The Tor

"Reflect" on Stephen Donaldson's other epic fantasy

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Post by Cord Hurn »

Right after the Tor's words of glowing commendation for her, Terisa is still not entirely assured, because she's feeling guilty that she couldn't act quickly enough to save the three Mordant guards and seven Alend guards that were fighting to protect her from the rapacious black dot beings. Artagel assures her she did well, because if their side only loses ten men for every mirror Eremis has, then Eremis' side cannot win. Terisa isn't completely mollified by this, because they still would have to face High King Festten and his 20K soldiers.

But she soon has two distractions to keep her from dwelling on whether her destroying the mirror showing the crossroads portends eventual victory. The first is that Geraden runs to her and insists that she NEVER face danger without him being there to fight with her, and she promises what he wishes.

The second distraction is the Prince moving in closer to make a surprise offer to the Tor.
Prince Kragen was there, mounted before the Tor, with a new squad of men behind him. Artagel had gone back to his duty in Orison; but Castellan Norge and his escort supported the Tor, with a road full of guards issuing from the castle at his back. The old lord faced Prince Kragen squarely; however the Prince didn't speak until Terisa met his gaze.

To her surprise, she saw unmistakably that some conflict in him had been resolved. The clenched bitterness, the suggestion of savagery was gone from his expression; his black eyes shone with excitement. She had no idea what decision he had achieved--but she could see beyond question that he liked it.

After holding her gaze for a moment, he turned to the Tor.

"Should I conclude from this display of force, my lord Tor," he asked acerbically, "that your intention to march against High King Festten and Master Eremis in Esmerel is unchanged?"

"Assuredly, my lord Prince," the Tor replied in a corresponding tone. "If I had the slightest desire to do battle with you, I would not go about it in this fashion."
My guess as to why the Tor stated he wasn't going to fight Prince Kragen while using an acerbic tone to match the Prince's is to give extra assurance that he wouldn't attack Alend at that moment. By answering in an acerbic tone, he mocked the idea that he was going to attack the Prince's forces from outside Orison's wall, when it would have been safer to attack Alend from within Orison. It has the effect of reducing tension between the Tor and the Prince.

Kragen indicated the purple pennon. "Has King Joyse returned?"

"He has not."

In that case"--Prince Kragen straightened his shoulders--"the Alend Monarch wishes to speak with you. He asks you to accept the hospitality of his tent, with Geraden, the lady Terisa and Master Barsonage--and Castellan Norge, of course."

Terisa and Geraden stared. Norge clenched his jaws as if he were stifling a yawn. The Tor's eyes showed an undisguised gleam of hope. Nevertheless he didn't ask what Margonal wanted to talk about. Instead, he inquired firmly, "What guarantee of safety does the Alend Monarch offer us? As his guests, we will be deeply honored---and completely vulnerable."
I like how the Tor gets right to the point of how safe they will be visiting the Alend Monarch regardless of what Margonal want to discuss. The question of safety is the most pertinent question for them, as I see it.

Prince Kragen shrugged slightly. "My lord Tor, the Alend Monarch is a man of honor. He neither insults nor betrays his guests. On this occasion, however, he is prepared to match your vulnerability with his own. You may bring with you a hundred horsemen, who will be permitted to surround his tent. Surely no treachery on our part will succeed at killing a hundred men before they can threaten or kill the Alend Monarch himself."

"A remarkable gesture," Master Barsonage whispered to Terisa and Geraden. "The Alend Monarch is not notoriously complaisant about hazards to his person. Perhaps there is hope for an alliance yet."

Terisa and Geraden didn't reply. They were waiting to hear what the Tor would say.
Margonal seems to be seriously considering the idea of Alend and Mordant working together--or at least ceasing hostilities.


"My lord Prince," drawled the old lord as if nothing surprised him, "the Alend Monarch is unexpectedly considerate. I am prepared to rely on his honor entirely. I will accompany you at once, with Master Geraden and the lady Terisa of Morgan."

The Tor held up his hand to forestall movement. "Castellan Norge will remain among his men--as will the mediator of the Congery. They will keep their strength ready to march at the earliest possible moment."

Norge nodded amiably. Master Barsonage started to object, but subsided at once. The point of the Tor's decision was obvious: if the old lord was betrayed, most of Orison's fighting force would remain intact.

Prince Kragen permitted himself a bleak smile. "As you wish, my lord Tor." With a look toward Terisa and Geraden, he asked, "Will you mount and join us?"

A gutsy, valiant move on the part of the Tor, risking personal safety for the possible advancement of an alliance. Yet he is practical at keeping the leaders of the fighting forces out of the Monarch's tent in case it is a trap. And Master Barsonage and Castellan Norge can always be brought up to speed on what transpired at this meeting once the march continues. The Tor continues to show that he can be honorable, brave--and shrewd.
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The situation of two sides wishing to find sufficient grounds for trust to form an alliance, while still being under the potent influence of decades of distrust, produces enough tension to make the following passage a compelling read for me.
A moment passed before Terisa realized that she and Geraden, the Tor and Prince Kragen weren't alone. Two soldiers held the tentflaps tightly closed. Servants waited around the walls.

And the dark shape of a man sat in a chair across the expanse of the fore-tent.

"My lord Tor." The voice issuing from the dark shape was old and thin, "I like courtesy, but I will dispense with it today, so that your march will not be delayed. Yet I must take time to give you my thanks for not bringing the hundred men I offered to permit. Even if I meant you ill--which I do not--your decision made you safe with me. A man of Mordant must be valorous to trust the honor of an Alend."

"My lord Monarch," replied the Tor, "I also like courtesy. It would please me to give you the formal salutations and gratitude which custom and humility suggest. Unfortunately, I have been injured. I confess that I am hardly able to stand. Forgive me, my lord--I must sit."

Prince Kragen had moved to stand beside his father. From that position, he made a sharp gesture. At once, a servant hurried forward with a broad stool for the Tor.

Groaning involuntarily, the Tor lowered his weight to the seat.

"You are injured, my lord Tor," said the Alend Monarch, "And yet you propose a hard march of three days in order to confront High King Festten and his new cabal of Imagers. Is that wise?"

Behind the age in Margonal's voice, Terisa heard another quality. Perhaps because the gloom in the tent gave every shape and tone an ominous cast, she thought that the Alend Monarch sounded haunted; harried by doubt.

He had invited--no, summoned--her and Geraden and the Tor here in order to test them in some way. Because he was afraid.

"My lord Monarch"--the Tor seemed to lift his voice by main strength off the floor of his belly--"I am sincerely unsure that it is wise. King Joyse would never permit me to do such a thing in his place, if he were here to forbid it. But he is not here, and so I determine the nature of my own service to my King.

"The question is not one of wisdom, my lord. It is one of necessity. I go to fight the High King and his Imagers simply because they must be opposed."

For a moment, no one spoke. Abruptly, Prince Kragen made another gesture. As if a ritual had been correctly completed, servants now came forward with chairs for Terisa and Geraden. Silently, they were urged to seat themselves.
I like the Tor's matter-of-fact answer that Festten and his Imagers MUST be opposed, getting right to the point that, wise or not, they must strike against their enemies before they achieve any further destruction of Mordant. His answer to Margonal is infused with sincerity, and thus persuasiveness, as I see it.
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On the other hand, the Tor doesn't get right to the point of answering Margonal's question about where King Joyse has gone, even though he has good reason to believe that his King is attempting to rescue Queen Madin.

Why doesn't the Tor answer that question right away, I wonder?

The most obvious answer is that he can't be certain that is what Joyse is doing, of course, but it occurs to me that the Tor may feel that Margonal will believe the Tor's answer that he doesn't know for sure what the King has done if he is reluctant to state his guess about the King's actions. It's a tricky situation, where the Tor would like to be trusted so that an alliance can be formed at best, or that Margonal will let them go on their way to Esmerel unharried at least.

"My lord Tor," Margonal seemed to be making an effort to key his voice to a firmer pitch. "We are old enemies--although to my recollection most of your personal warfare has been waged against Cadwal rather than Alend. You know enough of my history to understand my caution where King Joyse is concerned.

"Where is he?"

"My lord Monarch?" asked the Tor as if he didn't understand the question--or hadn't expected it to be stated so bluntly.

"King Joyse." The Monarch's enunciation hinted at anger and fear. "Where is he?"

The Tor lifted his goblet, took what was for him a modest swig. "My lord, I do not know."

Stillness spread out around him. No one moved--and yet Terisa had the impression that every Alend in the tent had gone stiff. Margonal's posture filled the dim air with warnings.

As if the pressure of the silence had become too much for him, the Tor said, huskily, "Please believe me, my lord Monarch. He disappeared without consultation, without explanation. If I knew where he is--or why he has gone there--it is unlikely that I would be before you now. I would prefer to await his return, so that he could preside over our saving or destruction as he saw fit. This war is his doing and his duty, my lord, not mine."

"Yet surely you speculate," snapped the Alend Monarch promptly. "You must have some conception of his actions, some guess as to his purpose."

