This is such an eerie, "transparent" and motivational chapter that it almost feels like Stephen King or H. P. Lovecraft or some other master of psychological horror penned it. By transparent I mean that much begins to become obvious, or, at least, much more obvious than it already was--and the most obvious factor is Master Eremis.
*The second Orison's army sets off for the Care of Tor a chill wind arises from direct south and despite good spirits they march straight into it. Word quickly passes that Prince Kragen is leading a large force of Alends behind them. As the Orison corps crosses Broadwine Ford, to make their first encampment, they are cheered by the news and relieved by the fact that castle has been spared. But morale rapidly drops as the force of the chill wind increases and the Tor is concerned about Kragen's lack of speed.
By Castellan Norge's reckoning, however, they had pulled four miles ahead of the Alends.
As they ready camp and the Imagers begin unpacking their mirrors the Tor begins to think up a practical solution to this dilemma,
Norge sends a messenger to Kragen to propose a parley.Norge shrugged as if the movement were a twitch in his sleep.
"They're carrying all their food and equiptment and bedding and tents--everything they need. And they're lucky they can come this close to our pace. If Prince Kragen tries to drive them this fast tomorrow, 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 sustian them for eight or ten days. If their supplies are added to ours, could you manage such a 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 only have three mirrors."
"I understand," the Tor replied rather sharply. "Can you do it?"
Master Barsonage glared at the ground. "We can make the attempt."
T & G talk--Geraden suggests they help with the translations to ease the workload and hone their skills. Terisa is, understandably, hesitant to ever come near a mirror again after so many, on either side, were munched by Eremis' gnarly black Pac-Men at the crossroads. Geraden tells her that that blood is on Eremis' hands, that Terisa didn't kill anyone, and most importantly, that she struck the first direct blow at Eremis in a series of blows that must be struck in this war. He says he'll try to find a mirror and that they should see if there's any possibilty a flat glass might be found.
"I hope Master Barsonage is in a tolerant mood," she muttered. "I might make some drastic mistakes."
Suprisingly enough Master Vixix does have a flat glass that the Congery proposed to use to dump the camp's waste into the Fen of Cadwal. And now as the five Imagers prepare to translate Terisa admits she has no idea how to do it. Geraden shows her the hand movement and pestidigitation required and then goes on to joke with her that this is mumbo-jumbo even if Apts spend an entire year learning it. That the talent comes from Imagers themselves. As the others begin pulling in supplies Terisa succeeds in poring a bunch of swampwater into the camp-making all those around her laugh. After Geraden gets her to relax she gains an image of Orison's ballroom and when she finally succeeds in bringing bed rolls though the laughter stops.
Soon Prince Kragen arrives and, while reminding the Tor that no alliance has yet been declared, listens to the Tor's proposal. He is in intial dread, noting war and age old suspicions between the two countries, but sees the benefits of speed. He thinks nothing of letting Orison face High King Festten's army first but finally acceeds to the Tor's logic of not being two groups of 6000 spilt in half versus a force of 20,000. He then agrees, has dinner with the Tor and delights in the chase.
As Terisa and Geraden bed down for the night she recounts her embarassment during the translations. Men jeering at her like her father and Master Eremis. Geraden counters her by pointing out that when she did succeed the laughter stopped. No one had ever seen a woman do that before and that everyone cannot, now, deny the fact that she is a Master and doing something vital. He tells her that the reason they acknowledge her now is because they had no visible proof at the intersection: now they have extra hope of beating that bastard Eremis.
Terisa isn't that sure and the next morning, after they translate all the gear back to Orison, the Congery has to drive their wagons hard to catch up with the armies. Soon the three to four day trek becomes even less easier. They leave the smooth road to Marshalt and begin heading west-southwest over hilly terrian towards Esmerel. Most of the Care of Tor is mountianous and the Congery has to take extra care to prevent the mirrors from breaking. In addition it is getting even colder and windier. As they trudge on Geraden informs Terisa that his instincts are bothering him. He seems to feel that they're heading in the wrong direction. No it may not necessarily be a trap and doesn't involve the armies as a whole, but that it may be important that he and Terisa need to do something else somewhere else. He can't exactly put his finger on it.
