Moderator: Cord Hurn
Alas, the Tor's faith in Geraden and Terisa at this point in the story isn't so unshakable that it can't be derailed by some convincing acting from Elega. Despite the Tor's being well-placed to aid them if they can demonstrate Elega's disloyalty, he is not able to unnerve Elega into any confession, or into any guilt-ridden behavior. This maybe a clue to Elega believing she is unstoppable, as Geraden surmises, but may be because Elega has become expert at masking her intentions.Not long after breakfast on the third day, however, Geraden came to her rooms. "I've just had a talk with the Tor," he announced, trying to sound cheerful. He was feeling too much stress to carry it off, unfortunately.
She asked the natural question. "What did he want?"
"He wanted to tell me about his conversation with Elega."
"And how did it go?"
"Not very well. I think he underestimated her." Geraden shook his head. He didn't like what he was thinking. "You remember he said he wanted to teach her 'the fear of discovery.' Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to fear discovery. 'She declines to be taught,' he said. In fact, she defied him to produce one scrap of proof that she was in communication with Prince Kragen.
"That was bad enough," he commented. "Whatever her plan is, it's already at work. And she's sure we can't stop her. But--" He grimaced and met Terisa's gaze glumly. "She was so convincing the Tor isn't sure he believes us anymore."
Terisa winced.
"He made quite a speech about it. He told me that before I aimed any more accusations at my own brother, and the King's eldest daughter I should make an effort to produce a witness or two, instead of relying on empty-headed suspicions."
The Tor represents just the air of legitimacy Terisa and Geraden need in this time of loss and betrayal, and it's a role he takes on more as the story goes forward. This, and his generally kindly manner, are what gets me to love his character.Worn down by exposure and lulled by wine, she couldn't meet his eyes. Maybe she was as guilty as he thought. That seemed possible. She understood the secret of recrimination: it was deserved because it was received; accusations instilled the sense of guilt that justified them. Because the Castellan looked at her so harshly, spoke to her so bitterly, she deserved it. She had no defense.
But Geraden was already speaking for her.
"Listen to me." His voice lacked Lebbick's clenched and whetted capacity for violence. "I'm going to explain a few things to you." Yet he made the Castellan heed him.
"The first day of the thaw, Terisa and I went to the bazaar with the lady Elega. You know that." And the more he spoke the more he seemed to push back the pall that Castellan Lebbick had cast over her. "While we were there, we saw a mountebank. Terisa recognized him. He was Prince Kragen."
Terisa felt rather than saw the Castellan's gaze shift to Geraden.
"Purely by chance," the Apt went on, "she happened to see the mountebank and Nyle"--he said the name as if it didn't hurt him--"come out from behind a tent as if they'd just had a private conversation. That was before Gart attacked her.
"I decided the best way to find out what was going on was to have Nyle followed. So I asked the Tor to get Argus and Ribuld released from their duties, and I put them to work on Nyle's trail."
Lebbick's jaw jutted ominously.
"It's that simple." Geraden stood his ground as though he were the Castellan's equal in courage and determination. "She isn't plotting with anyone. If she were using carrier pigeons herself, it would be incredibly stupid of her to let us know she knew anything about them."
Terisa hung her head and kept quiet.
"Very interesting, boy." Lebbick's tone was like the thrust of a dagger. "She told you what she saw, and you decided what to do about it. But I'm the Castellan of Orison. Defending the King from all enemies is my job. If there's any danger in the Desmesne or Orison, I need to know it." He was a coiled spring, tightened to the point of outbreak. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because, good Castellan," a familiar voice rumbled, "you are prone to excess."
Terisa looked up in surprise as the Tor entered the guardroom.
He seemed to be in an affable mood--a bit unsteady on his feet, perhaps, but full of good will. He came into the room waring a fleshy smile that appeared to have nothing behind it except more fat. The way he walked suggested that he had filled every caver and crevice of his bulk with wine before venturing out of the King's suite.
The Tor's ability to display solidly logical thinking is his best moment so far in the story, I think, and his visual evolution here is interesting. The Tor was like a lump of pastry dough, impervious to sarcasm--and immune to argument. Now the lord was no longer pastry dough talking. His voice became like the grinding of heavy stones against each other. His hands lay limp on his fat thighs, but his eyes grew harder. For a moment, the Tor looked like he might rise to his feet and shout something. Instead, however, he smiled sadly and slumped back into softness."My lord Tor," said Castellan Lebbick between his teeth. He didn't get up. "I'm surprised you trouble to join us. Today would be a good day for men with nothing better to do to stay in bed."
"Ah, true," replied the lord amiably. "Very true. It is my extreme misfortune that there is a voice that brings me the news of this stone pile--brings me the news implacably. Its custom is to whisper, but the closer I drowse towards sleep, the louder it shouts. This morning I thought it imaginable that King Joyse himself would awaken.
"Alas," he went on, "the King seems unlikely to take an interest in the great events of the day. Therefore the burden falls to his chancellor."
Lumbering forward to the nearest bench, he seated himself with a sigh. The stout plank groaned under him.
"That's very diligent of you, my lord Tor," grated Lebbick. "It also happens to be unnecessary. I'm perfectly capable of handling 'the great events of the day' myself."