Carefully, the Tor replied, "Does it matter, my lord Monarch? We must do what we do, regardless of his whereabouts--or his reasons."

"It matters to me." Margonal's voice conveyed the impression that he was sweating profusely. "While I have held my seat in Scarab, he has twice overturned the order of the world, once for peace and prosperity, for an end to bloodshed and the depredations of Imagery, and once for the ruin of everything he has created. He has power, that man, the power to plunge all our lives into chaos as surely as he once raised us to peace.

"Where is he?"

Terisa looked at Geraden. She could see him a little better than anyone else; the red tinge on his features made him appear fervid, a little mad--and a little hopeless.

The Tor sighed a little painfully. "My lord, my only guess is that he has gone somehow in search of Queen Madin."

Terisa thought that the Alend Monarch was going to fall silent again. Almost at once, however, he retorted, "And Queen Madin has been abducted by Alends--or by men who appeared to be Alends. What will he do, my lord Tor, when he has rescued her?" Despite his thinness, his voice gathered passion. "I do not doubt that he will rescue her. That man fails at nothing. And when he has restored her to safety, what will he do?"

As if he were in the presence of an ambush, the Tor answered, "My lord Monarch, I only guess at where King Joyse has gone. Years have passed since I felt able to predict his actions."
The Tor wants to make it clear that he is not trying to deceive. But alas, he cannot guarantee what King Joyse will do, and Margonal seems to need that guarantee of non-aggression if not friendliness from Joyse in order to forge an alliance. Margonal already knows through his son that the Tor wants an alliance, but cannot trust it without Joyse being present to affirm such an alliance.

So unfortunately, the Tor has no ability here to move such diplomacy forward. He has said all that he can say to persuade the Alend Monarch, it seems.
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Post by Cord Hurn »

Margonal is very much concerned that no one knows where Joyse is or what he will do once he rescues his wife Madin. He tells the Tor that he has made extensive study of Joyse and expects him to be violent and vengeful towards him as soon as Madin is made safe.

"My lord Monarch," Geraden ventured cautiosly, "those men weren't Alends. Master Eremis admitted as much to the lady Terisa. King Joyse vanished before we could tell him everything we knew. That's a problem. But surely he'll find out the truth for himself. Surely when he's questioned"--tortured?--"those men, he'll realize why she was taken. To disrupt his plans for Mordant's defense. And drive a wedge between us, so we don't join forces.

"When he comes back-- Surely it isn't inevitable that he'll attack you."

"Master Geraden." Slowly, Margonal's voice lost its vehemence. "I am the Alend Monarch, responsible for all my lands and all my people--as well as for a rather unruly union with the Alend Lieges. In my place, would you be prepared to risk your entire kingdom on the naked hope that an apparent madman will recognize the truth--and respect it?"

The Monarch appeared to be shaking his head. To the Tor, he said, "You wish an alliance. But if I unite my force with yours, I will lose most of my ability to defend myself and my realm. Against King Joyse. And against the possibility that High King Festten will strike behind you when you have left Orison.

"What you wish is impossible."
So there it is. The hope that motivated the Tor to take command of Orison's forces with Norge's support, the hope of alliance between Mordant and Alend, appears to be dashed to pieces. But his resolve to fight Mordant's foes isn't dashed in the slightest.
Now it was the Tor's turn to be silent for a long time. When he spoke, he sounded disappointed, even sad--but also untouched, as if nothing the Alend Monarch could do would weaken his determination.

"Then there is no more to be said, my lord. I thank you for the courtesy of this audience. With your permission, we will resume our march."

"Why?" the Alend Monarch demanded suddenly, almost desperately. "Can you deny that King Joyse appears to have gone mad? Can you deny that his purposes and policies have brought you to the verge of destruction? Why do you still serve him?"
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Perhaps the Tor deep down inside himself hasn't entirely given up on there being an alliance between Alend and Mordant, even at this point, before they must face Cadwal and evil Imagery, because he chooses his tone and words carefully as he answers Margonal.
For a moment, Terisa thought she sensed a fiery retort rushing up in the old lord, a subterranean blast. When his answer came, it surprised her with its gentleness. He might have been speaking to an old friend.

"My lord, Master Eremis and his Imagery have cost me my eldest son. In time, the High King will cost me all my family. Such men must be opposed."
As I type that quote, an additional explanation occurs to me for the manner of the Tor's response, here. Margonal's assertion that Joyse seems to have lost his sanity probably triggers memories in the Tor of Joyse acting like continuing to play hop-board with Havelock was the only reasonable response to being shown the body of the Tor's eldest son, and maybe also triggers memories of Joyse's raging retort when the Tor demanded to know if Joyse understood that letting Lebbick do what he wished to Terisa in Orison's dungeons was setting her up to be raped and tortured.

The Tor understands all too well Margonal's point that Joyse appears to have gone crazy.
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Prince Kragen didn't change his stance at all. None of the servants or soldiers moved. The figure seated behind Terisa [who turns out to be Elega] made no sound. Geraden seemed to be holding his breath.

With a rustle of rich fabric, the Alend Monarch slumped back in his chair.

Thinly, he murmured, "You are blessed with several sons, my lord. I have but one. And by no act of mine can I assure his accession to my seat. I must be careful of my risks."

Then his tone sharpened. "My lord, we would be safe in Orison. At worst, we would be safer than we are now. It is your fixed intention to march to Esmerel. What is to prevent us from taking possession of Orison as soon as you are gone?"

Apparently, the Tor had come prepared for that question. "Adept Havelock," he replied without hestlitation--a bolder bluff than Terisa had expected from him. "Artagel and two thousand guards. And several thousand men and women who would rather lose their lives than be taken by Alend."

"I see," breathed the Alend Monarch as if he were sinking to the floor.

Through the dimness, Terisa barely saw him reach out and touch Prince Kragen's arm.

The Prince made a commanding gesture. At once, servants hurried forward to hold the chairs so that the Tor, Terisa, and Geraden could stand.

The audience was over.

The Tor braced a heavy hand on Geraden's shoulder and started toward the tentflaps.


The first time reading this, I recall I felt disappointment that the alliance couldn't take hold, but also felt appreciation that the two parties representing Mordant and Alend could manage to be so civil with each other. I felt oddly proud of them all. |G
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Post by Cord Hurn »

Of course, Margonal and Prince Kragen have a pleasant surprise in mind for the Tor and the troops of Mordant, a surprise the guard Ribuld already knows about, and mischieviously keeps secret: Prince Kragen leads the bulk of Alend's army to follow Mordant's army to support them in battle against Cadwal and its Imagers.

Geraden remarks that he's told them before that the Prince is "an honorable enemy".
The Tor didn't say anything. While Prince Kragen led his forces up the rise after Orison's army, the old lord sat on his mount with tears in his eyes and a look like a promise on his broad face.
It's nice to see the long-suffering Tor get some personal vindication for his beliefs at long last.
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Now that it's known that the bulk of Alend's army is following Orison's troops to support them against Cadwal rather than continuing to besiege Orison, morale within Orison's soldiers is high--early in the day. That changes as the bitter cold wind starts wearing down their spirits as the day progresses. By the time they stop to make camp, Norge notes that Alend's soldiers have fallen almost four miles behind Orison's army.
The men already looked beaten.

By Castellan Norge's reckoning, however, they had pulled nearly four miles ahead of the Alends.

"That disturbs me," muttered the Tor while Master Barsonage and the other Imagers chose an open patch of ground and began to unpack their mirrors. "I do not wish to be separated from the Prince--and I do not wish to wait for him."

Norge shrugged as if the movement were a twitch in his sleep. "They're carrying all their food and equipment and bedding and tents--everything they need. They're lucky they can come this close to our pace. If Prince Kragen tries to drive them this fast, some of them will start to break."

"And that will benefit no one," fretted the Tor. Abruptly, he called, "Master Barsonage!"

"My lord Tor?" the mediator answered.

"Do I understand correctly? This evening you will translate our necessities from Orison--and tomorrow before we march you will return everything to the castle for the day?"

Master Barsonage nodded. He was impatient to get to work. One of the Congery's three supply-mirrors was his.

The Tor kept him standing for a moment, then said, "I will wager the Alends carry enough food and water to sustain them for eight or ten days. If their supplies were added to ours, could you manage so much translation?"

That got the mediator's attention. "My lord, you propose a vast amount of material to be translated. All Imagery is taxing. And we have only three mirrors."

"I understand," the Tor replied rather sharply. "Can you do it?"

Master Barsonage glared at the ground. "We can make the attempt."

"Good." The old lord turned away. "Castellan Norge."

"My lord Tor?"

"Send a messenger to my lord Prince. Say that I wish him to consult with him--that I wish to consult with him urgently--on the subject of his supplies."

"Yes, my lord." If Norge had any qualms about the Tor's idea, he didn't show them. Instead, he gave the necessary orders to one of his captains.

