Mordant's Need

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  He dismounted; he strode toward Nyle sternly, like a sovereign with a traitor to punish.

  Then he stopped.

  Instead of speaking harshly, he murmured, ‘Nyle, forgive me.’

  Nyle’s face twisted helplessly. ‘Forgive—? My lord King, I betrayed you.’

  ‘Yes!’ King Joyse retorted at once. ‘You betrayed me – as my daughter Elega betrayed me – as the Congery betrayed me. And because I was betrayed this victory became possible. Everything you did against me, you did out of love and honor. And for that reason everything you did played its part in the saving of my realm. You betrayed me to do Mordant good, Nyle. I failed you. I failed to see your importance, your worth, when my esteem would have been to your benefit.

  ‘I could not have protected you from hurt. But I could have helped you place a higher value on yourself.’

  Nyle tried to answer; there may have been a number of things he wanted to say. But he couldn’t control his weeping.

  Both Artagel and Geraden put their arms around him.

  King Joyse turned away to address everyone within earshot.

  ‘Nyle has suffered,’ he announced in tone both grim and elated, sorry and glad. ‘Do you hear me? He is not a traitor. He has suffered as the Perdon suffered, and as the Tor suffered, and Castellan Lebbick, because his love is strong and he did not understand.’

  As he spoke, his voice carried farther and farther, until it reached the walls and the armies, the men of Mordant and Alend and Cadwal throughout the valley.

  ‘A great many good men have suffered and died, among them Master Quillon, who served my purposes when I could risk them with no one else, and Castellan Norge, who served Orison and Mordant and all of you with his life. And with their pain they have purchased a victory which we could not have gained otherwise.

  ‘Remember that they were hurt for us! Remember that we have freedom and victory and life because of them!

  ‘And because all of you fought like heroes!

  ‘Now the world is ours, and we must heal it. From this day, let us make our world a place of peace.’

  When he finished, the cheering went on for a long time.

  After the wounded had been cared for as well as the circumstances allowed, and the men of the three armies had been fed by supplies translated from Orison, King Joyse ordered all of High King Festten’s captains, in addition to his own and Prince Kragen’s, to join him while he heard the tales Terisa and Geraden, Artagel and Nyle had to tell. He asked the Prince and Elega, Myste and Darsint to describe what they had done. He told his own story again, so that his actions would be as widely understood as possible. Then he returned the Cadwal captains to their men.

  He sent several hundred of his guards to find and subdue Master Eremis’ stronghold. And he sent other riders to go among the hills, announcing to any hidden or belligerent Cadwals the same amnesty he offered the men who had surrendered: return to their homes or not, join him or not, as they chose, without fear of being hunted down or coerced. King Joyse feared no one and intended to shed no more blood.

  Then the Congery began producing hogsheads of ale and casks of wine, and everyone who remained in the valley of Esmerel was invited to the King’s celebration.

  That night in the Care of Tor there was no more fighting.

  EPILOGUE

  CROWNING THE PIECES

  Some time later, as spring turned toward summer, Terisa and Geraden rode out of Orison to the stand of trees among the hills where they had first been attacked by callat – where the horsemen of her dream had first appeared to her in the wrong guise, just as they had later come to her in the wrong place, doing the wrong things.

  The late cold and snow which had hampered the march to Esmerel had done considerable damage to fruit trees and flowers and early vegetables across the Demesne and the Care of Tor; but there were no signs of chill-blight here. The trees were rich green and elegant, shading the long grass beneath them with easy sweetness; and through the grass wildflowers peeped like delicate and unexpected possibilities. A low breeze ruffled the foliage enough to make the trees murmur, keep the air cool; not enough to disturb the tranquility of the place.

  Terisa had brought Geraden there because she wanted to hear horns again. She had a decision to make, and she thought that the keen music which had once lifted her out of herself in a dream, opening her heart to him and King Joyse and Mordant, would help her.

