our choices.
‘And,’ she concluded, ‘he trusts us to do the same thing for him. He trusts us to defend Mordant for him while he’s out trying to rescue his wife.’
As if a knot of tension had been released in him, Geraden collapsed back on the bed. Happily, he said, ‘I knew there was some good reason why I love that old man.’
‘Besides,’ she went on, now that she was sure of herself; ‘we aren’t the ones who want to tilt the board. That’s what Eremis is doing. What we’re doing may not be right, but we aren’t making that mistake.’
‘No,’ he assented. Eagerness brightened his eyes and animated his features, making him inexpressibly precious to her. ‘We aren’t making that mistake.’
For the time being, she was content.
‘Sleeping all day while Orison bustles, I see,’ the Imager commented pleasantly while he closed the door. He looked happier than she had ever seen him: activity and a clear sense of purpose agreed with him. ‘Well, doubtless you need the rest. I can only imagine the exertions and perils which you have endured.
‘Since my imagination has not been all it should be, as you know’ – he seated himself, frowned into the empty wine decanter, then shrugged his thick shoulders – ‘I am eager to hear what has happened to the rest of Mordant. The siege has cut us off completely,’ he explained. ‘We know nothing but what we have learned from you and Prince Kragen.’
Terisa blew a sigh. ‘That’s going to take a while,’ she said; and Geraden went to the door, chuckling. Outside, he asked Ribuld for wine and food.
Ribuld made some retort she didn’t catch; then Geraden returned. ‘Ribuld says we can have anything we want, if we don’t mind waiting. Apparently, there’s no end of servants available, but the kitchens are in chaos, trying to get supplies’ – he glowered humorously at Master Barsonage – ‘ready for tomorrow.’
‘That is true,’ replied the mediator with a nod. ‘An appalling situation, in fact. No one knows what to do. Norge or one of his captains has to make every decision. It seems that Castellan Lebbick established plans and procedures for every conceivable eventuality – except a march.
‘And, of course, every man who carries a sack of meal or a keg of water or a bale of hay to the ballroom goes in terror of his life, expecting to be translated away into madness at any moment.’ Master Barsonage permitted himself a growl of disgust. ‘If Norge were not so phlegmatic – and if Artagel were less supportive – we would be in worse danger of riots now than at any other time today.’
Terisa and Geraden glanced at each other. ‘As Terisa says,’ Geraden remarked to the mediator, ‘our story is going to take a while. Why don’t we wait for supper?’ He set two chairs facing Master Barsonage and sat down in one of them; following his example, Terisa took the other. ‘Maybe by then Artagel will join us, and we won’t have to go over the same things twice.
‘In the meantime, you can tell us how the preparations are going.’ Just for a moment, the Imager looked doubtfully at Geraden’s proposal; he seemed to think Geraden intended to avoid answering him. Almost at once, however, he inhaled deeply, shook his head as if to rearrange his thoughts, and smiled in acquiescence.
While Terisa and Geraden listened intently, storing up information they might need, Master Barsonage described how the Congery planned to transport their mirrors – no simple problem, considering that the mirrors would have to be moved over hard road and uneven ground by horse cart. With deliberate frankness – perhaps reproaching Geraden’s evasion – he discussed the chief weapon the Masters had devised, as well as the secondary actions they were equipped to take. That brought a shine to Geraden’s eyes, made Terisa grip herself hard to keep her excitement in perspective; but neither of them interrupted as the mediator went on to explain the arrangements he had designed for the supplies in the ballroom, so that Orison’s people could replenish the piles of stores without any risk of being inadvertently taken by a translation.
When he was done with his particular responsibilities, he gave the best report he could on the state of the castle. So far, the Tor’s authority and Norge’s were being accepted without much resistance: eagerly by most of the guard, men who favored almost any change which promised action; and eagerly as well by the servants, for whom the departure of six thousand guards would mean that much less work; more stoically by Orison’s visiting population, people who felt King Joyse’s absence keenly in theory, but in practice found Artagel’s assurances persuasive; with ill grace and no little suspicion by many of King Joyse’s minor lords and functionaries – excise-tax assessors, for example, or storeroom accountants, or secretaries to the Home Ambassador – men whose entire existence depended on the King, on his style of kingship. And without any active opposition to the Tor or Norge, most of Orison’s social machinery continued to function. Meals were cooked, despite the chaos Ribuld had described. Halls were patrolled, guarding against unrest – and against attacks of Imagery. Duty rosters were maintained, the walls and gates manned.
In short, thanks to the Tor’s quick assumption of authority, and to Norge’s demonstrated acceptance, and to Artagel’s grinning support, Orison remained almost miraculously intact after King Joyse’s disappearance.