Muttering under his breath, Barsonage went back to work.
Geraden affirms to Terisa the validity of Master Barsonage's concerns about being overworked. Terisa asks what Geraden has in mind to alleviate those concerns, and he answers that they could help in translating supplies from Orison's ballroom. Terisa doesn't think she's got the energy for it, but Geraden realizes that her weariness is more spiritual than physical, as she feels guilt that ten men died to protect her from Eremis' attacks of Imagery back at the crossroads.

Geraden tells Terisa their blood is on Eremis' head, not hers. Terisa objects that she chose the risk of going to the intersection of roads knowing that Eremis and his allied Imagers had a mirror focused on that spot, but Geraden reminds her that they had to fight back against Imagery. He cautions her that in the future she should choose her risks more carefully, so that just the two of them and no one else will be at risk.

So Geraden convinces Terisa to help with translating supplies, and they approach Barsonage with their offer of assistance. Master Barsonage gladly accepts their offer, and sets up Terisa with a flat glass showing a fen in Cadwal and fixes Geraden up with a curved mirror showing an arid landscape on some alien world. Terisa has Geraden teach her the gestures and incantations that put her in the correct frame of mind to use her talents of translation. The first thing that happens is swampwater from the Cadwal fen comes out of the mirror to splash her feet and cause her to jump back. Some guards and Masters laugh at her.
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Terisa is both amused and embarrassed by the result of her translation, and then demands Geraden explain why he was having her do the incantations and gestures if it's really only her inner talent that facilitates translation. He says it relaxes her mentally and makes it easier to quickly command the mirror she's using. She accepts this explanation, then works on changing the Image of the flat glass from the fen of Cadwal to the ballroom of Orison.
Before long, Prince Kragen arrived in person to discuss the question of his supplies with the Tor. By that time Terisa had already succeeded at bringing a stack of groundsheets through from the ballroom--and no one was laughing. The guards and the Masters were all hard at work, preparing to feed and shelter six thousand men for the night.

Prince Kragen observed that he had no alliance with Mordant. And without an alliance he certainly couldn't trust his army's supplies--in effect, his army's ability to function--to a group of men who were historically his enemies, in addition to being notoriously crazy.

The Tor observed that if the Alend army continued to carry its own supplies. and continued to try to keep up with the forces of Orison, it would reach Esmerel no better able to function than if it had lost all its supplies.

Prince Kragen observed that it would not hurt Alend to let Orison meet Cadwal first and test the High King's mettle.

The Tor observed that two separate armies of six thousand men each would pose a trivial problem for High King Festten's twenty thousand, compared to a united force of twelve thousand.

Prince Kragen acquiesced. He also accepted the Tor's invitation to supper. Behind his tone of doubt and his dark glower, he looked positively happy.
The Tor has managed to convince Prince Kragen that he cares about the well-being of Alend's army.

Later that evening, as they prepare to sleep, Terisa and Geraden discuss the day's events. Terisa admits she was sensitive to being laughed at because of her experience of both her father and Master Eremis as jeering people. Geraden assures her that it's good for her that the soldiers and Masters see that she has a useful power for Imagery, because they will now back her up if she needs them. He passionately predicts they will win this war, and Terisa hopes he's right.

The next day, Terisa, Geraden, and Barsonage, along with two other Imagers, work to return all of Orison's supplies (and also everything given to them by the Alend soldiers) to Orison's ballroom. Then they ride with the Congery's wagons to catch up with the armies, guarded by fifty cavalrymen. The wagons must ride the bumpy road to Esmerel, which puts the mirrors they carry at risk. Terisa finds she gets a smoother ride on her own horse instead of by riding the wagons.

The cold weather unsettles her, the remark from Geraden that the Cadwals ate resting all this time unsettled her further, amd Geraden's confession that he has the strongest feeling they ought to be doing something else REALLY unsettles her.

Then wolves come to attack the wagons, killing one Master, four horses, and five guards. Geraden barely manages to get his sword out of his scabbard in time (with Terisa's help) to save his life by splitting a wolf's head. After the battle, Geraden tells Terisa he's "got the strongest feeling" that when the real fighting starts, they will need someone with them who handles a sword better than he does. Suddenly visualizing Gart's first appearance, when he simultaneously beat back Ribuld and Argus, Terisa reflects that they need a swordsman that is better than Ribuld, as well.
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By late morning, the Congery, Terisa, Geraden, & Ribuld and the other guards rejoin Orison's and Alend's armies. After hearing of their losses, the Tor declares that they will have five hundred guards with them when they march tomorrow, in case the enemy Imagers should strike again.

The Tor expresses anxiety about encountering scouts and outriders of the enemy as they move closer to Esmerel, but Terisa feels certain that Eremis is going to wait until all his enemies walk into his trap and fall completely into his power. Once that happens, she anticipates that any attack Eremis sends will be designed to hurt them spiritually as well as physically. She tenses up as she expects that Nyle will be used as part of the offensive against them.

Orison's and Prince Kragen's armies trek through unreasonable cold in bumpy rough country, and that evening camp is made atop a cluster of hilltops. Then Mater Barsonage and the Congery unpack their mirrors. The Tor shows his determination to be a trustworthy ally to Alend even when no formal alliance exists.
When the mediator uncovered his glass, the first thing he and everyone else was in the Image was Artagel sitting atop a particularly high pile of bedrolls and groundsheets.

He still wore Lebbick's clothes, Lebbick's blood. His expression was a strange combination of excitement and boredom.

"What is that idiot doing?" demanded the Prince. "Is he not in danger of translation?"

Then: "What has he done with our supplies?"

Kragen was right: none of the Alend supplies which had been translated into Orison that morning were visible in the Image.

Before anyone else could speak, however, Artagel made his purpose clear. With the air of a man repeating an action he had already performed to the point of tedium, he held up a large sheet of parchment and turned it slowly so that it could be seen from all sides, around him.

There was writing on the parchment. Across the hillside where the mirror, stood, the sun was setting, and the light wasn't especially good. But Artagel was prepared for that difficulty. Around him, the ballroom blazed with torches.

His message was easily read.

What do you want done with Kragen's supplies?

The Prince stiffened; his hand fingered his sword. He watched narrowly as the Tor called for a piece of parchment and a charcoal stylus.

The old lord wrote:

Prince Kragen treats us honorably. Return his supplies.

He showed his message to Prince Kragen, then handed the parchment to Master Barsonage.

Deftly, Barsonage deposited the message in Artagel's lap.

Artagel read it, glanced around him, shrugged. He looked disappointed; nevertheless he didn't balk. He waved his arms, shouted something; and at once men and women--conscripted villagers, apparently--began running stacks and piles of Alend possessions back into the center of the ballroom.

Noticing the congested look on Prince Kragen's face, Terisa gave a small, silent sigh of relief. He would have little or no trouble believing he had been betrayed--and then he would have no choice but to attack the forces of Orison.

Shortly, everything was ready. Saluting the empty air casually, Artagel left the Image so that the process of translation could begin.
The translation of supplies begins, with Geraden using the curved glass he was loaned previously. Terisa watches Geraden, Barsonage, and an elderly Master named Harpool translate supplies for a while, then offers to replace Harpool when she notices he appears weary. He accepts her offer gratefully and leaves for wine and rest.

But then Terisa has the problem that she can't translate items from the ballroom using Harpool's glass. The onlookers mutter that she's lost her power as Ribuld loyally argues to "give her time". She shifts the Image of Harpool's mirror from Orison's ballroom to the fen of Cadwal, and then translates out some swamp water. Then when the Image reverts to the ballroom, she is able to translate supplies once more.

Later, after supper, when they are getting ready to rest, Terisa asks Geraden why she had to shift Images in Harpool's mirror before using it, when she was able to translate with Vixix's mirror right away with relative ease.

Geraden answers with a guess that Harpool's hold on his mirror was far more recent than Vixix's hold on his own mirror, so that Terisa had to exert her talent on Harpool's mirror by shifting it before the glass would recognize her and allow her to do ordinary translations with it.

Terisa observes with a tinge of skepticism that Geraden makes the glass sound as if it is alive. Geraden responds that he doesn't know about that, he just knows that talent for Imagery is alive, so that the relationship between glass and Imager is alive in some way. This response reassures Terisa, as she feels she can better fight Eremis and his allies and take more careful risks if she understands her own limitations.
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The Tor

Post by Cord Hurn »

The Tor doesn't come back into the story again until the armies of Orison and Prince Kragen have come to Esmerel.
The door was closed. All the windows were shuttered and dark. No one moved around the building, or in the neat horseyard on one side of the house, or along the brook. Under the dark clouds, the whole place had an air of desertion, as if it had been forgotten a long while ago.

The ground, however, still held the scars of hundreds of horses, hundreds of men.

After a while, Prince Kragen asked, "What do you think, my lord Tor?"

"I think," the Tor muttered as if his confidence were ebbing, "we must look inside."

"It's a trap, my lord," commented Norge.