  That dream had been a strange kind of augury, at once accurate and misleading: false on both occasions when it had been fulfilled, and somehow true in conflation, as if each occasion had contributed a piece of the truth.

  Nevertheless she would have liked to have another dream to go by, an Image reflected in a mirror made of the pure sand of dreams. She needed a sense of direction, of purpose; a hint to guide her.

  She had to decide whether to stay where she was. Or to return to her former life.

  Geraden was being studiously, almost grimly noncommittal. She would have liked to hear him ask her to stay: that, too, might have helped. But he was determined to respect her wishes, bring no pressure to bear on her decision. Oh, he wanted her to stay; she knew that. But he also wanted her to be happy. He had always been that way, caught up in what she needed or wanted, instinctively willing to let her lead him. And the stronger he became, the more confidence he gained, the less he demanded for himself.

  Her happiness wasn’t something he could achieve by asking her to subordinate her desires to his own.

  Unfortunately, his determination to let her reach her own decision only seemed to make the decision itself more difficult.

  She wanted to hear horns.

  The woods held a gentle music of their own, but it wasn’t the call which thrilled her spirit, the potent blend of melody and hunting. The wildflowers bobbed their heads in the light breeze, nodding to her as if they understood, but revealing nothing. She thought of her former life as a struggle between Reverend Thatcher and her father – a battle to help the ruined and destitute of the world against rapacity and unconcern, against men who inflicted misery for their own benefit simply because they were able to do so. And the more strength Reverend Thatcher showed, the more she wanted to help him.

  There were things she could do in her old world.

  Mordant, on the other hand, was at peace. And likely to remain so for a long time.

  She loved it anyway. She didn’t want to give it up.

  Geraden, help me.

  Even though she knew he didn’t want to answer, she asked, ‘What should I do?’

  He had reached a point where he apparently found it impossible to meet her gaze. Looking away through the trees as if he were searching for the place where the callat had first shown themselves – a place hard to recognize in a scene full of leaves and grass and wildflowers – he murmured, ‘I get the impression Darsint is content to stay.’

  ‘He might as well be,’ she replied with more asperity than she intended. ‘He doesn’t have a way back. You can return him to the Image where you found him – to Pythas – but you can’t return him to his people. And his suit doesn’t have any power. He couldn’t defend himself.

  ‘I don’t have that problem. You could send me back.’

  Glumly, Geraden nodded.

  Without warning, loneliness welled up inside her, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Oh, Geraden, love, can’t you help me? Softly, so that he wouldn’t hear how she felt, she asked, ‘What are my choices?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can translate you home. Your father must have sold the apartment by now. You’ll have to start your life over again.’ Almost at once, however, he added, ‘But it might not be so bad. I could visit you sometimes. You could visit me. We know how to do that.’

  His voice faded into the rustle of leaves.

  ‘Or?’ she insisted.

  ‘Or you can stay here.’ For a moment longer, he held his face away, refused to look at her. But then, like a man who couldn’t stop himself, he turned toward her. ‘You can stay h
ere and marry me.’

  Through her tears, his eyes looked abashed and brave, accessible to joy or pain; troubled, sweet, and precious. And when he gazed at her like that, she heard the unmistakable sound of horns.

  So they were married in high summer, in the great ballroom of Orison, the hollow hall which had seen no use for years until the Masters had turned it into a staging-area for supplies during the march to Esmerel.

  As if regretting the neglect of those joyless years, King Joyse made the ballroom festive for the occasion: the walls were decked with banners and streamers; fragrant rushes were strewn upon the floor; fires in fine braziers gave the air a sheen of gold, while flames in the huge hearths took the old chill out of the stones; musicians arrayed themselves along the balconies, practicing flourishes and dances until every corner of the place seemed to sing and tremble.

  All this was organized by the lady Torrent. She was still shy – the dangers and privations she had endured to help rescue her mother hadn’t changed that – but she had discovered in herself a reflection of her mother’s firm will, as well as the organizational skill to make people and objects come together at the right time. Like her sister Myste, she had rapidly become Terisa’s friend, and they had spent many happy hours planning the wedding, to Geraden’s alternating chagrin, amusement and delight.