‘Thank the stars,’ Geraden breathed when Master Barsonage was done. ‘You’re right, Terisa. We’re luckier than we look.’ Then his eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled tight over his teeth. ‘I wonder how many times Eremis has thought he could get away with laughing at the Tor. If he can see us now, he isn’t laughing anymore.’
‘And he isn’t laughing at the Congery,’ Terisa put in, partly to please Master Barsonage, and partly because the mediator had impressed her. ‘Or he won’t be, when he finds out what he’s up against.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Barsonage replied quietly. ‘We have been useless for a long time, while we distrusted both our King and ourselves. It is a pleasure to think that we will be effective at last.’
‘If only Prince Kragen had listened to us,’ Geraden mused.
‘Or if he changes his mind—’ added Terisa, remembering the strange conflict she had seen in the Prince’s face.
Master Barsonage looked back and forth between them. Geraden knotted his fists as if to control an irrational hope.
Terisa started to say something about Elega and Margonal, then stopped because she heard voices at the door.
Someone – Ribuld? – guffawed at an unexpected joke.
Without knocking, Artagel swung the door open and entered the room.
He was grinning; his eyes flashed steel fire. If there hadn’t been a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, or a slight pallor of old pain in his cheeks, or a barely discernible hitch in his stride, he would have looked ready and able to carry the whole castle on his shoulders into battle. He was primed for action, packed full of necessity by long days of recuperation, by emotional stresses he couldn’t relieve, by betrayals and self-doubt and grief. As soon as she saw him, Terisa knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to tackle an entire platoon of Gart’s Apts.
The mere sight of him did her good.
And it scared her. It reminded her that if eagerness went too far it could become a form of suicide.
For some reason, she noticed that the sunlight slanting in through her windows was tinged with red, approaching dusk.
Leaving the door for Ribuld to close, Artagel approached Geraden. Geraden surged upright, and Artagel clasped him in a hug which gave no sign of weakness or injury. Then Artagel came to Terisa and dropped to his knees, actually dropped to his knees, in order to capture both her hands and kiss them. Before she could protest or respond, however, he retreated to his feet again, glared at the empty wine decanter, humorously muttered a soldier’s obscenity, then dropped himself half-sprawling into the nearest chair.
‘Mirrors preserve us,’ he drawled in a joking tone. ‘Seeing you two makes me weak in the head. I don’t think I can do much more of this dance between hope and despair. First you’re gone forever. Then you show up – with Prince Kragen, may his skull ache for the rest of his life. Then he provokes a fight with King Joyse, and Gart appears, and the King disappears, and you’re abducted’ – he indicated Terisa – ‘and you’ – Geraden – ‘run off with the mediator. Then the Tor tries to make an alliance with Prince Kragen, and it looks like the only reason that isn’t going to work is because I hit him. And suddenly you both come back, and everything starts to go right, and I don’t care what that pig-brained Alend decides to do
about it. I don’t even care where King Joyse is. I’m sure it’ll all make sense eventually.
‘Incidentally, I haven’t exactly been cautious in the things I’ve said to keep people from worrying.’ By worrying he obviously meant questioning Norge and the Tor. ‘What scares them most is the idea of translations into Orison. Terrible Imagery, monsters, fire, a few hundred thousand Cadwals – that kind of thing.’ He faced Terisa frankly. ‘I’ve been telling everybody you can solve that problem. I’ve been saying you can shift Eremis’ mirrors so they won’t translate here. If that’s not true, you might want to keep it to yourself.’
Shift Eremis’ mirrors, Terisa thought while her stomach twisted. Oh, shit.
‘Just tell me one thing.’ Artagel hauled himself erect, nearly laughing. ‘What in the name of sanity is going on here?’
‘I’ll be glad to explain it,’ Geraden replied, grinning like his brother’s reflection. ‘All you have to do is shut up.’
With a gleam of joy, Artagel collapsed back into his sprawed posture.
At once, however, he jerked his spine straight, squared his shoulders. ‘No,’ he said, and all the mirth fell out of him. His expression turned to sweat and pallor. ‘Tell me what happened at home. You said Houseldon was destroyed.’
Geraden made a warding gesture, warning his brother back from an explosion.
As if on summons, there was a knock at the door.
Ribuld pushed the door open, and two servingmen entered, carrying trays loaded with food and wine.
Artagel contained himself; but his eyes burned like fuses while the servingmen set out the food, poured the wine, handed around goblets. Master Barsonage accepted his goblet gratefully, emptied it in one long pull, and held it out to be refilled. Geraden and Artagel gripped their goblets without drinking, without looking anywhere except at each other.
Until one of the servingmen knelt to light a fire in the hearth, Terisa didn’t realize that the air was turning cooler.
‘No lamps tonight,’ Ribuld commented generally. ‘No oil. We used up what we had protecting the gates. There’s just enough left to keep King Joyse’s quarters and the public halls lit for a few more days. Don’t let your fire go out.’