"Certainly you are." The Tor was like a lump of pastry dough, impervious to sarcasm--and immune to argument. "Doubtless you understand sieges as most men understand their wives. I am sure you will do everything that must be done to prepare for the coming of the Alend Monarch. Nevertheless, good Castellan, I must point out"--he sounded kindly, almost avuncular--"that if the matter had been left to you, you would still be unaware of Margonal's approach. As I say, you are prone to excess."
Castellan Lebbick's eyes bulged slightly in their sockets. "In what way, my lord?"
The Tor spread his plump hands. "Suppose young Geraden had come to you with his suspicions of his brother? What would you have done? Why, you would have arrested Nyle, of course. Instead of following him to his assignation and overhearing his plans, you would have tried to take those plans from him by persuasion or force. And if he had resisted both persuasion and force--" The lord rolled his thick shoulders.
"Or suppose again that young Geraden had given you his reasons for suspecting his brother? Suppose he had mentioned that hints dropped by the King's daughter Elega led the lady Terisa to suspect that she was involved with Prince Kragen?" Now the lord was no longer pastry dough talking. His voice became like the grinding of heavy stones against each other.
"Suppose he had revealed that the guards Argus and Ribuld were following Elega--that in fact they had no other reason for being near enough to save Artagel's life when the High King's Monomach assailed the lady Terisa?" His hands lay limp on his fat thighs, but his eyes grew harder. "Suppose he had informed you that the lady Terisa had rejected Elega's effort to win her support for the Prince--and that, forewarned by the rejection, Elega had made herself fruitless for Argus and Ribuld to trail? What would you have done then good Castellan?
"Would you have raised a cry against her?" At last he was not an obese old drunk: he was the lord of the Care of Tor, King Joyse's first ally in the campaign that had created Mordant. "Would you have sent men to arrest her so that she could be hailed before her father and publicly accused of treason?"
The Castellan's face was dark with blood, but he didn't unclose his teeth. "It's already done."
For a moment, the Tor looked like he might rise to his feet and shout something. Instead, however, he smiled sadly and slumped back into softness. "Just so. And what is the result?"
"We can't find her."
"Certainly you cannot. She has gone into hiding. And she has bragged, good Castellan, that she knows the secrets of Orison well enough to remain hidden for a long time. And so the opportunity has been lost to learn her intent--the intent on which Prince Kragen's plans hinge, the intent which will deliver Orison to the Alend Monarch without a protracted siege.
"Good Castellan, you have a greater need of me than you realize."
Geraden looked like he wanted to applaud.
The Castellan's tactic of surprising the Tor seems to be in hope of getting the Tor to look guilty, as if he is in on a plot to supply creatures brought forth by renegade Imagers in Mordant. But of course, tack from Tor can just mean someone in Tor (unknown to its lord) is a traitor, or (as was said) the horses with tack and saddles were stolen by the alien creatures. But Lebbick is letting his suspicious nature run rampant through his current mind, and he doesn't feel he needs anyone's restraint on him. He will accuse the Tor further.The muscles at the corner of Castellan Lebbick's jaws bunched. His eyes scanned the guardroom as though he were looking for the perfect stretch of bar wall against which to spill the Tor's blood. But he didn't rise from his chair.
Slowly he said, "Geraden, my lady Terisa--you haven't told us where you got those creatures of Imagery. In fact, you haven't told us how you managed to catch Nyle. He's your brother. He knows you. Surely he didn't let you just trip and fall on him. You've been telling the Tor so many stories. Why don't you tell him that one?"
"'Creatures of Imagery'?" The lord smiled pleasantly at Geraden. "Yes, young Geraden. Do tell us."
Geraden glanced back and forth between the two men, gauging where he stood with each of them, before he shrugged and said, "All right."
Just a few minutes ago, Terisa would have sworn it as impossible, but now she found that she was too warm. She loosened her coat a bit, shifted it back from her neck.
"I wasn't thinking straight," admitted Geraden stiffly. "Nyle wasn't the real danger. I should have let him go so we could concentrate on trying to catch Prince Kragen. But that never crossed my mind. Stopping him was too important--" In an awkward way, he seemed to be asking for understanding. "He's my brother. I couldn't let him make a traitor of himself."
The Tor nodded in an absentminded fashion; his attention appeared to be elsewhere. Sourly, Castellan Lebbick muttered, "It was a little late for that, don't you think?"
Geraden flushed. He didn't permit himself to react, however.
"But I made a mess of that, too. He got away, and we were stuck out there without our horses.
"That was when those 'creatures of Imagery' attacked. They came from the east, but that could have just been because of the terrain. I thought they were after the lady Terisa, so I wasn't ready for it when they came for me."
"You?" demanded the Castellan. "They came for you, boy?"
"That's what it looked like." With a visible effort, Geraden held himself steady. "We separated They ignored her. All three of them chased me."
Although he didn't seem to be paying attention, the Tor's expression was beatific, as if he had just received a piece of good news. "Young Geraden, you are a wonderment. I have mentioned--have I not?--that you underestimate yourself. Even the lady Terisa of Morgan does not have such enemies."