  Nonetheless she was still baffled by her new status: she hardly knew what to do with the fact that King Joyse had proclaimed her his heir and successor. Her talents, he declared, were the ones Mordant would need most when he was gone. Publically, she demurred, claiming that she only wished he would live forever. Privately, however, she found that she had a number of ideas about how Orison and Mordant should be ruled.

  But even more impressive than the color and music and celebration which Torrent produced was the list of personages who came to the wedding.

  Naturally, King Joyse and Queen Madin presided. From time to time, they held hands; and the Queen seemed to dote on Terisa and Geraden as if one of her own children were getting married. According to rumor, however, their reunion had been a stormy one for a long time after her return to Orison. She was said to have been furious at his treatment of her, his refusal to share his secrets with her, to involve her in his plans; and all his protestations and explanations had just made her angrier. This was only rumor, of course. It was true, however, that he had sometimes emerged from their private rooms looking like a man who would have preferred almost any warfare to this peace.

  Nevertheless by the time of the wedding they had resolved or accepted their differences, and had begun to enjoy each other’s company again. Perhaps he had aided their reconciliation by naming Torrent to succeed him. From their raised seats at one end of the ballroom, they smiled approval at the assembly, and at each other, and were satisfied.

  First among the guests – not in nominal rank, but in actual status – were Prince Kragen, the High Regent of Cadwal, and his Consort, the lady Elega. As a couple, they were the basis on which King Joyse and the Alend Monarch had built their new alliance, their new peace. In an effort to insure that no new tyrant came to power in Cadwal, and that the three kingdoms would be held together by bonds of authority and family as well as of common interest, the Monarch’s son and the King’s daughter had been set on Festten’s former Seat in Carmag.

  This arrangement had been Joyse’s idea, but Margonal had accepted it readily enough. He was learning to understand the way his old enemy thought. And he had ideas of his own—

  Blind, weary, content – and unwilling to face the rigors of a second journey to Orison – the Alend Monarch had sent his new Contender to stand in his place at the wedding: a man who now could claim precedence over everyone in Orison except King Joyse and Queen Madin, because of his position as Margonal’s representative and potential successor.

  The new Alend Contender was Nyle.

  Arriving for the ceremony, he still appeared perplexed and a bit daunted by his circumstances. But when Kragen had been installed as High Regent in Carmag, Margonal had needed another Contender; and the Alend Monarch had sensed in Nyle a man with a newborn but almost ferocious instinct for caution. Caution, the Monarch had declared, was the fundamental requirement for anyone who meant to rule over Scarab and the Alend Lieges. Kragen had shown himself altogether too prone to risks, and Margonal wished to replace him with someone who lacked that flaw.

  Nyle had refused the honor – or the responsibility – at first. He didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t worthy. Eventually, however, King Joyse had confronted him with a royal command, and he had felt himself forced to acquiesce.

  The reports which King Joyse had since received from the Alend Monarch indicated that Nyle was proving to be exactly the Contender Margonal wanted, despite his self-distrust.

  Behind the Alend Contender, and behind the High Regent and his Consort, stood Castellan Darsint and his new bride, the lady Myste.

  King Joyse and Queen Madin would have gladly combined the marriage of Darsint and Myste with that of Terisa and Geraden; but Darsint had flatly declined a public ceremony. On the other hand, he hadn’t hesitated to accept the place of Castellan.

  Chains of command, the procurement of supplies, the movement and housing of men and animals, discipline and defense: these were things the Congery’s champion understood in his bones. And his role in the battle of Esmerel gave him an enormous personal credibility which carried him past the uncertain days while he was learning his new job. In addition, he had Myste’s advice and support; and despite (or perhaps because of) her ‘romantic notions’ she had a sense of practical ethics which tempered and guided his authoritarian instincts.