"Of course," the Tor sighed. "Is that not why we have come, Geraden, my lady Terisa?" He glanced at them morosely. "To place our heads in the trap?"

For some reason Geraden's mount distrusted the valley and tried to shy away. Reining his horse uncomfortably, he said, "The only way we can find out what we're up against is to go look at it, my lord."

Terisa couldn't take her eyes off Esmerel. It held her as Master Eremis himself did, full of promises and destruction. She had been a prisoner there. Had met Vagel; seen Nyle. Eremis had almost had his way with her--

"Let's go," she said without meaning to speak aloud. "Let's go look at it."

Catellan Norge shrugged. The Tor blew his nose on the hem of his cloak.

Prince Kragen gave Terisa a bow which suggested either mockery or respect.
So the two armies begin to advance further on Esmerel, and the distressing smells of blood and old rot strengthen as they get closer to the manor.
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The Tor

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Terisa remarks that the smells of blood and old rot weren't present when she was there four days ago talking with Nyle. At the mention of Nyle's name, Geraden surges towards Esmerel's front door. The Tor has to bellow an order at Geraden to make him back himself away from the door. Geraden complies as he feels he's been pulled back by hearing the extreme caution in the old lord's voice. After all, whatever is in Esmerel could be intended as an ambush or a trap to kill either him or Terisa to cancel the threat of their unprecedented talents.

The Tor orders Norge to send himself and his soldiers into the manor and search the rooms. Further, the Tor tells Norge to signal when he is ready for the rest of them to enter.

Norge reappears shortly thereafter, looking very pale while cryptically informing the Tor he ought to see what's inside because "they're all here". Terisa suddenly fears going in; Geraden again rushes to Esmerel's front door before being stopped by Norge.
The Tor glanced wearily up at the sky. "The truth is," he rumbled, "that three days in the saddle have done little to heal my belly." The stubborn resolution which had brought him here appeared to be eroding. "I fear that once I dismount I will never get up onto my horse again."

Prince Kragen's gaze shone darkly. "I will go, my lord Tor."

The Tor passed a hand over his face. The skin of his cheeks seemed to pull away from the bones, giving him a skeletal aspect for a moment despite his fat.

"We will all go, my lord Prince," he sighed.

No, Terisa thought as if she were panicking, it's a trap. Eremis is in there, he's already killed all Norge's men. Yet what she felt wasn't panic. Instead of crying out against Norge's pallor, Norge's distress, she swung off her nag and went after Geraden.

"Nyle," he muttered urgently when she joined him--the only explanation she needed.

Heaving against his mortal weight, the Tor got his leg over the saddle, stumbled to the ground. For a moment, he sagged there as if his capacity to support himself was crumbling. But then he called up his fading strength and lumbered into motion.

With Prince Kragen, half a dozen Alend soldiers, Master Barsonage, and Ribuld, the Tor approached Esmerel on foot.
Terisa knows her initial impression of Norge being unnaturally pale was correct. When they all go inside, the smell of blood and old rot intensifies, though no bodies are seen at first, just mud, scuff marks, and sword cuts. The Tor asks Norge what he desires him to see, and Norge points a shaking arm towards the staircase heading down to the cellars.
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The Tor

Post by Cord Hurn »

In the cellars, they find the corpses of the Perdon's men, many of them arranged in dance and sexually suggestive poses, and the leaders of Mordant and Alend, led by the Tor, discover the fate of the Perdon. It turns out the Perdon's final living moments were comprised of bleeding to death and choking from a large corkscrew being drilled into the back of his throat. :crazy: :hairs: :(
White with strain and horror, Geraden wheeled on the nearest guard. "Where's Nyle?"

"Not here," the guard answered thickly. "Unless he's one of the bodies. No one's here." A moment later, he added, "None of the rooms down here were used for a cell."

Then someone bumped Terisa so hard that she stumbled. The Tor brushed past without noticing her, shouldered Prince Kragen aside to approach the corkage table.

For a long moment while everyone watched him, he slumped against the edge of the table; the courage and determination seemed to leak out of him, as if he were sinking in on himself like a deflated bladder.

"Oh, my old friend. My old friend."

In a constricted voice, Geraden muttered, "He was never here. You were never here." Apparently, he was talking to Terisa. "We all made the same assumption, but we were wrong. When High King Festten came here, he had to kill Esmerel's servants and maybe even Eremis' relatives to get into the house. Eremis hasn't used this place for years."

Abruptly, the Tor raised his head and brought up a wail like the cry of his damaged guts. Terisa was behind him: she couldn't see what he was doing. She didn't realize what he had done until a terrible convulsion shook him from head to foot and then his right fist sprang into the air, brandishing the corkscrew which had killed the Perdon.

Asif he had no idea what was going on around him, Geraden muttered, "We've come to the wrong place. This is just a trap. It doesn't even give us a chance to strike back."

With a tearing groan, the Tor lifted the Perdon's rigid corpse. When he turned, Terisa saw that his face was streaked with tears. In the lamplight, he looked as pallid as the dead.

"And you wanted to make an alliance with that monster," he cried to his friend's body. But he didn't expect an answer. Jerking his head at the ceiling, he shouted suddenly, "Are you laughing at him now, Eremis? Does it amuse you to do this to a man who believed you?"

Oh, Eremis was laughing, all right. Terisa was sure of it.

Dumbly, she went to the Tor's side and helped support his quivering arms until Ribuld and some of the other guards came to take the Perdon away.
Such a heartbreaking moment for the Tor. Yet, as we shall see, the incident ends up strengthening him in a profound way.
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The Tor

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Coming back outside from Esmerel, the Tor, Prince Kragen, Terisa, Geraden, Barsonage, and Norge encounter snowfall so thick that it's hard to see through more than an arm's-length away. Norge suggests to Kragen that they find their encampments immediately. Kragen says he'll string lines through the camps to keep the horses together, then departs.

Master Barsonage observes to Geraden that it was a natural mistake in assuming Esmerel is Eremis' current power center. Terisa counters they should have known that Esmerel was too obvious to be Eremis' choice as an operation base. But she allows that Esmerel was the only choice any of them knew to make. Geraden glumly concludes, "And now we're stuck," and doesn't get contradicted by anybody. Horses with snow-caked manes are brought up the Esmerel's portico by the guards.
Men began to file out of the house. After a while, Castellan Norge and Ribuld brought the Tor to the portico. Physically, the old lord had never looked worse. His limbs were as frail as a child's' his hands shook as if the chill had already reached his bones' his skin was the color of moldy potatoes.

Nevertheless the glare in his eyes was unquenchable. His outrage at what had been done to the Perdon sustained him when his body and his ordinary courage failed.

As long as she ignored the rest of him and watched only his eyes, Terisa was able to keep her grasp on hope.
Castellan Norge has Ribuld and other guards lead the Tor to a nearby tent set up for him, deeming him too fragile to survive riding a horse again. Norge has Terisa, Geraden, and Master Barsonage climb onto their horses, and they are led to their resting shelters by guards connected with lines to more guards deeper within the camp away from Esmerel. There are tents already set up for them, and Geraden and Barsonage rush to aid Master Harpool and another Imager in their efforts of translating supplies from Orison.

The snowfall starts thinning significantly, and torches and bonfires suddenly become widely visible as Terisa enters the tent recently raised up for the Tor and Norge. The Tor's cheeks look frigidly pale. Nevertheless the kind and empathetic old lord resists Ribuld's invitation to remove his boots, because the Tor still wants to go out and bless and thank the troops, to let them know their bravery and loyalty are deeply valued.

The Tor then says he will never again remove his boots. Ribuld bows at this decision of the Tor's, and steps back to stand beside Terisa. Terisa then sees that Ribuld's face is tightening with sudden grief, and starts to ask him why. Ribuld informs her his home is in the Care of Tor, and that he fought in the armies of both the Tor and the Perdon before joining the King's guard. Terisa now understand the strong love and loyalty Ribuld has for the Tor, and tells him the old lord needs him more than she or Geraden does. Ribuld's face twists in an expression hard to read. Then Terisa leaves the tent to see if she can assist Master Harpool in translating supplies from Orison.

...And it is then that she comes to realizes the fulfillment of her prophetic dream of the three riders is upon her.
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The Tor

Post by Cord Hurn »

Terisa is really feeling that a predestined meeting, a prophesied and pivotal moment, is about to happen, and She tells Geraden to quickly get the Tor and Prince Kragen, Master Barsonage overhears that and sends Imagers to get them, and someone calls for Castellan Norge. All the nearby guards feel a sense of urgency from Terisa, and she now has enough credibility with them that they hurry to gather all the armies' leaders and put them on alert.

Then past the snow-clogged side of the manor came charging men on horseback. As the horses fought for speed, their nostrils gusted steam, and their legs churned the snow until the dry, light flakes seemed to boil. The sides of the valley and the snow muffled every sound, but each movement was distinct, as edged as a shard of glass.

Three riders with longswords held up in their fists and keen hate in the strides of their fierce mounts. The riders she had seen in the Congery's augury. The riders of her dream.

