Geraden didn’t hesitate; he had had time to marshal a reply. “The Domne is all right,” he said promptly. “At least he was when we left. Our family is safe. Most of the people we know survived. Under the circumstances, our losses were small.
“But Houseldon was burned to the ground.”
Holding his hands together because he didn’t have a sword, Artagel listened to every word as if he were studying his enemies to learn how to fight them.
Grimly, Geraden described the salient features of his arrival at the Closed Fist, and Terisa’s; he described the consequences for Houseldon. Then he explained, “That’s what made Nyle do it. That’s why he cooperated with Eremis. The threat of an attack like that.
“But when we left, the Domne and all our people were going to dig themselves into the Closed Fist. If Eremis tries the same threat again, our father wants us to ignore it.”
At the moment, Terisa didn’t care that Geraden had promised to call the Domne Da.
Slowly, Artagel sighed, letting violence out of his lungs. “Tholden must be a lot tougher than he thinks.”
“So is the Tor,” Geraden muttered.
“But you did not return to Orison by translation,” prompted Master Barsonage. “I gather the lady Terisa did not know then that her talent could reach across such distances.”
Terisa nodded; and Geraden said, “But it might not have helped, even if she had known. She can translate herself through flat glass. If she translated me, I’d lose my mind.”
“I understand,” said the mediator. “For that reason, you were required to cross Mordant on horseback. And you chose a road which took you to Sternwall and Romish.”
“Yes,” Geraden replied. “That’s how we happened to be at Vale House when the Queen was taken. We were trying to gather support for King Joyse – trying to get the Termigan and the Fayle to ride against Eremis.”
As briefly as possible, he told the story of the journey back to Orison, controlling his outrage at Eremis’ tactics as well as he could. Terisa listened to him for a while; gradually, however, her attention drifted. The room was growing darker as the sun set. A few hints of crimson still clung to the plumage on the walls, but most of the light was gone. Darkness accumulated against Orison. She didn’t want to remember pits of fire in the ground, or ghouls. She wanted to remember the Fayle.
The evening after the battle to save Naybel, sitting with her and Geraden in his camp, Queen Madin’s father had talked about King Joyse. With one hand clenched into a fist he couldn’t sustain, he had said, In all his years of warfare against Cadwal and Alend and Imagery, he has never asked a lord for aid when that lord’s Care was under attack. He came to me, freed my people. He did not ask me for any help until my Care was safe.
He will not ask me now. He has no wish to break my heart.
Terisa understood the Fayle better now. She grieved for him – for his losses, his inadequacy in the face of the ghouls – but she understood him. And she wanted to believe that he and the Termigan were doing the right thing by not riding to King Joyse’s support. By protecting their pieces.
I will not leave my people to die undefended.
She also wanted to believe that King Joyse wasn’t making a horrible mistake.
Then Geraden was done. He drank some of his wine and began to pick at his food as if his story had left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Well,” Master Barsonage muttered morosely. “Well. You have worked wonders to bring us this news, Geraden – my lady. But I am like other men in Orison, I suppose. I must admit that I had hoped to hear a more encouraging tale. We have all dreamed of the Perdon in vain. Annihilated, you said.” The mediator scowled. “And now we learn that any dreams we may have had of the Termigan or the Fayle are also in vain.
“King Joyse has chosen a bad time to disappear.”
“He didn’t choose it,” Artagel countered. “There aren’t any good times to have your wife abducted.”
“Do you believe,” Master Barsonage asked carefully, “that is where the King has gone? To rescue Queen Madin?”
Artagel’s confidence was greater than Terisa’s or Geraden’s. He said, “Of course.”
The mediator considered that for a moment. Then he said, “I hope you are right. I hope he is not simply cowering somewhere, overwhelmed by the consequences of his actions. To pursue the Queen at such a time may be foolish, but it is certainly understandable. “
Without waiting to debate the point, Barsonage rose to his feet. “I will leave you to your supper. I have no urgent need of food” – he slapped his girth – “and many other things to do. With your permission, Geraden, I will tell your story to the Congery.” Geraden nodded. “And to Castellan Norge.” Geraden nodded again. “And to the Tor. It will do us no good to march with false expectations of help.”
Geraden shrugged his assent.
“One other small matter,” the Master added before he reached the door. “Do you want a chasuble, Geraden? Do you, my lady? I am prepared to initiate you to the Congery whenever you wish.”
The proposal seemed curiously irrelevant to Terisa. When Geraden heard it, however, his face turned as crimson as the sunset. Master Barsonage had just offered him his life’s dream. The fact that he had tears in his eyes embarrassed him acutely.
“Later—” he murmured. “Maybe later.” Roughly, he rubbed his hands into his eyes; then he met the mediator’s gaze. “All I want right now is to stop Eremis.”
Master Barsonage accepted that answer. “My lady?”
Terisa shook her head. She had no desire to become a member of the Congery.
Still, she was glad to see that the mediator didn’t take her refusal as a reproach. He had too many other things on his mind. Saying only, “As you wish. We will see each other in the morning,” he let himself out of the room.
Terisa and Geraden and Artagel looked at each other.
She was starting to feel hungry, but that could wait a little longer. Reflections from the hearth continued to cast a red hue into Geraden’s face. Rising to her feet, she moved around behind his chair and put her hands on his shoulders. His muscles were hard, knotted like iron. A chasuble: his life’s dream. And now it didn’t make any difference. He didn’t need it. Deliberately, she dug her fingers into the knots, trying to massage them loose.
Artagel opened his mouth like a man who intended to say something facetious, perhaps at the mediator’s expense; but his brother forestalled him. “Now it’s your turn,” Geraden said, still struggling to regain his composure. “I want you to tell us everything that happened while we were away.”
“ ‘Everything’?”
Terisa felt a tremor under her hands which wasn’t audible in Geraden’s voice. Acerbically, he returned, “Leave out the part where you refused to eat all your vegetables and drank too much wine. And terrorized the serving girls. Tell us the rest.”
For a moment, Artagel chuckled, but there was no mirth in him now. Drawling to soften his tone, he warned, “You aren’t going to like it.”
“I know that already.” Slowly, Geraden’s trembling eased. “If I thought I was going to like it, I’d eat first. But I don’t think I can stand it on a full stomach.”
Terisa rumpled his hair, kissed the top of his head. Then she went back to her chair.
“Castellan Lebbick,” she said, as if she had the strength to mention his name without panic or outrage; without sorrow. “Tell us what happened to him.”
Artagel nodded stiffly in the gloom. He refilled his goblet as if he needed courage; however, he didn’t drink.
As well as he could, he told Lebbick’s story.
Along the way, of course, he mentioned Saddith. He discussed his own efforts to persuade Master Barsonage that Eremis was a traitor. He sketched the extent of Eremis’ popularity after the refilling of the reservoir. He described the Tor’s long drunkenness, as well as King Joyse’s sudden interest in swordsmanship. He detailed the progress of the siege – and of the defense of Orison, by Adept Havelock as well as by the guard.