  After the Castellan and his lady, the lords of the Cares were arranged in an order of precedence which depended solely on the parts they – or their predecessors – had played in the King’s war. First were the Tor, the Perdon, and the Termigan; next, the Fayle and the Domne; last, the Armigite.

  The new Tor was one of the old lord’s younger sons – in fact, the only one of his sons who wanted the position. But the old Perdon had died without children; and his widow had positively refused to look at the prospect of being the first female lord in Mordant’s history as anything except a cruel burden. ‘You have lost me my husband and my friends, my lord King,’ she had protested harshly. ‘Will you now deprive me of quiet as well?’ So King Joyse, with a glint in his eyes which occasionally suggested humor, and occasionally malice, had named Artagel as the Perdon.

  Artagel’s protests had been considerably louder than those of the old lord’s widow; but King Joyse had only smiled and insisted, glinting. And at last, in exasperation, he had snapped, ‘Be reasonable, Artagel. You can’t be the best swordsman in Mordant for the rest of your life. The years won’t let you. And those scars are never going to be as resilient as whole flesh and muscle. It’s about time you had something else to do.’

  So Artagel had relented with an ill grace which had gradually faded as he realized that his new position in Scarping made it possible for him to have a home – and maybe even a family? – of his own at last.

  As for the Termigan, everyone had expected him to refuse to attend the wedding, not out of any animosity, but simply because he was too busy rebuilding Sternwall. Nevertheless he had not only come, but he had come politely. Furthermore, he had brought with him an entire wainload of Rostrum wine as a marriage present: a gift which some people considered fit for a King; altogether too fine for mere Geraden and Terisa.

  The Domne and the Fayle came next, old friends pleased in each other’s company. But of Geraden’s family no one else had made the trip to Orison: Tholden was consumed with the task of laying out and constructing a new Houseldon; Wester didn’t enjoy travel; Minick couldn’t leave his shy wife; Stead couldn’t spare the time from his other pursuits. No one had accompanied the Domne except Quiss. Forthright and irrefusable as always, she had claimed that he couldn’t hope to make the journey without someone to take care of him. Upon arriving in Orison, however, she had
made it clear that her real reason for coming was to see Terisa and Geraden again, and to hear about everything they had done, and to give them the benefit of her advice.

  The Domne himself didn’t seem to feel compelled to give anyone advice. On the other hand, he was so happy and proud that he made Geraden’s face shine and gave Terisa the glad impression that the whole family was present in the old lord’s person.

  Last of the lords came the Armigite, remarkably subdued in his manner and dress, miserable in his isolation. After the battle of Esmerel, everyone who spoke to King Joyse – in fact, everyone in Orison – had an opinion concerning how the Armigite should be treated. Among them, the Alend Monarch had counseled leniency: after all, the Armigite’s imprecise loyalties had allowed the Alend army to reach Orison intact, with obvious (if unforeseen) benefits for both Alend and Mordant. In contrast, Darsint had recommended beheading: treachery deserved death. At last, however, King Joyse had settled on the worst punishment of all: he had decided to do nothing; to treat the Armigite as if his worse offenses were so trivial that they weren’t worth noticing.

  The Armigite spent most of his time before and after the festivities trying to get someone to talk to him; but no one was willing to be bothered.

  Below and beside King Joyse sat Adept Havelock, in a place of honor – and of discretion, as well, a place from which he could withdraw easily if necessary. Since the battle of Esmerel, he seemed to have settled comfortably into his role as the madman of Orison. No longer obsessed by the need for lucidity, he had become able to relax and enjoy himself in odd ways. As a result, his madness appeared to grow more benign, driving him to fewer extremes, permitting him more satisfaction.

  He never spoke of his struggle with the arch-Imager, never told how he had beaten Vagel. And he never explained why he had chosen to risk everything in personal combat with Vagel, instead of simply translating his old enemy and Eremis and Gilbur to Orison, as Terisa had intended. If anyone asked him a question, however, any question at all, he often replied with a complete, clear, and quite inappropriate description of everything he and King Joyse had done to meet Mordant’s need.