“I think I almost made him sick. He was almost in tears.”
He had said, To you, it’s just a game. To me, it’s the difference between life and ruin.
And he had said, I suggest that you give the matter more consideration before you once again attempt to end a stalemate by tilting the board.
“Geraden, what if that’s what we’re doing? Tilting the board?”
Instead of doing what King Joyse wants. Protecting his pieces. Or what Havelock wants. Sacrificing the right men.
“Do you think we should go alone?” Geraden countered. “Against Eremis and Gilbur and Vagel and terrible Imagery and twenty thousand men?”
Abruptly, her trembling stopped; it fell away from her like an old panic fading into the dark.
“No,” she said distinctly. That would be sacrificing men for no reason. “We wouldn’t stand a chance. Even if we could fight all that Imagery, we couldn’t stop High King Festten.
“It’s just that I agree with King Joyse. Somehow, he persuaded me he’s right by leaving us in the lurch. At first, I was angry. But now I think I’m starting to understand.”
Geraden studied her face. “Terisa, you aren’t making any sense.”
“I know.” She mustered another indirect effort to explain herself. “Did I ever tell you about Reverend Thatcher?”
“The man who ran the ‘mission’ where you served before I came to you.”
She kissed Geraden’s nose quickly. “I probably told you he was futile. Sad – hopeless. He must have felt that way. But he taught me something—Something I didn’t understand for a long time.
“He was trying to help the most miserable people in the city. Indigents. Street people. Crazies. Drunks. Trying to give them food and clothing and maybe shelter. And that was hard because nobody wanted to pay for it. If you feed and clothe and shelter them today, what have you accomplished? All you’ve done is save their lives, so they’ll need more food and clothing and shelter tomorrow. So if you have money and want to do some good, giving it to that mission is like throwing it away. There must be hundreds of things you can use your money for that would do more good for the city as a whole.”
“Yes, but—” began Geraden.
“Yes, but,” she agreed. “Doing good for the city as a whole wouldn’t make those poor people go away. It wouldn’t make their misery go away. And Reverend Thatcher couldn’t stop caring about them. If you gave him a choice between” – she searched for an example – “I don’t know, between free education for the whole city and helping one drunk get through another day with a hot meal, he’d choose to help the drunk. Not because he didn’t think education is important, but because he couldn’t help caring about the drunk.
“Maybe that’s sad. Maybe it’s even stupid. It’s certainly hopeless.
“But it’s also wonderful.”
She stopped as if she had made herself clear.
Geraden had to struggle for a couple of minutes, but eventually he reached the conclusion she hadn’t been able to articulate. “King Joyse,” he said slowly, “persuaded you he was right by abandoning us. You think he went after Torrent – after Queen Madin. When somebody he loves is in danger, he forgets all about Mordant – all about his plans for saving his kingdom. He leaves that to us. Not because he doesn’t think Mordant is important, but because he can’t help caring about her.”
Terisa’s spirit lifted. “He isn’t an idealist – not really. If anyone here is an idealist, it’s Havelock. King Joyse didn’t create Mordant and the Congery out of an abstract set of beliefs. He did it because people he knew and cared about were being hurt in the wars – hurt by Imagery. He wanted to save the world, a world made up of individual farmers and merchants and children who couldn’t defend themselves.
“Don’t forget that he risked a lot to protect us. Treating us the way he did, he confused us – even hurt us. But that gave Eremis a reason not to kill us. And we were left free to make our own choices. Just to keep us alive, King Joyse took the risk that we might go against him completely. Just to protect our lives and our choices.
“And,” she concluded, “he trusts us to do the same thing for him. He trusts us to defend Mordant for him while he’s out trying to rescue his wife.”
As if a knot of tension had been released in him, Geraden collapsed back on the bed. Happily, he said, “I knew there was some good reason why I love that old man.”
“Besides,” she went on, now that she was sure of herself; “we aren’t the ones who want to tilt the board. That’s what Eremis is doing. What we’re doing may not be right, but we aren’t making that mistake.”
“No,” he assented. Eagerness brightened his eyes and animated his features, making him inexpressibly precious to her. “We aren’t making that mistake.”
For the time being, she was content.
Just when it seemed, however, that she had reached the point where she no longer worried about what anybody else in Orison did, Master Barsonage arrived in answer to Ribuld’s messages. She and Geraden kept the mediator waiting only long enough to put on some clothes; then they admitted him to her sitting room.
“Sleeping all day while Orison bustles, I see,” the Imager commented pleasantly while he closed the door. He looked happier than she had ever seen him: activity and a clear sense of purpose agreed with him. “Well, doubtless you need the rest. I can only imagine the exertions and perils which you have endured.
“Since my imagination has not been all it should be, as you know” – he seated himself, frowned into the empty wine decanter, then shrugged his thick shoulders – “I am eager to hear what has happened to the rest of Mordant. The siege has cut us off completely,” he explained. “We know nothing but what we have learned from you and Prince Kragen.”
Terisa blew a sigh. “That’s going to take a while,” she said; and Geraden went to the door, chuckling. Outside, he asked Ribuld for wine and food.
Ribuld made some retort she didn’t catch; then Geraden returned. “Ribuld says we can have anything we want, if we don’t mind waiting. Apparently, there’s no end of servants available, but the kitchens are in chaos, trying to get supplies” – he glowered humorously at Master Barsonage – “ready for tomorrow.”
“That is true,” replied the mediator with a nod. “An appalling situation, in fact. No one knows what to do. Norge or one of his captains has to make every decision. It seems that Castellan Lebbick established plans and procedures for every conceivable eventuality – except a march.
“And, of course, every man who carries a sack of meal or a keg of water or a bale of hay to the ballroom goes in terror of his life, expecting to be translated away into madness at any moment.” Master Barsonage permitted himself a growl of disgust. “If Norge were not so phlegmatic – and if Artagel were less supportive – we would be in worse danger of riots now than at any other time today.”
Terisa and Geraden glanced at each other. “As Terisa says,” Geraden remarked to the mediator, “our story is going to take a while. Why don’t we wait for supper?” He set two chairs facing Master Barsonage and sat down in one of them; following his example, Terisa took the other. “Maybe by then Artagel will join us, and we won’t have to go over the same things twice.
“In the meantime, you can tell us how the preparations are going.”
Just for a moment, the Imager looked doubtfully at Geraden’s proposal; he seemed to think Geraden intended to avoid answering him. Almost at once, however, he inhaled deeply, shook his head as if to rearrange his thoughts, and smiled in acquiescence.
While Terisa and Geraden listened intently, storing up information they might need, Master Barsonage described how the Congery planned to transport their mirrors – no simple problem, considering that the mirrors would have to be moved over hard roads and uneven ground by horse cart. With deliberate frankness – perhaps reproaching Geraden’s evasion – he discussed the chief weapon the Masters had devised, as well as the secondary actions they were equipped to take. That brought a shine to Geraden’s eyes, made Terisa grip herself hard to keep her excitement in perspective; but neither of them interrupted as the mediator went on to explain the arrangements he had designed for the supplies in the ballroom, so that Orison’s people could replenish the piles of stores without any risk of being inadvertently taken by a translation.