"Bowmen!" Norge snapped from somewhere nearby. "Be ready! We'll pick then off as soon as they get in range."

"No!" coughed the Tor. He had come out of his tent; he stood with his legs splayed into the snow, supported by Ribuld. "That is a traitor's deed. Let them approach. We kill no one unless we must."

Prince Kragen, running forward with his sword in both hands, tell the Tor enthusiastically that that decision was well said. Then the Prince points with his sword at the flag of truce that the approaching riders, Eremis, Gilbur, and Vagel, each have tied to the tips of their swords they now hold high.

Terisa sees with baited breath the riders of her dream that night in her old world before Geraden first came for her.

Master Eremis pulls his horse up short, but close enough to be within bow shot range and comments how fortunate it is that they are all gathered together here. He then informs, the Tor, Prince Kragen, Castellan Norge, Master Barsonage, Terisa and Geraden, that his riding companions Gilbur and Vagel think they will be killed by them despite their bearing a flag of truce.

Prince Kragen declares that such a deed would be more likely by Eremis. Eremis laughingly calls for to come forward because Prince Kragen declares he is not treacherous like they are. Gilbur and Vagel ride up next to Eremis. Norge mutters that Eremis, Gilbur, and Vagel are lucky that Lebbick isn't there to castrate them first and be concerned with honor later, but no one acts like they hear him.

Prince Kragen harshly demands Eremis say what he wants from them. Eremis says he has a requirement for all of them except the Congery, which he states is free to go sodomize itself at the earliest opportunity. Master Barsonage reacts to this jibe by warning Eremis he has reason to fear the Congery, but Gilbur mockingly retorts that the day Barsonage can scare him is the day he can walk naked into the camp and be used as the Congery's mediator wishes.

The Tor made a weak gesture, requesting silence. In a thin voice, he said, "You mentioned requirements, Master Eremis."

"Indeed," Eremis replied with a grin. "And if you satisfy me, I am willing to let you all live."

Norge pronounced an obscenity. No one else spoke.

"By now," the tall Imager explained, "even the thickest-headed among you must realize that we have an alliance with High King Festten. By force of Imagery and arms, we are prepared to crush you completely. We will wash the ground with your blood until you beg to share the Perdon's fate."

"Try it," grated Ribuld. Again, no one else spoke.

"As it happens, however," Master Eremis continued humorously, "the High King is not a comfortable ally. He wants to rule the world--and I intend that mastery for myself. Our ambitions are not well mated."

"Doubtless," the Tor sighed. "What are your requirements?"

Master Eremis straightened his legs, raised himself high in the saddle. "My lord Tor, my lord Prince, I require you to surrender."

This time, it was Prince Kragen who laughed--a bloody and mirthless guffaw.

"If you do so," Eremis went on smoothly, "if you will pledge your precious honor and your lives to me. we will turn against Festten. Our Imagery and your arms will break him here, far from his sources of supply, his reinforcements. Then it will be Mordant which rules the world, not Cadwal.

"From the first," he commented while everyone stared at him, "my plans have cut in two directions. We are prepared to annihilate you, my lords. You are too paltry--you have no hope against us. At the same time, however, I have maneuvered Festten and his strength into a position of vulnerability--here, my lords, here--so that he, too, can be annihilated.

"Your choice is simple. Serve me and live. Refuse me and die."

Geraden held himself still. Terisa glanced at him and saw that he wasn't looking at Master Eremis. He was watching the Tor with a dangerous brightness in his eyes.

Growling curses through his mustache, Prince Kragen also turned toward the Tor.

For a long moment, the Tor said nothing. In fact, the way he stood, his slumped and dependent posture, suggested that he didn't know what was going on. Nevertheless, before the Prince could lose patience with him, the old lord found his voice.

"You mentioned requirements for each of us. Except the Congery. What do you want from Master Geraden and the lady Terisa?"

Terisa caught her breath while the knot of anger and fear inside her pulled tighter.

Master Eremis shrugged, grinning as if only an iron will kept him from laughing his heart out. "A small sacrifice, my lord. It will cost you little. I require them for myself."

Master Gilbur snickered.

No, Terisa ached inside herself. No.

Geraden watched the Tor as if he expected something wonderful or terrible from the old lord.

"As a condition of your surrender," Eremis explained. "When you have pledged your honor to me--and when Terisa and Geraden have been given into my hands--at that moment, High King Festten's doom is assured."

No.

Prince Kragen started to retort, but the Tor stopped him with another weak gesture. "An interesting suggestion, Master Eremis." The old lord's frailty made him sound mild. "Unfortunately, you are a demonstrated traitor. What assurance is there that you can be trusted?"

"You need none," Master Eremis shot back hotly, happily. "Your choice is too simple for assurances. If you do not satisfy me, you will be destroyed."

"My lord Tor," Prince Kragen put in fiercely, "he wants the lady Terisa and Geraden because he fears them. Their power is our assurance that he cannot destroy us."

Again, the Tor gestured for silence, asking Kragen to bear with him.

"Master Eremis, you are overconfident," he said softly, "so sure of your strength and your superiority that you insult us. You insult our honor--but that does not surprise us." His voice sank as he spoke, and yet gathered force at the same time, so that his quietness carried like a shout. "No one expects a man of your moral poverty to respect honor.

"You do wrong, however to insult our intelligence.

"You have no interest in our surrender. You have no intention of turning against High King Festten. I doubt that the arch-Imager would permit such betrayal." For some reason, Vagel shook his head. "Gart certainly would not. Your only interest here, your only purpose in coming, is to take the lady Terisa and Master Geraden from us."

Eremis had heard enough."My lord Tor," he snapped, "I have not yet begun to insult your intelligence--but now you demonstrate that you are mad. I fear no one. I covet Terisa's female flesh. And I have a score to settle with Geraden. My reasons for coming are exactly as have explained them."

No! Terisa protested, insisted, no.

...And here it comes, one of the Tor's finest moments in the story. :hearts:

And the Tor said, "No.

"You are a fool, Master Eremis. In the end, you will die a fool's death. If you had the slightest wish for our service--if you had the slightest intention of turning against the High King"--his passion was too fundamental to be shouted--"you would have treated the Perdon with more respect."

Dismissing Eremis, he moved with Ribuld's support toward his tent.

"My lord Tor." Geraden's face shone; he looked ready now to tackle both Master Eremis and High King Festten single-handedly. He spoke to the old lord's back formally, and his voice seemed to defy the snow and the wind, as if he had the power to command them. "King Joyse has been fortunate in his friends--but never as fortunate as when he won your loyalty."

The Tor stumbled, but Ribuld caught him.
The Tor found the strength of steely resolve when looking on the Perdon's ruin, vowing to himself that he will NEVER surrender or aid Eremis and his friends in any way, shape, or form after the horrible way they executed his dear friend. Good for him!!

Prince Kragen tells Norge to give the traitorous Imagers a count of five to flee, then to have his bowmen kill them. Eremis, Gilbur, and Vagel clear out of there promptly, riding back around the manor toward the upper defile of the valley's creek just as fast as they can manage to get away.

Prince Kragen bows to Terisa and Geraden and departs. Terisa and Geraden share a hug and they follow the Tor toward the shelter of his tent. The snowfall begins to thicken once more, as a mysterious puff of smoke overhead speeds toward the encampment.
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The Tor

Post by Cord Hurn »

That "small cloud" or "puff of smoke" is the return of Havelock's friendly creature of Imagery, though the Tor and his immediate companions (Terisa, Geraden, Ribuld, and the Tor's physician) are unaware of its entrance to their Esmerel valley camp. They are under a tent that can hold room for eight or ten people to stand and yell among themselves. The Tor has it sparsely furnished, with just his bedroll, a brazier, and a few lanterns and chairs and stools. Terisa guesses to herself that the Tor doesn't want to make himself too comfortable for fear that doing so would permanently immobilize him. She then reconsiders that maybe the Tor just doesn't want to add to the burdens on the Masters translating supplies.

Terisa and Geraden's first sight of the Tor in this newly-erected tent is of him leaning way back in his chair. He has glazed and blurred eyes, and pants air thinly, fighting for his breath in a quiet intensity. His cloak and mail and his shirt have been removed by his physician and Ribuld, and Ribuld appears very miserable.

For the first time, Teresa saw the place under the lord's ribs where Gart had kicked him.

Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on Geraden.

The Tor's injury was swollen like a tumor, black-purple and angry; it bloated out from his belly as if his skin might burst.

"Oh, my lord," Geraden breathed, nearly groaned. "What are you doing to yourself?"

It's the tragic truth: the Tor has tormented his body by so much traveling after Gart kicked him that his life is now extremely fragile. 8O :crazy: :sob:
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The Tor

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The Tor had been bleeding inside for days, killing himself with the effort to fill his King's place.

He made a dismissive gesture; he may have wanted Terisa and Geraden to go away. Nevertheless they stayed where they were. After a moment, Geraden asked the physician, "How is he?"