"Oh, yes," snarled Lebbick. "That seems especially plausible because you're still alive. You were alone against the three of them. What did you do? Accident them to death?"
Somehow, Geraden retained his self-command. Carefully, he said, "I used a club on their horses. Two of them went down. One was killed. The other is your prisoner."
"No," Terisa breathed.
Castellan Lebbick ignored her. "And the third?"
"Nyle got him. He saw them heading toward us, so he came back. Terisa and I might both be dead if it weren't for him. While he was still thinking about that, I knocked him out. I hit him with a tree branch. That was how I caught him."
"No," Terisa repeated. She couldn't help herself; it all came back to her. It was as vivid as dreaming in front of her.
"He was fighting for his life," she whispered. "I had to help him. Didn't I? I can't spend my whole life just sitting on my hands and wondering when I'm going to fade. I can't That's worse than doing something wrong. Isn't it?
"He got two of them off their horses. He stunned one of them. The other went after him with those swords." She shivered as though she had become cold again, but the truth was that she could hardly bear the weight of her coat. "I had to help him. I killed-- With a club. I hit him from behind and broke his skull." A small patch of red fur on the back of the skull had turned wet and begun to gush blood. "Then Nyle came.
"Geraden didn't kill anybody."
She ran out of words and fell silent.
The men stared at her. Geraden's throat worked as if he were choking on her name. After a moment, the Tor rumbled gently, "My dear lady, of course you had to help him. You would not forgive yourself if you had not helped him. And perhaps you would both be dead."
Castellan Lebbick turned away. "Women." Every line of his posture was knotted and bitter. "Always women. It's indecent. If I'm ever saved by a woman, I'll do away with myself."
Then he rasped, "But the horses. That's the point. The saddles and tack, my lord Tor. Tell him about the horses and saddles and tack, Geraden."
In his uncertainty, Geraden faced the Castellan while he spoke to the Tor. "Our attackers were obviously creatures of Imagery. But their horses looked normal to me. I didn't notice anything else."
Abruptly, Lebbick jerked to his feet. "Normal horses, my lord Tor. Normal saddles and tack. What do you make of that?"
The lord pursed his lips. "These creatures were mounted after translation. Either they stole mounts and gear for themselves, or they were equipped by their translators. Equipped and constructed."
"Exactly." Castellan Lebbick faced the lord like a fuse burning dangerously close to powder. "The horses were normal. The saddles definitely didn't come from Cadwal--in Cadwal they used barbed stirrups--but they could have come from anywhere in Mordant or Alend."
"And the tack?" asked the Tor obligingly.
"The tack--" Lebbick stifled a furious gesture by clenching his fists on his hips. "The tack includes a hackamore you won't find anywhere in Cadwal or Alend or Mordant--anywhere except the Care if Tor." His glare was hard enough to strike sparks from flint. "Only your people use it, my lord Tor."
The Tor gazed back at the Castellan as though Lebbick were a curious specimen pinned to a mounting board.
"Perhaps," the Castellan gritted, "you think this is just another of my excesses."
He took Terisa so completely aback that a moment passed before she grasped how serious he was. The Tor? In league with Vagel against Geraden and King Joyse and Mordant? Her legs were weaker than she realized: she had to sit down. Riding a horse wasn't easy. Without quite noticing what she was doing, she went to the nearest bench and seated herself beside the lord.
Geraden was aghast. "You can't mean that," he protested. "Do you know what you're saying?"
Without warning, Castellan Lebbick grinned. His teeth flashed fiercely.
"Oh, I am sure that our good Castellan knows entirely what he is saying." The Tor had resumed his pastry dough aspect, impervious to affront. "One of Mordant's greatest problems has always been that the vile attacks of Imagery which harass us come from no known source. My son was killed by an enemy who might be hidden anywhere in Alend or Cadwal--or Mordant."
"If indeed your son was killed," the Castellan interrupted. "I only have your word for that--and the word of your men. The corpse you showed us could have been anybody."
Geraden went white at this insult to the lord. The Tor, however, shrugged it aside. "But now," he persisted, "we have taken a great step forward. Now we know where to look."
"In the Care of Tor," Lebbick was remorseless. "In your domain, my lord."
The Tor permitted himself a subtle flair of anger. "Astonishing, is it not?"
"Unquestionably," the Castellan grated with pleasure.
When the Tor says he's focusing on what secret Price Kragen plan has on Orison defenses, the Tor is believable. He's distracted, not tired. He knows the Prince's secret plan to weaken Orison involves something that is likely to happen within Orison, but it is something that hasn't happened yet. Something that might STILL be stopped, if it can be comprehended in enough time to react."Unfortunately"--the Tor's ire was instantly gone--"a search is impossible at present. We are otherwise occupied. Please tell me what you are doing to prepare Orison for siege. It is reported that Prince Kragen places great faith in the Alend Monarch's ability to master us almost without difficulty. That seems absurd on its face--and yet I doubt that Prince Kragen is given to trusting the absurd. It is a pity that we cannot question--or observe--the lady Elega. That is beyond help, however. We must be very ready, good Castellan."
