“That’s where we need to strike.”
Terisa was thinking, In the Care of Tor. Where those riders with the red fur and the hate-filled eyes had come from to attack her and Geraden. No wonder they had been mounted on horses with tack from the Tor’s Care.
The old lord’s mind was running in a completely different direction, however. “That explains it, then,” he rumbled.
He braced himself upright with an arm on one side, an elbow on the other. Canted in this posture as if his weight were about to overturn the chair, he muttered, “That is why he told Lebbick to do whatever he wanted to her. He had to appear weak – had to seem like he had lost his reason. He had to persuade me. If I had failed to believe him, I could have betrayed him to Eremis.
“At the same time, he sent Master Quillon to remove her from the dungeon, so that no one would suffer from his feigned weakness – so that Lebbick would not have a crime on his heart – so that she would not be harmed.
“At last I understand.”
The Tor looked like a man whose hands had just been released from thumbscrews.
“And we have another reason to march now,” Geraden went on in a tone which Terisa would have found impossible to refuse. “In Esmerel, the lady Terisa discovered Nyle alive.”
That announcement snatched most of the eyes in the room to him. Something in Artagel leaped up: his expression was as keen as a honed blade.
“I didn’t kill him.” Geraden spoke through his teeth, restraining outrage. Now he didn’t need the strange authority which sometimes came to him: his bone-bred passion was enough. “I never lifted a hand against him. Eremis forced his help by threatening my family. Our family,” he said to the sharpness in Artagel’s face. “Nyle pretended I stabbed him. Then Eremis carried him off. He called for the physician Underwell, who was almost exactly Nyle’s size and coloring. He had Underwell butchered by creatures of Imagery. Then he dressed Underwell in Nyle’s clothes to make it look like I came back to finish what I started.”
This was news to the Tor, as well as to the captains. They stared at Geraden in undisguised astonishment.
“But Nyle is still alive. Eremis has him chained to a wall in Esmerel. To use against me if I ever try to fight him.
“I’m a son of the Domne.” Geraden held himself powerfully still. “My family have been dear and loyal friends to King Joyse and Mordant from the beginning, and I want my brother rescued!”
Yes! Terisa said with the way she lifted her head, the way she carried herself. Yes.
“It’s a simple question, really,” Artagel drawled into the silence when Geraden was finished. His nonchalant manner contrasted dramatically with the flame of combat in his eyes. “As my lady Terisa says, we don’t have any choice. We’ve already let the Perdon be destroyed.” His stance was casual, but his hands curled as if they ached to hold a sword. “If we don’t return to King Joyse’s policy of supporting his lords – and do it soon – we’ll lose everything that holds Mordant together, whether Eremis and Festten beat us or not. Everything that made Mordant worthwhile will be gone.”
Terisa smiled at him. She was trying to express thanks, gratitude; but the tension in her muscles made her grin too fierce for that.
The Tor took a deep breath, then gasped. The flagon dropped from his hand, spilling wine across the rug; but he didn’t notice it. He looked at Norge, nearly squinting to get his eyes into focus; he looked at Prince Kragen.
“I am content.” His voice was flat, curiously unresonant. Apparently, Gart’s kick still pained him. “Let us call the matter settled. Tomorrow we will march against Master Eremis in Esmerel.”
Terisa wanted to applaud until she heard Prince Kragen rasp, “No.”
“My lord Prince?” A fine dew of sweat covered the Tor’s forehead.
“I am not content.” Kragen chewed the words under his moustache as if they were gristle and gall. “I do not call the matter settled. You have proposed an alliance – on which we have been utterly unable to agree. Now you announce your intention to march away on a fool’s mission. Is it your intention that Alend should march with you?” His tone sounded oddly conflicted to Terisa, at once furious and hungry, as if his passion had another name than the one he chose to give it. “Is that what an alliance means to you now? Do you believe that the Alend Monarch will be content to let all his strength commit suicide beside you, for no other reason than because you have decided to die insanely?”
Artagel started to retort; Geraden stopped him.
“You have a better idea, my lord Prince?” Geraden asked. His voice made Terisa shiver: it was thick with hinted promises or threats.
“Of course!” the Prince snapped. “An alliance here. In Orison. Let the High King come against us here and do his worst. Together, we will withstand him.”
“What about Nyle?” demanded Artagel, unable to restrain himself.
Geraden ignored his brother. “I don’t think so,” he answered Prince Kragen. “Eremis doesn’t need to come here. He can attack us anywhere by Imagery. While we stay in one place, any place, we’re powerless, vulnerable. Without risking one Cadwal, he can fill Orison with enough horrors to leave even you screaming, my lord Prince. The only reason he hasn’t done it so far is that he isn’t ready. Wasn’t ready. All he needed is time. He’s ready now. If we don’t carry the fight to him now, High King Festten and his twenty thousand men won’t have to do anything except come here at their leisure and clean out the ruins. We’ll all be dead or scattered.”
As well as she could, Terisa controlled her frustration at Prince Kragen, her fear of the things she remembered. “Eremis—” she said, then swallowed hard to steady herself. “Eremis knows how to use flat glass safely. He’s discovered an oxidate which lets him translate a flat glass into a curved one, so that whatever is in the curved Image can be translated straight to whatever is in the flat Image.”
Master Barsonage and Geraden had had time to absorb this information. They didn’t flinch. And they didn’t interrupt her.
“Didn’t Geraden tell you?” she asked the Prince. “Eremis dropped an avalanche out of nowhere onto Vale House. That’s how he was able to kidnap Queen Madin. And he has a flat mirror with the audience hall in the Image. He could bring an avalanche in there right now if he wanted to. And we know he has at least two other mirrors that show parts of Orison. His rooms. That place in the lower levels – near the dungeons. Maybe he has more.
“But that’s not all. Vagel – the arch-Imager Vagel – has devised a system that allows him to create specific Images deliberately, instead of by trial and error.”
Despite the fact that she had already told Master Barsonage this, the mediator looked like he was on the brink of apoplexy.
“And Gilbur has the talent to make mirrors quickly,” Terisa continued. “Together, they can shape enough Images to attack Orison anywhere, anytime.
“Eremis is ready now. It isn’t suicide to march. It’s suicide to stay here.”
A murmur rose from the captains – agreement, worry, caution.
“Perhaps.” For a moment, Prince Kragen’s eagerness seemed to outweigh his outrage. “Perhaps in that, you are right.” As if by an act of will, however, he brought back his indignation. “Yet if it is madness to remain here, it is not therefore sane to march against Esmerel.”
He glanced at the Tor. Briefly, he appeared to consider addressing his challenge to Terisa. But at last he turned to Geraden and Artagel, drawn to them by the blood-claim of Nyle’s imprisonment – and by Geraden’s new stature.