As they work their way through a ravine shouts arise from ahead and armed guards work their way back towards the wagons. In a flash of recognition Tereisa spurs her horse but Geraden stops her. Wolves are flying off the ravine wall and besieging the group. The same spiny, double jawed wolves that attacked Houseldon. Ripping apart men and seeking out Geraden. A wolf throws itself at Geraden and just as he backs himself and Terisa towards the edge, a guard spits it but another wolf sails over a wagon and takes the pikeman out. Reacting to shattered glass Master Barsonage jumps from his wagon to that wagon fighting off two wolves with his bare fists. Terisa urges the troops to protect Geraden but before they can two more wolves attack him. She rides over to help him get his sword out it's scabbard just in time to cut the first one from ear to ear. As Ribuld pikes another wolf nearby Geraden sticks the other one in the maw but it keeps coming at him. Ribuld turns around with his sword and hacks it's head off.
When the attack is over Terisa chides herself for not feeling the translation, but Geraden says that Eremis may have released the wolves miles away to follow his scent. Noting that wolves travel in packs he doubts Eremis can send more right away. Fortunately, only the flat mirror is broken. Norge promises to send out more side riders and the Tor insists that five hundred armed men guard the Congery from another foray. They may also face the added danger of meeting Cadwal's scouts and outriders on the morrow. Terisa is sure Eremis won't send more Imagery at them right now, instead,
All afternoon both armies fight the difficult terrian and increasing cold as they strive to reach their goal as quickly as humanly possible. That evening they make camp on a cluster of hill tops vunerable to the winds and visible for miles and their best defensive option. As troops are being deployed Master Basonage begins unpacking his mirror. It's image shows Artagel sitting atop supplies in the ballroom,With his enemies so close to him now, he would wait until they came all the way into his trap, put themselves completely into his power. He wasn't interested in anything as relatively straightfoward as victory. He wanted to crush and humiliate, to annihilate everyone who opposed him. Whatever he did when his enemies reached Esmerel would be intended to hurt them spiritually as much as physically.
When she thought about Nyle, her insides contracted until she could scarcely breathe.
"What is that idiot doing?" demanded the Prince. "Is he not in danger of translation?"
Then: "What has he done with our supplies?"
Indeed, there are no Alend supplies ready to send back. Artagel is holding up a sign that asks what the Tor wants done with Kragen's gear, and hands it to Barsonage. The Tor writes back: Prince Kragen treats us honorably, return his supplies. and the Master translates it back to Artagel who has his people get the Alend stuff ready. The Tor has tryed to reassure Kragen but he's mortified about the fact that he could be so easily betrayed and would be forced to turn around and fight Orison's army. Artagel leaves but he's not entirely happy. The Imagers are well into the task of translating all the goods when Terisa, doing nothing since her mirror is now gone, offers to take frail Master Harpool's place. She finds she can to nothing with his mirror until she conjours the Fen of Cadwal, instead, then more water comes out (no frogs this time). She figures the only way her talent works is to first shift the image, but no that wasn't the case with Vixix's mirror. She then lets the mirror resume to the image of the ballroom and can translate.
After the ardous work is done Terisa asks Geraden why he thinks her first attempt didn't work. He says that only the man who shapes the mirror can use it, or so the Congery has thought. Then he wonders if the time of usage has any effect noting that Vixix hadn't used his flat mirror in days and that Harpool's power or talent was fresh. The next morning as they send the supplies back a front of clouds arises from the south. As the march continues wind warms arise and the clouds cover the sky turning it an almost a dead gray. After noon the armies begin to spot blood on the ground. Old blood scattered everywhere in nooks and cranies. Prince Kragen surmises it must belong to the Perdon,
"His men fought alone here against High King Festten. They were trapped here, hunted down in this"--he swallowed and obsenity--"this maze, and massacred.
"They could have saved themselves. They could have fled to Orison. If we understand the King rightly, he never intended to bring his force anywhere but here. But the Perdon did not know that. He knew only that he must fight for Mordant--and that he could not trust his King. So he led Cadwal here, where King Festten most wished to go.
"He was a valiant man, " the Prince rasped, "badly betrayed. I hope that he did not learn the truth before he died. It would have been unbearably bitter."
But there were no bodies.
No remnants of weapons or gear.
No bones.
The entire region had been picked clean.