"I'll be ready," retorted Castellan Lebbick. "By my estimation, we still have a few days left, but I've sent out scouts to make sure. The fact that the Armigite is a traitor probably has one advantage for us." As he spoke, he seemed to fall unconsciously into the manner of and old soldier delivering a report. "We can assume Margonal will use the main roads through Armigite. They're the easiest, quickest route. So his army shouldn't be hard to find.
"Also, I've sent messengers to the Cares that ought to help us. Fayle. Perdon." Glowering at Geraden, he commented, "What the Perdon hears isn't going to be what your dear brother had in mind." Then he resumed his report. "I've sent men to the Termigan, but he's too far away to do us much good.
"I haven't had time to talk to the Congery yet, but I'll do that soon. Maybe I'll finally be able to scare some sense into those Imagers."
Apparently, none of the Masters had seen fit to announce their intention to disband the Congery.
"In the meantime, I'm calling my garrisoned troops into Orison. Most of the men hunting for the Congery's champion"--he was snarling--"have come back, and I won't send them out again. The only men I'm going to risk outside are the ones who still have a chance to locate Prince Kragen before he joins his father, and the ones who're trying to backtrack those creatures. I'll have all my strength here and organized by dawn tomorrow."
The Tor nodded, but didn't interrupt.
"Because we're near the end of winter, our stores are low. That's a problem. But there are quite a few merchants and villages we can call on for supplies. That won't cause them any unfair hardship--with a war about to start, most of them are going to want sanctuary in Orison anyway, so they might as well pay fir their safety with food. If Margonal gives us three days, we should be as well stocked as possible.
"But our biggest problem is that breach in the wall."
Again, the Tor nodded. This time, however, his eyes were closed. He looked like he was going to sleep.
"Without that," Castellan Lebbick rasped, "I could hold Orison against anybody. Long before our stores were gone, at least one of the lords of the Cares would take it into his head to come to our rescue. But that breach changes things. I've had all the stonemasons I could find working to build a rough curtain wall across the gap. It's serviceable, but it won't take the kind of pounding Margonal is going to give it.
"Am I boring you, my lord Tor?"
The lord opened one eye. "Not at all, good Castellan. I am merely resting my mind from the chore of trying to imagine the source of Prince Kragen's confidence."
In Chapter 22 of [i]The Mirror Of Her Dreams[/i], was wrote:The Castellan's mention of the champion reminded Terisa that she wanted to ask a question. She felt that she was coming back to herself now, recovering some presence of mind and attention. But this wasn't her chance to speak.
"Young Geraden," the Tor went on, "can you remember exactly what Nyle and the Prince said to each other?"
"Pretty much," Geraden answered. "Prince Kragen was worried about Elega. Nyle told him about your talk with her. That shows she knew you were suspicious of her. And it proves she and Nyle were in communication before he left this morning. Then he said that she said that you won't be able to interfere with her part of the plan."
Castellan Lebbick grunted. The Tor raised an eyebrow.
"Nyle had trouble believing that. But--let me try to get it right." Geraden looked at the ceiling while he searched his memory. "Prince Kragen said, 'I regret that she is at hazard. But she has assured me many times that her role is secure. We must trust that she will do what she has said.'"
"Is that all?" demanded the Castellan.
Geraden shrugged. "Nyle still wasn't convinced. But Prince Kragen said, 'The Lady Elega's safety and success depend upon secrecy.' He was pretty careful. I'm not sure Nyle realized how many of his questions weren't being answered."
"Poor Nyle," the Castellan sneered.
"Unfortunate," contributed the Tor thoughtfully. "What can one woman hidden in Orison do to ensure the success--the instant success--of the Alend Monarch's siege? I confess that I am baffled. I need wine."
With an effort, he heaved himself to his feet. The bench under Terisa flexed in relief.
"Good Castellan," he murmured, "I suggest that you question your prisoners. But try not to harm them. You really must curb your instinct for excess. I suspect Nyle will be more amenable to persuasion than force. Perhaps he will speak frankly if he can be made to believe that Elega has been caught--that the only way to spare her distress is by revealing what he knows. And the creature of Imagery may let slip something helpful."
"Thanks for the advice, my lord Tor," Castellan Lebbick replied. "Question the prisoners. I would never have thought of that.
"While you're waiting for me to tell you what I've found out, what will you be doing?" His question was an obvious reference to the lord's drinking.
The Tor sighed. For a moment, his thick flesh dropped into lines of sorrow. "Good Castellan, I trust you more than you know. I am sure that you have done everything in your power. Nevertheless I am not content with matters as they stand. I will make one more attempt to interest King Joyse in the fate of his kingdom."
With that, he waddled out of the guardroom.
At once, Lebbick turned a glare like the cut of a hatchet at Terisa and Geraden. "I like that. I've been wrestling with this problem for years, and one fat old man thinks he can solve it by howling outside the King's door."
The Tor was awake. He watched the King with a look that resembled hunger. As she passed his chair, he gave her a firm nod of approval.
The Tor continues to be the conscience of the Mordant's Need story by continuing to speak out on what's wrong, as directly as possible.King Joyse lay as much as sat in an armchair with his legs stretched over a hassock toward the fire. His purple velvet robe showed the benefits of a recent cleaning, and his cheeks were freshly shaved: his appearance, if not his posture, suggested readiness.