"As you see," the man muttered. "I told him this would happen. We all told him." He mixed some herbs into a goblet and handed it to the Tor. "He's too old. He drinks too much wine. He shouldn't be alive."

For some reason, Ribuld shot out his arm, knotted his fist in the physician's cloak, jerked the man silent. Almost at once, however, he seemed to realize the uselessness of his anger. Releasing the physician, he uttered an apology, then moved away to get a stool for the Tor's legs.

With his legs supported, the lord was able to sink down until he could rest his head on the back of the chair. His eyes were closed now, and a bit of the strain went out of his breathing; apparently, the physician's herbs did him some good. He looked like he might sleep.

He didn't, however. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, "Where?"

The physician stopped to listen.

"'Where,' my lord?" asked Ribuld.

The Tor's fat lips tightened around a spasm of pain. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. Then tightly, he asked, "Where is Nyle?"

Where is Nyle. Where are Eremis and Gilbur and Vagel. Where is their laborium. Where is the High King. Terisa resisted an impulse to curse herself.

Geraden squeezed her, then left her to approach the old lord. Controlling himself grimly, he said, "We've been wrong, my lord. Terisa and I. He was never here. We just assumed he would use Esmerel." Geraden glanced at Terisa. "I guess Nyle made the same assumption. He told Terisa Eremis was here. But he wasn't."

Clenching his courage, Geraden concluded, "We've brought you into a trap we can't get out of."

The Tor inhaled weakly around his hemorrhage. "Where?" he repeated.

"Somewhere close." Geraden seemed to be speaking to Terisa as well as to the lord. "Close enough for High King Festten to attack us. Close enough for Eremis and Vagel and Gilbur to fine their way here through the snow. If I had to guess, I'd say the first thing Eremis did after he decided he wanted to rule the world--maybe even before he found Vagel--was to build a secret stronghold for himself. Somewhere in these hills." Somewhere in this maze. "But it could be anywhere. Even if it's just on the other side of the valley rim, we can't get to it."

The Tor exhaled thinly, a constricted sigh. "What will you do?"

"About what?"

"What will you do"--the Tor made an effort to be clear--"when Master Eremis decides to use Nyle against you?"

Terisa was glad that the old lord couldn't see the flush of distress in Geraden's face, the flinch around his eyes.

"I don't know," Geraden murmured.

"Maybe," she said without thinking, "maybe we can find them. The snow will cover us. It's almost night. Maybe we can sneak out through that ravine and find them."

Geraden shook his head. "Snow and night will cover him, too. They'll cover his guards. If we don't get lost and freeze to death, we'll probably be captured."

All right. All right. It wasn't a good idea. But we've got to do something. We can't just sit here and watch--watch--

Watching the lord's struggle to breathe made Terisa feel sick and wild.

But then Terisa hears noises and shuffling outside the tent, and a commanding voice being quickly acknowledged. They are all about to be reunited with the passenger of that magic cloud-creature friend of Havelock's, namely that confounded Congery-founder King Joyse. :king:
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The tentflaps were swept aside, and King Joyse strode in.

He startled Terisa so badly that she nearly stumbled to her knees.

He was filthy. Clots of mud clung to his battle gear--his breastplate and mail leggings, the protective iron pallettes on his shoulders, the brassards strapped to his arms. His mail had been cut, hacked at by swords. Blows dented his breastplate. Blood stained his thick cloak and the leather us armor; black streaks marked the tooled scabbard which held his longsword. Grime filled his beard, caked his hair to his scalp.

Nevertheless he entered the tent like a much younger man. He strode forward with strength in his legs, authority in his arms; and his eyes flashed a blue so deep that it was almost purple.

When he saw Terisa and Geraden, he grinned like a boy.

"Well met. Better to come late than not to come at all, I always say."

"My lord King," Geraden breathed, gaping. He was too surprised to bow, almost too surprised to speak. "Are you hurt?"

"A few scratches." The King's grin broadened into the smile Terisa remembered, the smile of innocence and pleasure, the sunrise which lit all his features and made him the kind of man for whom people were willing to die. "Nothing my enemies can pride themselves for."

He might have gone on, but the Tor stopped him.

Hearing King Joyses' voice, the old lord jerked up his head, snatched open his eyes. Urgently, almost frantically, he hauled his legs off the stool and blundered to his feet like a surfacing grampus. Around the vivid bulge of his hemorrhage, his bare skin looked as pale as disease, tarnished with frailty and need.

Tottering, he caught a hand on Ribuld's shoulder. "Prince Kragen," he gasped. "Summon the Prince."

Then he plunged to his knees as if the ground had been cut out from under him.

Ribuld started to help the lord, but King Joyse's presence daunted him.

Bowing his face to the canvas, retching for breath, the Tor panted, "My lord King, I beg you."

King Joyse's smile turned to ashes on his face.

"I beg you. I have brought your guard and your Congery and all your friends to destruction. Tell me I have not betrayed you."

"Betrayed me?" The passion in the King's face was wonderful and dire. As if he had no arthritis and no years, no weakness of any kind to hamper him, he caught hold of the Tor's arms and raised him to his feet by main strength. "My old friend! If you have put all that I love and all of my force in the path of ruin, you have not betrayed me. If you have sold my kingdom to the Alend Contender, so that I have nothing left to rule, you have not betrayed me. You are here -- here, where the fate of the world hinges." Tears trailed through the grime on his cheeks. "My lord Tor, I have used you abominably. I considered you an obstacle, your loyalty a stumbling block. And you have served me better than my best hope."


At this, the Tor clamps his hands over his face and sobs, shedding tears of joy, anguish, and relief. King Joyse demands to know from the Tor's physician how the Tor was hurt and how serious the hurt is. This physician replies that the Tor was kicked in the gut by the High King's Monomach and bleeds internally, and that the Tor must have rest or he won't live. King Joyse orders the Tor to rest and orders the physician to give the Tor his best care and to prepare to justify himself if the Tor dies. Then the King lowers to Tor back into his chair. Geraden reminds Ribuld to fetch Prince Kragen, and to also bring back Master Barsonage. Ribuld departs the tent.

I've decided to reuse this quote from the King Joyse thread to remind this thread's readers what happens next:
"Now," King Joyse faced Terisa and Geraden. He stood slightly poised, as if he were ready to spring, and his eyes blazed blue. "You have a great deal to tell me. Before Prince Kragen comes. Begin from Gart's attack in the hall of audiences.

"Where is Castellan Lebbick?"

His intensity was so compelling that Terisa almost started to answer. Geraden, however, had other ideas. He shifted a bit away from her, a bit ahead of her, placing himself between her and danger. Folding his arms on his chest, he said firmly--so firmly that Terisa was simultaneously amazed and proud and frightened--"You've been fighting your enemies, my lord King. I can decide better what to tell you if you'll tell me who gave you your 'scratches.'"

The King's eyes narrowed. "Geraden," he said harshly, "Do you remember who I am?"

Geraden didn't flinch. "Yes, my lord King. You're the man who abandoned the throne of Mordant when we needed you most. You're the man who brought us all to the edge of ruin without once"--his anger stung the air--"having the decency to tell us the truth."

Instead of retorting, King Joyse studied Geraden as if the younger man had become someone he didn't know, a completely different person. A moment later, he shrugged, and the peril in his gaze eased.

"Your father, the Domne," he said evenly, "has given me many gifts, both of friendship and of service. His greatest gift to me, however, is the loyalty of his sons. I trust you, Geraden. I have trusted you for a long time. And I have given you little reason to trust me. You will answer me when you are ready.

"I have been fighting, as you see"--he indicated his battle gear--"to rescue Queen Madin."

Rescue Queen Madin. Rescue the Queen. Terisa didn't understand how that was possible--the distances were too great, the time too short--but his mere statement filled her with so much relief that she could hardly keep her legs under her.

"Doubtless," King Joyse explained, "you have been told of the strange shapeless cloud of Imagery with which Havelock broke Prince Kragen's catapults. That shape is a creature, a being--a being with which Havelock has contrived an improbable friendship.

"I must confess that when you told me of the Queen's abduction I became"--he pursed his lips wryly--"a trifle unreasonable. It was always my intention to lead whatever forces Orison could muster myself. I meant to intimidate an alliance out of Margonal. I could coerce the Congery somehow. For that reason, my old friend"--he nodded toward the sprawling Tor--"had no place in my plans. I did not know that I would need him."

"That's my fault," Terisa said abruptly, unexpectedly Geraden had placed himself between her and the King for a reason, a reason she ought to respect. Nevertheless she couldn't keep still. "You were doing what you had to do. You hurt the Tor and Castellan Lebbick and Elega and everyone else so they wouldn't realize your weakness was only a ploy. So they wouldn't betray you. But I already betrayed you. I told Eremis"--the thought of her own folly choked her--"told Eremis you knew what you were doing. That's why he took the Queen."

