There: it was acknowledged in front of everyone that he and Elega had known Myste was alive, known she was with Darsint. The information brought a speculative frown to Geraden’s face as he drew inferences; it turned Terisa’s cheeks alternately pale and hot – relief at Myste’s safety, anger that Myste’s safety had been kept secret.
King Joyse wasn’t offended, however. “In other words, my lord Prince,” he retorted, suppressing a desire to laugh, “you decided to respect my position because you were given reason to believe it might be stronger than it appeared.” Away from Myste, he had resumed his more formal style of speech. “That was wise – as well as courageous. While honest admissions are being made, I will admit in my turn that I have often suspected your father of wisdom.” His eyes glinted with momentary mischief. “His courage, however, came as a pleasant surprise.
“Unfortunately,” he went on promptly, speaking now to the group around his standard, “we will be in battle again at any moment, and before that moment comes I must say that my position is also weaker than it appears.”
Facing the champion, he asked, “How should I address you?”
The champion frowned. “You mean name or rank? I’m Darsint, First Battle-Officer, Unified Expeditionary Force cruiser Scourge.”
“Darsint,” King Joyse pronounced. “Your offer of aid is very welcome. I need it badly. I doubt, however, that I will ever be able to help you.”
Darsint’s frown deepened.
Instinctively, Elega caught her breath. What was her father doing now? Yet a glance at Myste reassured her: Myste appeared grave, but undistressed. Geraden was nodding slowly, as if to confirm what King Joyse said. Terisa seemed to be watching the foot of the valley distractedly, expecting harm.
“I am sure,” King Joyse explained, “my daughter has told you that you were brought here by translation – by mirror. But the glass responsible for your presence was broken.” Perhaps tactfully, he didn’t mention that Darsint himself had broken it. “In addition, the only mirror we had which resembled that glass has also been shattered, by the enemies we now confront. As a result, I have no immediate aid to offer.
“I doubt that Master Gilbur can be persuaded to reveal how your mirror was made. Geraden is therefore our only hope.” King Joyse didn’t look at Geraden. “And I do not doubt that he will be able to reshape his mirror exactly, if we are victorious – if he is given time and peace.”
Geraden continued nodding.
“But that only raises another difficulty,” went on the King, “which is time itself. Our mirrors show Images of place, not of person. And the Images can be adjusted only over relatively small distances. Once Geraden has reshaped his glass, we will have the power to return you, not to your people or your home, but only to the place where you were found.
“How many days have passed since you were forced among us? And how many more will pass before Geraden is given time and peace? Will your ‘cruiser’ – will this Scourge – remain where it was, waiting for you?”
“Pythas,” Darsint muttered darkly. “God-rotting piece of real estate. Should have left it alone while we had the chance. UEF needs a staging-area in that sector – but nobody needs a staging-area that bad.”
King Joyse pursued his point. “Is it not more likely that your Scourge will be gone? that we will consign you to death among your enemies if we return you after so many days?”
“Shit, yes.” The champion appeared to be chewing his lip below the rim of his visor’s opening. “Pythians had us on the run when I got snatched. Plasma beams like I’ve never seen.” He indicated his damaged armor. “Scourge’ll be long gone.”
“So I can promise you nothing,” King Joyse concluded, “except that I will use you as hard as I can – and serve you as faithfully as I am able.
“Will you help us?”
Elega’s chest hurt for air, but she kept holding each breath as long as she could, hoping that her father’s candor wouldn’t drive Darsint away.
The champion didn’t take long to make up his mind. “Oh, well,” he sighed like a disappointed nightingale. “Myste warned me. She’s still the only friend I’ve got. And you’re her father. She thinks you’re worth saving.
“Too bad I can’t do it.” The twisting of his face resembled a grin; he may have been indulging in a piece of UEF humor. Elega wasn’t sure: his features were as hard to read as stone. “Weaker than I look. Like you. Handguns don’t have the range you need – or the capacity. There’s a limit to the number of people I can strangle personally. Can’t stop what you’ve got coming.” Inside his helmet, he nodded toward High King Festten’s army. “And my rifle’s about discharged—”
The blaring of the sackbut interrupted him.
At once, six catapults started winding back their arms.
Simultaneously, the war drums began to beat their rhythm into the valley.
With a sharp look in that direction, Elega saw the Cadwal front advancing, preparing itself to pour through the breaks in the ridge. Too soon: the King and his champion weren’t ready. And she hadn’t had a chance to learn how Myste and Darsint and the Termigan came to be here – how they came to be together.
“But I’m not helpless.” By degrees, it became more obvious that Darsint’s expression was intended as a smile. “Might have enough charge left to take care of those toys for you.” He gestured up at the siege engines. “Might even put a little God-rotting fear into your God-rotting enemies.”
He stopped as if he were waiting for someone to catch the joke and laugh.
After a moment, King Joyse did laugh – a short, hard chuckle, not of humor, but of recognition. “ ‘A little God-rotting fear.’ I like the sound of that. Someday you must explain ‘God-rotting’ to me. I suspect it is a phrase Castellan Lebbick would have enjoyed, if he had known it.
“Please do ‘take care of’ the catapults.” King Joyse considered the Cadwal position, the readiness of the engines. “As soon as possible.”
Still grinning that twisted, beaky grin, Darsint pulled his rifle off his back.
Involuntarily, a number of the guards and soldiers retreated a step.
Elega wished that Prince Kragen had dismounted, that he stood beside her. Like the Termigan, however, he stayed on his horse so that he could ride into battle at an instant’s notice.
The champion checked a blinking red light on his strange weapon, thumbed a button. “Range isn’t a problem.” When he spoke softly, his voice sounded more than ever like birdsong. “Not against wood. But I’d have to get closer – if I weren’t such a good shot.”
Elega distinctly saw him wink at Myste.
For some reason, his wink reminded her that he was responsible for the burn-scar on Myste’s cheek, the mark which seemed to transform Myste’s expression from dreamy romance to decisiveness.
The war drums picked up their pace.
Abruptly, Darsint raised the rifle to his shoulder, sighted along it.
During the space between one heartbeat and the next, his weapon let out a straight burst of fire.
Elega and Terisa and Geraden and everyone anywhere near the pennon turned in time to see one of the catapults catch the burst and fly to pieces. Chunks of timber and strands of rope sailed soundlessly off the rampart, shedding flames as they fell.
Elega thought she heard the hammering of the war drums falter. Maybe she had imagined it.