In contrast, the Tor slumped as if his skeleton no longer had enough willpower to support his fat. Like his flesh, his robe spilled over the arms of his chair; the green fabric was stained with splotches of wine. Too plump to look haggard, his face sagged like wet laundry. He gave the impression that he had become so involved in Orison's preparations for defense that he had stopped taking care of himself.
Between the two old friends sat the King's Dastard, Adept Havelock, looking grimier and loonier than ever in his ancient surcoat, with his unruly tufts of hair and his disfocused gaze.
All three men held large, elegant goblets.
All three turned their heads toward Terisa as she was announced. The Tor peered at her through a haze of exhaustion and wine. Adept Havelock licked his lips salaciously. King Joyse nodded but didn't smile.
She had been hoping that he would smile. It would have done her good to see his luminous smile again.
He greeted her casually; his tone implied he was a bit the worse for drink. "My lady, come join us." His cheeks were red, scraped raw with shaving, but behind their color his skin looked pale. "Pour yourself some wine." He nodded toward a decanter and extra goblets on a table against the paneled wall. "It's quite good--a fine wine from--" A look of perplexity crossed his face. "Where did you say this wine is from?" he asked the Tor.
The Tor shook himself as if he were in danger of falling asleep. "Rostrum. A small village near the border of Termigan and Domne, where the babes drink wine instead of milk from their mother's breasts, and even the children can do exquisite things with grapes. Rostrum wine."
King Joyse nodded again. "Rostrum wine," he said to Terisa. "Have some. We're celebrating."
She stood in the center of the thick blue-and-red rug and tried to watch all three men simultaneously. "What're you celebrating?"
Adept Havelock giggled.
"Are we celebrating?" The Tor's voice sounded damp. "I thought we were grieving."
"Grieving? My old friend." King Joyse glanced at the Tor kindly. "What for? This is a celebration, I tell you"
"Oh, of course, my lord King." The Tor waggled a hand. "A celebration. I misspoke." His fatigue was plain. "Orison has been invested by the Alend Monarch. Your daughter has poisoned our water. While we sit here, the men of Perdon die, spending themselves with hope against Cadwal. And the royal Imager, Adept Havelock"--he inclined his head courteously in Havelock's direction--"has burned to death our only clue as to where--and who--our chief enemy is. We do well to celebrate, since we can accomplish nothing with sorrow."
"Nonsense," replied the King at once. Although his expression was grave, he appeared to be in good spirits. "Things aren't as bad as you think. Lebbick knows a trick or two about sieges. We still have plenty of Rostrum wine, so we don't need much water. As soon as he realizes we can't reinforce him, the Perdon is going to back off and let Festten through. That will stop the killing."
He seemed unaware that what he was saying didn't convey much reassurance.
The Tor continues to take Terisa seriously, and just needs to know how she knows Ermis is lying. (Terisa here hasn't connected that Eremis mentioning carnivorous insects being sent against Graden proves Eremis is in league with renegade Imagers.)"And the death of the prisoner?" inquired the Tor glumly.
King Joyse dismissed that question. "Also, we have another reason to celebrate. The lady Terisa is here. Aren't you, my lady?" he asked Terisa, then went on speaking to the Tor. "Unless I've gotten it all wrong, she's here to tell us that she has found a new cure for stalemate."
Again, Adept Havelock giggled.
For a second, Terisa nearly lost her head. A cure? A cure for stalemate? Then they were all doomed.
Fortunately, she caught hold of her reason for being here before all her thoughts veered off into panic. Geraden. That was the important thing. Geraden.
"I don't know anything about stalemates. Or cures." Her tone was too curt. She made an effort to moderate it. "My lord King. I came because I'm worried about Geraden. Master Eremis is going to try and ruin him in front of the Congery."
The King gave her his attention politely. "Ruin him, my lady?"
"He and Master Eremis are going to accuse each other of betraying Mordant."
"I see. And don't you call that a stalemate?"
"No." She wasn't getting through. She had to do better. "No, my lord King. The Congery will believe Master Eremis." And yet she was certain--
"But he's lying."
The Tor twisted in his seat to study her more closely. With a show of effort, Adept Havelock picked up his chair, turned it, and plumped it down again so that he could sit facing her.
King Joyse, however, gazed toward the fire. "Master Eremis?" he asked as if he were losing interest. "Lying? That would be risky. He might get caught. Only innocent men can afford to tell lies."
"My lady," said the Tor quietly, "such accusations are serious. Master Eremis is a man of proven stature. The Congery might have some justification to take the word of one of their own number over the charges of a mere failed Apt. How do you know that Master Eremis is lying?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she say? The piece of information lodged in her brain refused to come clear. Something Master Eremis had said, or revealed--Or was it Geraden? After a moment, she admitted, "I haven't figured that out yet."
"I see, my lady." The old lord returned his attention to the fire. "You simply trust Geraden. That is understandable. I trust him myself. There is no help I can give you, however. I am no longer my lord King's chancellor."
What?