King Joyse looked at her hard, so hard that she blushed in chagrin. Yet his gaze held no recrimination. After a brief pause, he said, "My lady, you were provoked," and returned his attention to Geraden.

"As I say," he continued, "I became unreasonable. I abandoned you. Though he pleaded with me to reconsider, I forced Havelock to translate his strange friend for me, and that shape bore me to the Care of Fayle as swift as wings. At the debris of Vale House, I found the trail of a motley collection of the Fayle's old servants and soldiers attempting to pursue Torrent and the Queen. That trail eventually led me to Torrent's--eventually, I say, or I would have returned to you a day or more sooner--and so to Torrent herself and the Queen.

"At the cost of much hardship and privation and danger"--his eyes hinted at pride--"my demure and retiring daughter saved her mother. She enabled me to find the Queen and set her free.

"Her abductors defended themselves as well as they could--well enough to prevent the Fayle's men and me from capturing or questioning them--but a last they fell." The state of his gear testified that the battle hadn't been easy. "When I had taken Queen Madin and Torrent to safety in Romish, Havelock's friend brought me here as quickly as possible."

Geraden absorbed this account without obvious surprise or appreciation. When King Joyse had finished, Geraden asked noncommittally, "And you didn't stop in Orison? You don't have any news from there?"

The King was losing patience. "Do I look like a man who has spent time on social amenities and conversation? I knew that if I did not find you here I could return to Orison at my leisure. But if I had stopped there first and failed to find you, the delay might have made me too late to join you. I have learned nothing, heard nothing, since the moment I left the hall of audiences.

"Geraden," he concluded warningly, "I must know what has happened in my absence. I must hear the tale you brought to Orison with Prince Kragen. I cannot go into battle without that knowledge."

"My lord King," Geraden responded as if he were immune to Joyse's impatience, "Eremis is holding my brother Nyle hostage somewhere near here--a stronghold of some kind, probably. Eremis is going to use him against us. Against me. And it's my doing. If I hadn't been so determined to stop him from betraying you to Elega and Prince Kragen, he never would have been vulnerable to Eremis. He wouldn't have been locked up where Eremis could get at him.

"But it's your doing, too. You've always been such a friend of the Domne. You welcomed Artagel. You went out of your way to draw me to you. And yet you always ignored Nyle.

His yearning was as great as mine. He has plenty of ability. And he was raised from the beginning on Artagel's stories about you, the Domne's stories. He would have belling to kill for you by the time he was six."

"Geraden," King Joyse growled.

Nevertheless Geraden went on, "Why didn't you value him at all? Why didn't you give him something to save him while he was still young enough to save?"

"You exceed yourself," snapped the King. "I have not come all this way to answer such questions."

"But you're going to answer this one," Geraden replied as if he was sure--as if he had the capacity to make King Joyse do what he wanted. The hint of authority in his voice was so subtle that Terisa scarcely heard it. He meant to wrest some kind of truth from his King.

And the King did answer. To her astonishment, he retreated visibly, with a crestfallen air, a look of embarrassment; Geraden had touched an old shame. "Yes," he muttered, "all right. You are right. I always did ignore him. There was always a quality in his dumb need which I disliked. He pitied himself before I could pity him--and so I had no desire to pity him.

"But that is not the reason.

"Artagel was another matter altogether. His talent with the sword was obvious. Anyone would have welcomed him. But you, Geraden--" The King's gaze was angry and hurt at once, as if his own sense of culpability baffled him. "I did not choose you out of a desire to give you precedence over Nyle. I would not have done that to the son of a friend. No, I drew you to me because I had already seen your importance in Havelock's augury."

Geraden hissed a breath; but King Joyse didn't stop.

"The glass which he broke when I was an infant showed you exactly as you appear in the Congery's augury"--for a moment, the King's voice sounded as raw as splintered wood--"surrounded entirely by mirrors in which Images of violence reflected against you. How could I let you be? I had to save you, if that were possible. And if it were not, I had to give you the chance to save me.

"Geraden," King Joyse admitted in frank pain, "on your father's love, I swear to you that I slighted Nyle's yearning only because I was not wise enough to see where it would lead him. The Domne has given me nothing but love and loyalty. In the matter of his son Nyle I failed him."

For a long moment, Geraden didn't speak. When he did, his throat was tight with emotion. "We all failed, my lord King. For my part--I swear to you on my father's love that I'll save you if I can. No matter how many people you've hurt. You haven't been honest with us for a long time, and I hate that. But you're still my King. Nobody can fill that place but you."

Geraden can now feel gratified and certain about his faith in King Joyse. But, it's now Terisa's turn to get the King to justify himself before offering him further aid (here again I will use a quote that previously appeared in the King Joyse thread):
Terisa couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Castellan Lebbick is dead," she put in cruelly to get the King's attention. She needed answers of her own. "Gart killed him. All he managed to do before he died was save the Tor."

That made Geraden turn toward her, made King Joyse face her again.

The two men looked unexpectedly like a match for each other, suited to meet each other's demands.

"I defended you," she said with Lebbick's body vivid in her mind, and the Perdon's; with the Tor's hurt displayed under the light of the lanterns. "I stood up in front of everybody and told them what Master Quillon told me. You made yourself the only reasonable target. So the enemies you hadn't been able to identify would attack you instead of someone else. I told them. That's why we're all here. We decided to trust you even though you abandoned us.

"But Master Quillon is dead. Castellan Lebbick is dead. The Perdon is dead. The Tor is dying." Her distress accumulated as she spoke. She thought she would never be reconciled to all the different kinds of pain King Joyse had exacted from his friends. "Nyle is a hostage, and Houseldon has been burned to the ground, and Sternwall is sinking in lava, and the Fayle doesn't even have enough men left to rescue his own daughter, and now we're probably going to die slaughtered because we don't where Eremis' stronghold is," oh, curse you, curse you, you crazy old man, "and I want to know how you can stand it. How do you live with yourself? How do you expect us to trust you?

"You can't help now!" Overwhelmed by unpremeditated bitterness, Terisa cried, "You can't even beat Havelock at hop-board!"

Despite her outburst, however, King Joyse faced her gently. Her accusation hurt him less than Geraden's had; maybe he was readier for it. His face softened while she protested against him; his gaze was blurred by compassion. He waited until she was finished. Then, incongruously, he pulled an old hankerchief out of the seam of his breastplate and handed it to her so that she could wipe her eyes.

Geraden stood now at the King's shoulder as if he had been won over. "Terisa--" he began; but King Joyse touched his arm, stopped him.

"No, Geraden. I must answer her.

"My lady, I have already proved myself to you, after a fashion. You have seen atrocities in Mordant. Yet it was not I who perpetrated them. If I had not, as you say, made myself a target, those atrocities would be everywhere. Without the lure of my weakness, Eremis might have had great difficulty forging an alliance with High King Festten--and so he would have had no choice but to afflict Cadwal and Mordant and Alend with vile Imagery until all things were destroyed. At the cost of Quillon's life, and Lebbick's, and the Perdon's--at the cost yes, of my own wife's indignation, my own daughter's betrayal, I have procured my enemy's name as well as his attention, so that for Cadwal and Mordant and Alend there is still hope. I have given us the opportunity to fight for our world.

"But that is not what you wish to know, is it?"

His voice searched her, and his eyes seemed to probe her bitterness. When he looked at her like that, she felt an unaccountable desire to tell him about being locked in the closet, as if it were his fault in some way, as if there were something he could have done about it. Until this moment, he cut himself off from her--as her father had cut himself off. What made King Joyse a better man than her father?

"You dislike what I have done," the King said, "but you are able to grasp the necessity of it. Otherwise you would not have supported me. No, my lady, what you want from me is a more immediate hope. You wish me to be greater than you can imagine. You wish me to justify myself with power. You wish me to tell you that I have the means to save you."

Involuntarily, she ducked her head, unable to meet his steady blue scrutiny.

"Terisa," he said softly, "my lady, I cannot save you. I do not have the means.

"You know that already," he continued at once. "As you have observed, I cannot so much as defeat the Adept at hop-board. It is only a game, of course, a mere exercise--but I cannot forget that the pieces live and breathe, with names and spouses, children and bravery and fear. I am an unreasonable man. When Quillon told me that Myste went to you before her disappearance, I risked myself and all my plans in order to challenge you, even though Havelock's augury had given me reason to think I knew where she had gone. When my wife was threatened, I did not ask whether any larger need should outweigh her peril in my mind. I lack Havelock's particular sanity.

"And the same unreason weakens me everywhere. Shall I tell you a thing which shames me? When I learned that you had fled to Havelock after Quillon's death, that you had gone to him for rescue with Master Gilbur hot behind you, and that he had refused you--My lady, Havelock is my oldest friend. It was he who put me on the path to become what I am. But when I learned that he had refused you, I struck him--"

Geraden's eyes widened at that revelation; but he said nothing.

