All right. Artagel couldn’t beat Gart this way. Actually, he couldn’t beat Gart at all. But he had to prolong the struggle as much as possible, had to buy time. Time was vital. So he needed some other way to fight. He had to start thinking like Geraden or Terisa, but not about Nyle, no, don’t think about Nyle, don’t give in to the darkness. He had to do something unexpected.
Something to ruffle Gart’s detachment.
Down in the depths of Artagel’s belly, a knot loosened, and he began to grin.
Geraden wasn’t grinning.
When Master Gilbur didn’t follow him, he wasn’t surprised. Just disappointed. He had no idea in the world what he would have done if the Master had chased him. Gilbur knew the stronghold, after all, and Geraden could never hope to beat him in a test of violence. But at least the hunchbacked Imager would have been away from the mirrors, unable for the moment to do King Joyse any more damage.
That hope had failed, of course. Instead of drawing Master Gilbur away, Geraden had in effect abandoned Terisa, left her to contend with Master Gilbur and Master Eremis and the arch-Imager alone.
Wonderful. The perfect climax to a perfect life. Now all he had to do was blunder into a squad of guards somewhere and get himself uselessly killed, and the story of his life would be complete.
Now it’s your turn, the Domne had said. Make us proud of you. Make what we’re doing worthwhile.
Geraden had succeeded brilliantly.
He couldn’t resist thinking like that. He had suffered too many accidents; the logic of mishap seemed irrefutable. Nevertheless he was too stubborn to accept defeat. He loved Terisa too much, and his brothers, and the King—
In the name of sanity, remember to call me “Da”.
As soon as he was sure Master Gilbur had given up the chase, he turned down a side passage and began to double back toward the Image-room.
Unacquainted with the stronghold, he spent several maddening moments hunting his way. Where were the guards? Surely Master Eremis had guards, servants of the High King if not of Eremis himself? Why hadn’t he encountered them already? At last, however, he reached another of the entrances to the Image-room.
From the entryway, he saw that Master Gilbur was the only one there.
Just for a moment, while his heart lurched in his chest and a cry struggled in his throat, he thought, Terisa Terisa! Master Eremis and Vagel had taken her to rape and torture her, just like Nyle, just like Nyle. He had to go after her, he had to find her, help her, he absolutely and utterly could not bear to let them destroy her.
At the same time, unfortunately, he noticed what Master Gilbur was doing.
The Imager had his back to Geraden. That was fortuitous. Plainly, he didn’t know or care what Geraden might do. He was carrying a glass out of the center of the ring of mirrors.
The flat mirror which showed Esmerel’s valley.
He was carrying it toward a mirror which stood in the direct, clean light from one of the windows. Sunshine illuminated the Image vividly.
The scene which the glass reflected swarmed with cockroaches.
Geraden remembered those creatures. They had nearly killed him, and Terisa, and Artagel. Nevertheless the horror of that memory gave way at once to a new dismay when Master Gilbur set the flat glass down before the other mirror and stepped back to consider his intentions.
In the flat mirror, Geraden saw King Joyse and Prince Kragen directly under the rearing jaws of the slug-beast.
They were engaged in a desperate struggle against huge numbers of red-furred creatures with too many arms holding too many scimitars.
The King and Prince Kragen weren’t alone: the Termigan was with them, and his men. They were covered with blood, battling furiously. Yet they couldn’t expect to survive against so many alien warriors. And if the red-furred creatures didn’t get them, the slug-beast would.
And Master Gilbur planned to translate a new threat into the fray. He was considering the focus of his mirrors so that he could move his flat glass in among the swarming cockroaches and translate them straight onto King Joyse’s head.
Lord of the Demesne. Sovereign of Mordant. And Geraden’s father’s friend.
Remember to call me “Da.”
Terisa needed him. He let her go. Once, hard, with both fists, he punched himself in the forehead.
Then he moved.
Swallowing panic and love and regret, he left the entryway and crept toward the ring of mirrors.
If Terisa could have seen him then, she would have recognized the iron in his face, the look of despair – and of brutal determination.
He was quiet; but he went quickly. To the mirrors he and Terisa had broken, to the cot leg he had dropped. Snatching up the club from a pool of splinters, he threw it with all his strength at the flat glass.
Unluckily, his boots crunched a warning among the shards and slivers; and Master Gilbur heard it. With astonishing swiftness, the Imager spun around, flung up his arm—
—deflected the cot leg.
It skimmed past the top of the mirror’s frame and skittered away across the stone, out of reach.
“Balls of a dog!” Gilbur spat. Already, he had his dagger in his fist; his face was a clench of darkness. “Do you never give up?”
Geraden heard the cot leg knock against the wall as if that sound were the last thud of his heart. Another failure: his last chance gone wrong. Now he wouldn’t be able to help King Joyse or Terisa, and they would both be lost. And if he didn’t escape now, his own death was inevitable. No matter what happened, he would never be able to outfight Master Gilbur.
Nevertheless the augury drew him. This was his fate, his doom. Instead of fleeing, he stepped forward, into the ring of mirrors, until he was surrounded entirely by mirrors, all of them reflecting scenes of violence and destruction against him.
There he stopped.
“Why should I give up?” he asked as if he were just making conversation. “Why should I want to make it easy for you?”
Master Gilbur snarled an obscenity. Cocking his dagger, he prepared to charge.
At once, Geraden barked, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
In surprise, the Master paused.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Geraden explained. “I don’t have anything else to hope for. Oh, I suppose I could run away. I could try to hide somewhere. You don’t seem to have any guards. I might be able to stay alive for a while. But I’ll never escape. I’ll never find Terisa.
“If you chase me, I’ll just break as many mirrors as I can before I die. You’ve already lost four. How many more are you willing to risk? Do you think there’s a chance I might be able to get them all?”
Obviously, Gilbur’s first impulse was to attack: that was plain in the way his teeth showed through his beard, the way his knuckles whitened on his dagger. Almost immediately, however, he appeared to grasp the other side of the situation. Someone was bound to come soon, and then Geraden was lost. In the meantime, why risk damage to years of powerful work?
Instead of charging, he lowered his blade.
“You are wrong, puppy,” he rasped. “We have guards. They will be here in a moment.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Geraden fought to keep any hint of relief out of his voice. Time: that was all he wanted. A respite for King Joyse. A chance for something to happen. “I’m sure you have them, plenty of them. But I’ll bet they’re all outside, protecting this place just in case someone tries a sneak attack. Watching the defile. You and Eremis and Vagel are so stupidly sure of yourselves, you never expected to be attacked from inside.”