Adept Havelock grinned at her.
King Joyse sighed and leaned his head against the back of his chair. "My old friend was wearing himself toward his grave with the business of Orison. He doesn't want to admit he's no longer young. Sadly, it's true."
"My lord King," the Tor explained, "has given instructions that I am not to be obeyed, except in matters of my personal comfort. With the arrival of Alend's army, my power ended." He snorted to himself. "You may imagine castellan Lebbick's delight. Remember, he thinks it possible that I am a traitor myself. He did not like my interest in our defenses. Though my lord King does not say so, I believe he has taken away my position to protect himself in case the good Castellan's suspicions prove correct."
At that, King Joyse jerked up his head. His watery eyes were suddenly acute, and his mouth twisted. He didn't reply to the Tor, however. Glaring at Terisa, he demanded, "Just what is it you want, my lady?"
She was startled: for a moment, she had lost herself in empathy for the old lord. Almost stammering, she said, "Geraden doesn't stand a chance in front of the Masters. Master Eremis will chew him to pieces. You've got to stop them. Don't let them do this to him."
"But if Master Eremis is telling the truth," returned the King in a voice like a rasp, "Geraden deserves to be caught and punished."
"No." She couldn't think. It was maddening. "You don't believe that."
King Joyse aimed his gaze at her like a nail and spoke as if he were tapping his words into wood. "That is not the point, my lady. At the moment, it isn't him I doubt. It's you."
From this moment on, the Tor never doubts Terisa's honesty.In Chapter 25 of [i]The Mirror of Her Dreams[/i] was wrote:She blinked. Her heart began to labor again, pounding alarm in all directions. "Why?'
"Are you surprised? You underestimate me. I warned you this game was dangerous.
"After we talked, I had Myste's rooms searched. She took nothing personal with her--none of her little momentos of childhood, none of her favorite gifts. Does that seem likely to you? If she had gone after her mother, she would have taken everything she could carry.
"You liked to me, my lady. You lied to me about my daughter."
Inside her chest, a cold hand knotted into a fist. Both the Tor and Adept Havelock squinted at her as if she were being transformed to ugliness in front of them.
"Where did she really go?"
This was what Terisa had feared: King Joyse had found her out. She had learned the danger of lies when she was still a child. Falsehood had been exquisitely tempting to her; her dread of being punished had made her ache to deflect every manifestation of parental irritation, discontent, or disapproval. She had learned, however, that the punishment was worse when she got caught.
In simple defensiveness, she tried to counter as if she had cause to complain. "How did you know she came to see me? Were you having your own daughter spied on?"
Adept Havelock swung his chair back to face the fire, sat down again, and began to twiddle his fingers.
The King continued to glare at her for a moment. She met his gaze because she was afraid to do anything else. Then, abruptly, he too turned away. "You were warned," he muttered. "Remember that. You were warned.
"My lord Tor, be so good as to summon the guards. I want this woman locked in the dungeon until she condescends to tell me the truth about my daughter."
"No!" The cry burst from her before she could stop it. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you anything. Geraden needs me. If I'm not there, he'll have to face the Congery alone."
None of the men were looking at her. The Tor emptied his goblet, but didn't trouble to refill it.
Terisa took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "She went after the champion. She thought he needed help." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
To Terisa's astonishment, King Joyse's profile quirked toward a smile. But almost at one his expression turned sorrowful, and he leaned his head morosely to rest against his chair again. "More wine would be nice, don't you think?" he commented in the direction of the ceiling.
The Tor seemed to slump farther down in his seat.
With a strangled chortle, Adept Havelock tossed his wine into the fire. While the wine hissed and burned, he threw his goblet behind him, narrowly missing Terisa.
"Fornication," he pronounced, "is hard to do well alone."
"My lady," the King breathed as if he were going to sleep, "I didn't know Myste went to see you. I reasoned it. If you were more honest, I would have less trouble trusting you. You ought to try using a little reason yourself."
Terisa had expected him to be appalled and angry. Obviously he wasn't. Preconceptions were being jerked out from under her. This new surprise seemed to knock the last bit of sense out of the situation. Myste was doing something that had been foreseen in Havelock's augury of King Joyse. Was that why a lie made the King furious and the truth had nearly made him smile?
"I don't understand," she murmured weakly. "Don't you care?"
King Joyse reached out a swollen, unsteady hand and nudged Adept Havelock, who in turn nudged the Tor. "My lord, I said, 'More wine would be nice.'"
Sighing, the Tor pried his bulk out of his chair and moved to fetch the decanter.
"You want me to use a little reason." Terisa had difficulty holding her voice down. "How about giving me some information to reason with? Myste is probably dead. If the cold didn't kill her--and the champion didn't kill her--then that firecat probably did. You act like the only thing you care about is that she didn't go see her mother!"
"No." The King sounded sad, but he answered without rancor. "What I care about is that she did something I can be proud of."
Like an echo, Terisa seemed to hear Castellan Lebbick quoting King Joyse to Prince Kragen: She carries my pride with her wherever she goes. For her sake, as well as for my own, I hope that the best reasons will also produce the best results.
