In [i]A Man Rides Through[/i] Chapter 34 was wrote:When he arrived at Lebbick's quarters, he was a little surprised to find the door guarded. The Castellan had never felt the need for protection in his own rooms before. Nevertheless Artagel didn't hesitate. He went up to the guard on duty, a man he had known for years, and asked, "He still refusing to see anybody?"
The man nodded. Despite his evident pleasure that Artagel was out of bed at last, he commented, "And he isn't going to make an exception in your case, either."
Artagel smiled. It was probably a good thing he hadn't tried to bring his sword. He would have looked like a fool pulling it out--and then letting its weight stretch him flat on the floor. As if he'd never been ill, however, he said, "I want to go in there. You aren't really going to stand in my way."
"You're going to get past me?" the guard snorted. "In your condition?" But then he put up his hands. "Well, since you force me-- Somebody's got to get sense out of him. Might as well be you. After what he did to that woman-- If he doesn't answer for it soon, we're going to have trouble on our hands. Too many people who don't have anything better to do are getting ugly about it.
"If he hits you, give a croak, and I'll carry you back to your rooms.
Artagel faked a bow with one arm. "Thanks ever so much. It always feels good to have a man like you behind me."
"I know," the guard replied. "As far behind you as possible."
Chuckling, he opened the door.
Convinced that he really wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet much longer, Artagel entered the Castellan's quarters.
Artagel still has his forceful side. He would have been willing to be aggressive enough to wave his sword around to gain entry, if he had remembered to bring as wasn't too weak to wield it. Though he's mostly a cool character, this hints that he can have an obnoxious, pushy side. His isn't a single-faceted personality, the way he's written.
The front room was ill-lit, unswept, and undecorated--which hadn't been the case when Artagel was last here, some time before Lebbick's wife died. Although he wasn't given to luxury, the Castellan had claimed an extensive suite for himself and his wife; he had insisted for decades that they meant to have children, regardless of the damage she had suffered as an Alend prisoner. And she had humored him by keeping up their quarters like a home where children would be welcome. But since her death he had stripped the walls and the floor to the bare stone; he had moved a hard cot into the front room and sealed the rest of the doors--even in Orison's overcrowded state, those rooms stood empty. And since Terisa's disappearance he had obviously given up all pretense of housekeeping. The one lamp on the table beside his cot gave just enough to show that the room was filthy.
So was he: he hadn't shaved, or washed, or changed his clothes for days. His eyes were red with exhaustion and malice--or grief--and his hands curled in front of him as if he badly needed a sword.
Facing Artagel from the edge of his cot, he rasped distinctly, "I'm going to disembowel the man who let you in here."
The air was foul with dirt, rancid sweat, food gone to maggots. Artagel stifled an impulse to gag. Pretending that his nauseated expression was a smile, he replied, "No , you won't." Deliberately, he found a chair and sat. "If you want to get him, you'll have to get me first. I'm the most popular man in Orison."
"Hog-puke." The Castellan blinked malevolently. "Eremis is the most popular man in Orison." In spite of his tone, however, he didn't leave the bed. "You're just an invalid who's still alive because he got lucky the last time he met Gart.
"That's probably why they sent you. They think I won't hurt a man who's so weak a woman could knock him over."
Feigning nonchalance, Artagel inquired, "'They'?"
"They. The Tor. King Joyse. Half of the rutting dogs in this stinkhole. The bastard who let you in. The ones who think Eremis is the best thing since King Joyse invented sunshine. The ones who think I ought to be castrated because I slapped that rank whore a couple of times. They.
"They want me to come out so they can jump me. They want you to make me come out."
"Sorry." Artagel loathed dealing with Lebbick like this; he would have preferred to meet the High King's Monomach without a sword. As a result he sounded incongruously happy, as if he were having a wonderful time. "I hate to contradict you when you're in such a good mood. But the truth is, I don't have any idea what you're talking about. I just came to tell you Geraden didn't kill Nyle."
"I know that," snapped Lebbick. "Don't tell me. Tell them."
"Wait a minute." Artagel would have been less startled if the Castellan had started foaming at the mouth. "Wait. What do you mean, you know that? How do you know?"
"I know"--Castellan Lebbick glared at his visitor as if Artagel were hideous--"because that piss-drinking slut was in my bed. In my bed."
Artagel may have that crazy daring streak when it comes to getting into combat, but he doesn't care for the craziness of being around someone whose thought processes seem to have no logical flow. And no doubt it hurts Artagel more for the apparent lunacy to be coming from someone like Lebbick that he respects. Artagel is still dealing with deep worry about what is going on with both Nyle and Geraden, and dealing with deep guilt about what he told Terisa, and seeing Lebbick apparently with his reasoning ability unhinged is nearly enough to frighten Artagel off.
