Dangerously calm, he inquired, “You have some acquaintance with Esmerel, I suppose?”
Artagel nodded without hesitation. Geraden said distinctly, “Some.”
“I have heard reports of the terrain. Who will be favored in a battle there?”
“Good question,” Norge observed equably.
Artagel grinned. “Whoever gets there first. The entrenched forces can pick their ground. It’s a trap for whoever arrives second.”
Geraden shook his head, dismissing the issue. “Why do you think Eremis chose that place, my lord Prince? You didn’t think it was an accident. You didn’t think High King Festten drove twenty thousand men there just for the pleasure of annihilating the Perdon.”
“No, Geraden” – Prince Kragen allowed himself a snarl of sarcasm – “I did not think it was an accident. It is your thinking I question, not my own. Did you not hear Artagel use the word trap? You say that Nyle is intended as a hostage against you. Is he not also intended as bait? A march to Esmerel is precisely the action Eremis wishes us to take.”
“Of course,” Geraden retorted.
“That’s one reason I was captured,” commented Terisa. “More bait. Eremis wanted to have me where I couldn’t hurt him.” He wanted to rape me. He wanted to break Geraden. “But he also wanted to make sure you went to Esmerel. All of you.”
“Everything he’s ever done us to us is a trap,” Geraden continued. “that’s his great strength – and his great weakness.”
“And you still believe we should go?” Prince Kragen’s protest was an inextricable mixture of excitement and fury. “Knowing he has set this trap to destroy us, you believe that we should accommodate him – that we should rush to put our necks in his noose for him? Geraden, you are mad.” Wheeling toward the Tor, he unleashed a shout. “My lord, this is madness!”
The Tor sat in his chair like a lump of stale dough and waited for Geraden’s answer.
To Terisa’s surprise, Geraden started laughing.
His laughter was like Artagel’s grin: bloody-minded; ready for battle.
“That’s King Joyse’s method. His policy. Don’t you understand? He sets his traps inside Eremis’. If he were here to spring them himself, it would make your head reel. But he isn’t here, so we’ve got to do it for him. We’ve got to put our necks in Eremis’ noose – and then take it away from him. We’ve got to walk into his trap and turn it against him.”
Prince Kragen stared as if Geraden were breaking out in boils. So flabbergasted that his sarcasm deserted him, he asked, “How—? How do you think we can do that? He has at least twenty thousand men. He has Imagery. He has the terrain. He has at least one hostage. How can we possibly turn his trap against him?”
No longer laughing, Geraden replied, “By being stronger than he expects.”
When Geraden said that, Terisa permitted herself a sigh of relief. Master Barsonage jerked up his head, listening intently. The Tor brushed a hand through the sweat on his forehead, then rubbed his fingers on his robe.
“How?” Prince Kragen pursued, nearly whispering. “In what way are we stronger than he expects?”
Geraden shrugged. “For one thing, there’s no way he could have planned for Terisa’s talent – or mine either. That’s why he’s worked so hard to distract us, confuse us, keep us guessing. He didn’t know what he was up against – and he didn’t want us to find out what we can do. He couldn’t possibly know I’m an Adept, of a certain kind. I can shift the Images in normal mirrors, whether I made them or not.”
“That is true,” Master Barsonage averred. “I have witnessed it.”
“And Terisa is even more powerful,” Geraden went on. “What I do with curved glass, she can do with flat mirrors. And she’s an arch-Imager. She can pass through flat glass without losing her mind. And she can use her talent across incredible distances. That’s how she escaped. From as far away as Esmerel, she shifted a mirror here until she was in the Image. Then Adept Havelock translated her out of danger.”
“That also is true.” The mediator of the Congery seemed to be taking bulk with every passing moment, growing larger or more substantial as the tenets of Imagery were altered. “I have witnessed it.
“And I am another way in which we are stronger than Master Eremis expects.”
Prince Kragen swung to face Master Barsonage. Geraden and Artagel turned. Terisa studied the Tor to be sure he was holding himself together, then directed her attention to the mediator.
“I mean that the Congery is stronger,” Barsonage amended as if his own certainty surprised him. “We have not been held in much esteem. Why should we be? Generally, we are little more than a body of discontented ditherers. And all our actions in defense of Mordant – and of ourselves – went awry. Oh, the augury we cast for Mordant’s future was well done. On the other hand, the summoning of our champion was a disaster. Why should anyone esteem us? We did not esteem ourselves enough to preserve our own usefulness after we saw how badly we had gone wrong with our champion.
“But then we learned of Geraden’s talent – and of the lady Terisa’s. That restored us immeasurably. We did not know whether these new talents would be used to harm or benefit us. No, Artagel,” he digressed, “even after your explanations, we still had room for doubt. But we knew now that our work was vital – that we had unleashed forces which only we could support or oppose – that the Congery had at last come into its own significance.
“Therefore we set to work as we had never worked before.
“And now we have been vindicated.” That was the linchpin of Master Barsonage’s new sureness. “We have been given proof that King Joyse was always in the right – that Images possess their own full independent reality, that the things we see in mirrors are not created by Imagery. The Congery’s establishment has been justified.” He was elevated by clarity; his face shone. “The translations of Master Eremis and Master Gilbur and the arch-Imager Vagel are not merely evil in their consequences, but also in their means.”
“The point,” growled Prince Kragen. “Come to the point.”
“My lord Prince,” the mediator announced, “my lord Tor, Master Eremis is ready. That is evident. The Congery is ready also. In the name of King Joyse – and of Mordant’s need – we are prepared to do battle at your side against Esmerel.”
“How?” The Prince had an unflagging interest in that question. “What can you do?”
Master Barsonage’s smile bore an unfamiliar resemblance to a smirk. “My lord Prince, you have not agreed to an alliance. For that reason, I will not discuss our weapons with you. But two things I will tell you. First, our weapons violate none of the strictures which King Joyse has placed upon the Congery. And second” – he paused for a moment of frank self-congratulation – “until weapons are necessary, we can supply the march to Esmerel.”
Prince Kragen’s mouth formed the word supply without a sound.
“We cannot translate men, of course,” the mediator explained, “but we are prepared to move food, swords, bedding, or tents in whatever quantity you require. You will be able to travel without supply-wains, without the vast entourage of camp followers and porters which slows you. You will be able to reach Esmerel more swiftly than Master Eremis can possibly guess.
“My lord Prince, does that not make us stronger?”
“And then there’s the matter of an alliance,” Geraden put in before Prince Kragen could recover from his surprise. “Eremis must know it’s a possibility, but he can’t expect it. What do you have, my lord Prince? Roughly ten thousand men?”