She wanted to yell, But that doesn't make any sense! Elega betrayed you! Myste is probably dead! The words died in her throat, however: they were hopeless. The thought that she would have to go support Geraden with nothing except more confusion made her feel sick.
It is the Tor who reminds Terisa not to put herself in deeper trouble by refusing to leave the King when dismissed.In Chapter 25 of [i]The Mirror of Her Dreams[/i] was wrote:The Tor refilled the King's goblet and his own, then eased himself into his chair. "The lady Terisa is distressed," he remarked distantly. "It would be a kindness, my lord King, if you gave her what she desires.'
King Joyse lifted his head once more, scowling sourly as if he meant to say something acid to the Tor.
But he didn't. Instead, he growled, "Oh, very well."
Over his shoulder, he addressed Terisa. "The reason I told Geraden not to talk to you when you were first brought here is the same reason I didn't intervene when the Masters decided to translate their champion. It's the same reason I'm not going to intervene now. I'm trying to protect you. Both of you."
"Protect us!" She was too upset to restrain herself. "How does it protect me to keep me ignorant? How does it protect us to let that champion be translated? We were buried alive!" I almost lost my mind. "How does it protect him to let Master Eremis destroy him? all you're doing is making us look foolish."
The King turned his head away and sketched a frail gesture with both hands. "You see?" he observed to the Tor. "She doesn't reason." Then his tone grew bitter. "You're still alive, aren't you? Do you have any conception how unlikely that was when you first arrived? Better minds than yours were sure neither of you would last for three days. A little foolishness is a small price to pay for your lives."
Terisa stared at the back of his head with her mouth open as if he had taken all the air out of the room.
"'Better minds'!" crowed Adept Havelock like a man addressing a crowd of admirers. "He means me. He means me."
"If I had welcomed you with open arms," King Joyse went on, "my enemies would have formed a higher estimate of how valuable you are. They would have put more effort into killing you." He sounded querulous and old, peevishly incapable of the things he ascribed to himself. "As long as they thought I had no interest in you--they could afford patience. Wait and see. Gart attacked you that first night because my enemies hadn't had time to find out I hadn't welcomed you. But as soon as people heard that I wasn't treating you like an ally, Gart held back for a while.
"Are you satisfied?"
His demand took her by surprise. She scrambled to ask, "Do you mean the reason you can't help Geraden now is that if you do your enemies will know you're his friend and start trying even harder to have him killed?"
"I mean much more than that," he snapped. "I mean that if I had given him permission to tell you whatever you wanted to know I would have doomed you both. My enemies would have taken anything like that as a sign that you were on my side.
"Now are you satisfied?"
And the Tor gives the impression he'd like to do more in the causing of protecting Mordant, Geraden, and Terisa. His amazing character does a lot more in Mordant' Need book 2, A Man Rides Through."But what--?" It was too much: his explanation increased her confusion. It had all been an elaborate charade. "Who are your enemies? Why can't you protect anybody you want in your own castle?" Images of Geraden and Myste and Elega and Queen Madin and Master Barsonage and even Castellan Lebbick rose in her, all of them lost and aggrieved. "Why do you have to make everybody who's loyal to you think you don't care what happens?"
"My lady." His tone was no longer petulant. Now it was as keen and cutting as ice. "If I had any desire to answer such questions. I would have done so earlier. As a courtesy to your distress, I have already told you more than I consider wise." Like Geraden's, his speech became more formal as it gathered authority. Despite his years, his voice still had the potential to lash at her. "I advise reason and silence, my lady. You will not prolong your life by speaking of what you have heard."
He dismissed her without a glance. "You may go."
But--? But--? She knew she should have been stronger. She should have demanded a better explanation. But what she wanted to ask couldn't get past her mental stutter into words. She had no sure ideas left to stand on. King Joyse knew what he was doing--he knew with a vengeance. He was being passive and obtuse on purpose. But what purpose was that? It was inconceivable. He--
"My lady," he said again, "you may go."
In a tone of faraway sadness, the Tor murmured, "My lady, it is generally unwise to disregard the will of a king." He spoke as if from personal experience.
With a fierce effort, Terisa quelled her insistent incomprehension. The exertion left her angry and panting, but in control of herself.
"Thank you, my lord Tor," she said stiffly. "My lord King, I'm sorry. I lied to you about Myste because she trusted me. She was afraid somebody would try to stop her. She asked me to protect her. I lied to you because I didn't know you would have let her go."
None of the three men looked at her. They stared vacantly into the fire, as if they had used up their allotment of words for the day and had nothing left to think with. King Joyse let her get as far as the door before he breathed softly, "Thank you, my lady."
She left as if she were escaping.
Thank you, IrrationalSanity; I really appreciate that! Mordant's Need is built on the foundation of a great cast of characters, and I enjoy adding to these character analysis threads when I am able (it's work, though).IrrationalSanity wrote:Just a quick note on how much I'm enjoying your character analysis series.
In Chapter 28 of A Man Rides Through was wrote:Deaf to the illogic of her own defense, she insisted, "Nyle is still alive."
Watching her, the Castellan wanted to crow for joy. "No, woman." His jaws throbbed with the effort of not sinking his teeth into her. "Tell me how. How did he escape? How did you help him escape?"