Artagel loathed dealing with Lebbick like this; he would have preferred to meet the High King's Monomach without a sword.
Now it was Artagel's turn to blink. "Wait a minute," he repeated. "Wait."
Lebbick didn't wait. "I came right through that door"--he pointed fiercely at the door--"and she was in my bed." He pounded the cot. "Naked as shit. Smiling at me. Wagging her tits. Of course Geraden didn't kill Nyle."
Then his ferocity dimmed. "I would have believed anybody except that woman."
Artagel held his breath and said nothing.
"She made it think about it over and over again. She kept making me go back to the beginning. But when she was wrong about that secret passage--I was sure. And I saw her escaping, I saw her. With Quillon. King Joyse's friend. Then I found his body. I caught up with her. She was with Gilbur. I was sure. Gilbur told me they were allies. Of course I was sure. Of course Geraden killed Nyle. She must have escaped with Gilbur, not Quillon. She was a traitor, a murderer. That proved Geraden was guilty.
"Isn't that what they told you?"
"No," Artagel murmured. "They haven't told me a thing."
"Well, they will," Lebbick snarled. "Give them a chance. They're all talking about me. They whisper behind my behind my back." A wild grin stretched his mouth. "Eremis is a hero. Everything that woman said about him is a lie. Geraden killed Nyle. She put him up to it. She helped him escape. Then Gilbur helped her escape. They killed Quillon. I'm a monster. Nobody understands why King Joyse hasn't had me gutted.
"Eremis is a hero."
Groping for some measure of sanity in the conversation, Artagel drawled, "I doubt it. Terisa must have told you Nyle is still alive. She certainly tried to tell me.
"I didn't believe her," he admitted, "but I've been kicking myself for that ever since." Generally, he wasn't much inclined to regret; nevertheless he regretted intensely the things he had said to Terisa. He should have looked at that body more closely. "I finally figured out what must have happened." Geraden is your brother. You've known him all his life. "They must have switched the bodies. Underwell and Nyle. That's why they used Imagery--why they let creatures feed on the bodies. To disfigure them. So we would think Underwell was Nyle.
"Geraden wouldn't do a thing like that. It's impossible. I know him better than that."
As if he were discussing the weather, Artagel added, "If he didn't do it, that just leaves Eremis. We don't have anybody else to blame it on."
"I know that." Grief twisted Castellan Lebbick's features. Softly, he repeated, I know that Why do you think I kept hitting her?" I was trying to get her to tell me the truth."
"It was Quillon who helped that woman escape. That's the truth. He did it because King Joyse told him to. To get her away from me. He ordered me to do my job, and then he tried to sneak her away from me. That's why he leaves me alone, now. He hasn't sent for me in days. He knows I was just following orders.
"He wants to break me. He wants me to hide down here until I rot. Because he doesn't trust me."
Artagel proves he has some shrewdness, some spiritual insight, in being able to get Lebbick to show if he retains any sanity. The following passage is about as subtle as Artagel ever gets, in my opinion.
Artagel felt frantically that he was getting nowhere. He was tempted to back out of the room, put some distance between himself and the Castellan's lunacy. But his regret was stronger than his alarm. He had already let both Terisa and Geraden down.
Instead of retreating, he tried a different approach.
"Well, he must trust you some," Artagel made an effort to sound hearty, without much success. "You're still in command, aren't you? You're still the Castellan."
Lebbick nodded as if he hadn't heard the question.
"Speaking of things you're in command of, how's the defense going?" continued Artagel. "I heard a rumor that Kragen hasn't so much as thrown a rock at us since the first day. Is that true?"
The Castellan nodded again. "Margonal's whoreson," he growled, "is just sitting out there staring at us."
"Why? What makes him think he can get away with that? Isn't he afraid of Cadwal?"
"I can only think of two explanations." As if by accident, some of the tension in Lebbick's face loosened. On some level, Artagel had distracted him. "He knows Festten isn't coming--for some reason--and we don't because he doesn't let the news get to us. Or Alend and Cadwal have made an alliance."
There: that was an improvement. Castellan Lebbick still had some lucidity in him. Carefully, Artagel said, "Then I guess Cadwal isn't coming. If Festten and Margonal had an alliance, Kragen wouldn't have tried to attack us alone."
"That's probably true," agreed the Castellan morosely. "Festten wouldn't have made an alliance unless he could be sure Margonal wouldn't get to the Congery ahead of him."
Getting Lebbick to talk about the defense of Orison is an effective strategy to get him relaxed enough so that Artagel has a better chance at getting a coherent answer to the question he
really wants to ask Lebbick.