"Nevertheless," the King went on as if mere shame couldn't hold him back, "I am here. When Quillon was killed--Quillon, who had served me so long with such courage and cunning--I knew that this battle was mine to wage, rather than only to command. The blood must be on my hands. I will not have my pieces so contemptuously used. I will not allow Master Eremis to tilt the board, to remake the world in his own image." Terisa could have sworn that he was growing taller, rising to power in front of her. "Do you believe I care nothing for Lebbick's suffering, or the Tor's? Do you believe I have not felt your distress--or Geraden's--or Elega's?

"My lady, you have not seen me fight."

Curse you. Oh, curse you completely. I'll do anything you want. Just tell me what it is.
Prince Kragen enters the tent at that moment, states that he HAS seen the King fight. He further states that although it galls him to say it, he's glad to see Joyse. The Prince comes in with Ribuld and Norge, and Master Barsonage comes into the tent right after the three of them. A mysterious slim figure cloaked from head to foot in dark satin also enters the tent, quickly slipping back along the tent wall to avoid notice. It works because all in the tent are focused on this meeting between Joyse and Kragen. King Joyse addresses Kragen, Barsonage, and Norge and remarks that he has said it before but will gladly say again that they are well met.

And at that moment the Tor feels compelled despite his dire state of health to again stand and address the King.
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Cord Hurn
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The Tor

Post by Cord Hurn »

"My lord King." The Tor tried to reach his feet against the physician's restraining hands. His voice sounded as thin as a light breeze in cornshucks. "I must speak."

At once, King Joyse turned toward the Tor; but he kept his back to the tent wall, away from Prince Kragen. "Speak sitting, my lord," he commanded. "And speak as little as possible. Your life is precious to me."

Muffling a groan, the Tor sagged.

"If we are here wrongly, the fault is mine alone," he said in a deathbed whisper. "Master Geraden and the lady Terisa have discovered their talents. Already they have worked miracles of Imagery. Norge has become your Castellan, at my command. He leads the forces of Orison."

With a visceral shiver, Terisa realized that the Tor was struggling to prepare King Joyse for his encounter with the Prince.

"Master Barsonage and the Congery have devised means of supply and defense, in accordance with your strictures. We would not have come so far without them.

"Prince Kragen is here with six thousand Alend soldiers because he is an honorable man."

(I like SRD's sentence with voice sounded as thin as a light breeze in cornshucks. That is definitely a simile I have not heard or read elsewhere, and it makes the Tor's voice at that story moment quite vivid for me!)

The Tor is urged to save his strength non-verbally by King Joyse's restraining hand on his shoulder. The King repeats the Tor's proclamation of Kragen as "an honorable man" with some reservation. This is not because he does not doubt the Tor's honesty, but because he doubts the Tor's assessment. The King then radiates anger through his eyes and asks if the Tor means Kragen has given them an alliance.

The Prince answers warily in the negative, and admits that he was sent to follow the forces of Mordant to learn if the Tor's intention to face Festten in battle is insanity or genius, and to join forces with Mordant or to flee based on what he learned.
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The Tor

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"Margonal is crafty," commented King Joyse with deceptive nonchalance, "and apparently he has grown in courage. Well, now you are here, my lord Prince. What have you learned?"

Prince Kragen allowed himself a noncommittal shrug. "I have learned that we are indeed trapped. All our heads are on the cutting-block, and Alend will stand or fall with Mordant, regardless of my instructions."

"I think not," King Joyse retorted with the air of a man pouncing. "I think you will turn against us at the last and join Cadwal, to preserve your father's true cowardice."

At that, Kragen's head jerked back; a flush of fury darkened his cheeks; he closed his fist on his swordhilt.

In response, both Ribuld and Norge braced themselves to draw their blades. The cloaked figure against the tent wall started forward, then retreated. Geraden edged closer to Terisa, moving to protect her from the danger of swords.

No, she thought urgently, you don't understand, Prince Kragen is here with us, with us.

The Tor repeated hoarsely, "He is honorable. Honorable."

"My lord King," the Prince said between his teeth, "because you are the King, and because I have been told at length why I must trust you, I will assume you have reason to accuse me of such a betrayal."

"I have reason," snapped King Joyse. "During my absence, I saved Queen Madin from her abductors. It will not surprise you to hear that when at last I found her she was across the Pestil. Her abductors were Alends, and she was being taken by the most direct route toward Scarab."

Prince Kragen's mouth tightened under his moustache. His dark eyes burned with old enmity, with decades of violence, generations of bloodshed. He looked willing to gut King Joyse on the spot.

Yet he contained his outrage. And he didn't draw his sword. "And you persist," he demanded, "in the mad belief that I am capable of such a vile act?"

"No!" Terisa protested. "Eremis did it. He told me so." What was the matter with King Joyse? How could he suddenly be so wrong-headed? "It's just a trick to keep you and the Prince from joining forces."

Before she could go on, King Joyse pointed a forbidding finger at her. "That proves nothing." The command in his stance forced her to be still. "Master Eremis has a pact with Cadwal. Why not with Alend?"

"Because," the cloaked figure cried, "he is honorable!"

"You do not trust him." Elega swept the hood back from her head as she advanced, and her vivid eyes flashed in the lantern-light. "Is the Tor wrong? Are Terisa and Geraden?" She called every gaze to herself, a cynosure of indignation and passion. Bright as a flame, she challenged her father. "He held Orison in the palm of his siege for days and days. He could have taken you apart stone from stone. Yet he withheld. Does that mean nothing to you? He allowed you time to prove yourself. And you dare accuse him of dishonor? You dare that to my face?"

King Joyse looked at her as if he were stunned.

"No, Father!" she raged. "The only dishonor in this tent is yours! It was you who refused to support the Perdon, you who refused to hear the Fayle. It was you who humiliated Prince Kragen in the hall of audiences, you who allowed Terisa's attacker to roam Orison freely, you who drove Myste away. You have no right to doubt the Prince. There is no alliance between Alend and Mordant because no one is able to trust you!"

Emotions throbbed under the King's old skin: outrage; alarm; disbelief. And vindication? She carries my pride with her wherever she goes. For a moment, no one moved; he didn't move. Elega met his stare as if she were prepared to outface the world.

All at once, King Joyse burst out laughing.

"Oh, very well, my lord Prince," he chortled while the people around him stared. "You are honest, and your father is honest, and I must apologize. If I do not, she will take the skin from my bones."

Geraden's mouth hung open. Prince Kragen clenched his jaws as if he didn't dare speak.

"It was not wise to bring her with you," King Joyse went on, "a woman in battle, a useful hostage if Eremis should capture her. But it was honest. If you intended treachery, you would have left her with Margonal. And she would not love you if you had such treachery in you. I know that about her.

"My lord Prince, please accept my regrets--and also my thanks. If we can be saved, it will be because of your courage, as well as your honor."

As King Joyse spoke, the excitement came back to Prince Kragen, the strange new eagerness which had led him into risks no Alend had ever hazarded before. His mouth twisted up the tips of his moustache. Slowly, he produced a smile to match Joyse's humor.

"Why do you think the decision was mine? Have you ever been able to tell her what to do?"

In response, the King laughed again; kindly, happily. He grinned like a new day. "Tell her what to do? Me?" Elega glared at him in confusion, but he didn't stop. "I am only her father. Tell her what to do? Most of the time, I am hardly allowed to make suggestions."

Then he sobered. "One thing, however, I will tell you, my lord Prince. Heed me well. While this war lasts, you will obey my orders." Now his tone admitted no argument: his command was as clear as a shout. "If we do not work together, we are doomed."

Prince Kragen only hesitated for a moment; then, still grinning, he nodded once, briefly.

Still ignoring the surprise and consternation and hope around him, King Joyse turned to Elega.

"As for you, my daughter," he said gladly, "you are pride and joy to me." Taking her hands, he raised them to his mouth and kissed them. "No one could have done better. The Queen herself could not have done better. Alone and without power or position, you have made an alliance where none existed.

"Oh, you please me!" Abruptly, he swept his gaze around the tent, swung his arms expansively. "You all please me! If we cannot save our world now, it will be because I have failed you, not because any one of you has failed Mordant. You have all given me better than I deserve."

In sheer joy, he kept on laughing; and after a moment Geraden joined him. Then surprising even himself, Prince Kragen began to chuckle. Elega's smile grew softer and easier as it spread.

Master Barsonage shook his head, laughing as well. Terisa squeezed her eyes hard to keep herself from weeping foolishly; didn't start to laugh until she realized that the Tor was snoring as if nothing had happened.
The Tor vouches for Prince Kragen as much as he is able, though the physician's herbs work their medicine on his mind and put him to sleep. SO MUCH of the Tor's appearances in the Mordant's Need story serve to heighten the emotion, often the emotion of sadness. I like that at this hyper-dramatic part of the story the reminder of his presence in HIS tent where all this is going on serves to emotionally lighten the dramatic setting. As a reader, I want to chuckle at the description of the Tor being so relaxed, for he has suffered much and surely deserves this peaceful moment, and I find myself appreciating that he obtains it. :Z:
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