Finally she caught hold of herself, closed her mouth on her panic. Shadows flickered in and out of her eyes; she looked as desirable as an immolation.
"He's no Imager," Lebbick went on. "And there isn't any way he could have left those rooms except by Imagery. So you did it. You translated him somewhere.
"Where is he, woman? I want him."
She stared at him. Her dismay seemed to become a kind of calm; she was less frantic simply because she was so afraid.
"You've gone crazy," she whispered. "You've snapped. It's been too much for you."
"I won't hurt him." The Castellan's face felt like it was being split apart by the stress of restraint. "It isn't really his fault. I know that. You seduced him into it. Until you arrived, he was just a decent boy. Everybody liked him, even though he couldn't do anything right. You changed that. You involved him in treachery when I get my hands on him, I won't even punish him. I just want him to tell me the truth."
Suddenly, like dry brush on a smoldering blaze, Lebbick yelled at her, "Where IS he?"
She flinched, cowered. Just for a second, he believed that she was going to answer. But then something inside her stiffened. She raised her head and faced him squarely.
"Go to hell."
At that, he laughed. He couldn't help himself: he laughed as if his heart were breaking. "you little whore," he chortled, "don't try to defy me. You aren't strong enough."
At once, he began to speak more precisely, more formally, tapping words into her fear like coffin nails. "I'm going to start by taking off your clothes. I might do it gently, just for fun. Women are especially vulnerable when they don't have any clothes on.
"Then I'll begin to hurt you." He took a step toward her, but didn't release his arms from his chest. "Just a little at first. One breast or the other. Or perhaps a few barbs across your belly. A rough piece of wood between your legs. Just to get your attention." He wished she could see what he saw: his wife being stretched out in the dirt by those Alends, her limbs spread-eagled and staked so that she couldn't move, the delicate things the garrison commander had done to her with small knives. "Then I'll begin to hurt you in earnest.
"You'll beg me to stop. You'll tell me everything I desire, and you'll beg me to stop. But it will be too late. Your chance will be lost. Once I begin to hurt you, I will never stop. I will never stop."
She was so vividly appalled--the fright on her face was so stark--that the sight of it cost hm is grip on himself. His arms burst out of his control; his hands caught her shoulders. Snatching her to him, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her as hard as a blow, aching to consume her with his passion before it tore him to pieces.. Then he hugged her, hugged her so urgently that the muscles in his shoulders stood out like iron.
"Tell me the truth." His voice shook, feverish with distress. "Don't make me hurt you."
She had her arms between them, her hands against his chest. But she didn't struggle: she surrendered to his embrace as if the resistance had been squeezed out of her. If he had released her without warning, she would have fallen.
Nevertheless when she spoke all she said was, "Please don't do this. Please." The way he held her muffled her words in his shoulder, but he could still hear them. "I'll beg now, if that's what you want. Please don't do this to me."
For a moment, the gloom in the cell drew unexpectedly darker. It rose up around the Castellan, swept over his head. it made a roaring noise like a lack torrent in his ears. Then it cleared, and the back of his had hurt. The woman was slumped on the floor; the wall barely braced her up in a sitting position. Blood oozed like midnight from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes seemed glazed, as if she were scarcely conscious.
"The lady Terisa is too polite," someone else said. "I will not speak so courteously. The next blow will be your last. If you strike her again, I will not rest until you are sent to the gallows."
Staggering, Castellan Lebbick turned and saw the Tor at the entrance of the cell.
"My lord Tor--" The Castellan croaked as if he were choking. "This isn't your concern. Crimes committed in Orison are my responsibility."
The old lord was as fat as a holiday goose and as pasty-faced as poorly kneaded dough. Yet his small eyes glinted in the lamplight as if he were capable of murder. Under his fat, there was strength which enabled him to support his immense weight. "Then," he shot back, "you will be especially responsible for crimes you commit yourself. What if she is innocent?"
"'Innocent?'"
Lebbick was ashamed to hear himself cry out the word like a man who was about to start weeping. With a savage effort, he regained control of himself.
"'Innocent'?" he repeated more steadily. You weren't there, my lord. You didn't see Geraden kill his brother. I caught her helping him escape--helping a murderer escape, my lord Tor. You have strange ideas of innocence."
"And your ideas of guilt have cost you your reason, Castellan." The Tor's outrage sounded as acute as Lebbick's own. "You accuse her of helping a murderer escape, not of shedding blood herself. When I heard that you had brought her here I could hardly believe my ears. You have no right and no reason to punish her until King Joyse has judged her guilt for himself and given you his consent."
"Do you think he'll refuse me?" countered Castellan Lebbick, fighting to shore up his self-command. "Now, when Orison is besieged, and all his enemies are conspiring against him? My lord, you misjudge him. This --he made a slapping gesture in that woman's direction--"is one problem he'll leave to me."
Without hesitation the Tor snapped, "Shall we ask him?"
The Castellan had no choice; he couldn't refuse. In spite of the way his bones ached and his guts shook, so that he seemed to be dying on his feet, he turned his back on that woman and went with the Tor to talk to King Joyse.
