Then, because he wanted to see how far he could goad the Imager, he asked, “Where’s Gart?”
Master Gilbur’s eyebrows knotted involuntarily. “Do not look behind you, pigshit boy. He may be there already. He has gone to fetch your dear brother Nyle – who, I may say, has given me considerable pleasure during his visit here.”
The flat mirror’s Image showed the great monster writhing in a paroxysm of rage and hunger.
“I don’t think so,” Geraden repeated. Nyle. He wanted to laugh so that he wouldn’t do anything foolish, wouldn’t go mad and try to attack the Imager; but he could barely keep himself from snarling. “Terisa and I already rescued Nyle. We did that first. If Gart isn’t here, the men we brought with us must have got him.” If Gart isn’t here, Artagel must still be alive, still be fighting. “Or else High King Festten has plans he hasn’t told you about. You must have noticed that his reputation for treachery is older than you are.”
Unfortunately, Master Gilbur was able to laugh. “Pure vapor,” he rasped with a guttural chuckle. “Mist and moonshine.” He took a couple of nonthreatening steps, not toward Geraden, but to the side, away from the flat glass and the cockroaches. “You have not rescued Nyle – you do not know where he is. The room where I have enjoyed him is kept dark. You have never seen it. Therefore you could not find it, or translate him away.
“Gart will join us soon.”
“Believe that if you can,” retorted Geraden. He believed it; and the thought made all his muscles feel as weak as water. Yet he kept his gaze and his voice steady. “Just tell me one thing. Those red-furred creatures.” They continued pouring around King Joyse and the Prince, hacking savagely. The Termigan’s men and Norge’s appeared vastly outnumbered. And the slug-beast—“You didn’t just translate them this morning, did you? How did you get them mounted? How did you get them to serve you?”
The slug-beast had reared up as if it strove to stand on its tail.
“No, we did not,” conceded Master Gilbur maliciously. “In that, at least, you are right. Those things – they call themselves callat. Eremis has worked with them at some length. They have become what you might consider his ‘personal guard.’ A complex and difficult negotiation was required before he agreed to commit his callat to Festten’s support.”
Too late, Geraden realized what the Imager was doing.
In the flat mirror, the rearing monster came down like a tower, crashed straight and limp to the ground. Its maw seemed to miss King Joyse and Prince Kragen; some of the callat were caught by its weight and crushed. But through the glass the reverberation of impact had no sound. And the beast made no effort to surge forward, devour more prey. It lay still with a strange curl of smoke rising between its teeth.
Master Gilbur reached one of the other mirrors in the ring.
He grasped its frame with his free hand, began snarling nonsense.
Out of the glass, like shot from a catapult, came hurtling a gnarled, black shape, no larger than a small dog, with claws like hooks at the ends of its four limbs and terrible jaws which filled half its body.
Master Eremis did like surprises. In a sense, he even liked unpleasant surprises. They raised the stakes, increased the challenge: they made him show what he could do. But there was nothing unpleasant about Terisa’s unexpected arrival – or Geraden’s either, for that matter. Master Gilbur could handle Geraden. And Terisa was beaten. He had seen her defeat in her eyes, had seen the light of intelligence and determination start to fade. She was his at last, his, and every spark of resistance left to her would only increase the fun of possessing her.
As he directed her toward his private quarters, watching from behind the way her hips moved inside her uncomplimentary garments, remembering the sweet shape and curve of her breasts, and the particular silken sensation between her legs, he thought that she would be more satisfying than any woman he had ever destroyed.
Saddith’s death had been satisfying, of course: deft, inescapable, and almost infinitely clever. Nevertheless it had lacked the personal touch. He hadn’t destroyed her himself; he had only arranged events so that she would suffer and die. On the unfortunately frequent occasions when he had found it necessary to make love to her, the exigencies of his plans had required him to treat her gently, almost kindly, so that she would believe he might help further her social ambitions. He was man enough, however, to meet even her boring tastes in fornication. And with Terisa there would be no limits—Nothing would inhibit the extravagant flavors of pain and debasement he meant to elicit from her.
He felt so primed and poised that he could hardly refrain from dancing as he followed her toward his rooms.
Obedient to his will, she entered his quarters and stopped in the center of the one, big chamber where he had his bed, his instruments of enjoyment, and his copy of the flat mirror which showed how matters progressed in the valley of Esmerel.
There King Joyse and Prince Kragen were about to go down under a tide of callat. Or they would be driven within reach of the monster rearing impressively over them.
Good. In fact, perfect. Eremis would like watching his enemies die while Terisa wept and wailed.
“Remove your clothes,” he told her, enjoying the harshness of his tone. “You have evaded me too long, and the recompense I demand has grown correspondingly large.” If he took off his own clothes, she would see just how large it was. “Nakedness is the very least of the gifts your fine body will give me today.”
Sunlight came from a series of windows along one wall, where he occasionally let men stand to observe his exercises. Today, of course, everyone was busy with battle or guard duty; but he was glad to have his victory to himself. Outside was only a rugged hillside, a freedom Terisa would never reach. The whole stronghold was austere, and he hadn’t had time to procure rugs. But the sun warmed the chill of the stone floors, shedding brightness over his victim and the mirror.
She didn’t obey. And she didn’t pay any attention to the windows; as far as he could tell, she didn’t notice them at all. Instead, she turned to the glass, as if it had more power over her than anything else did.
For the first time since they had left the Image-room, he saw her face.
Perhaps she wasn’t beaten after all. Something in her conveyed a definite sense of evaporation, as if she were on the borderline of disappearing. Her expression was slack; her eyes, vaguely focused. And yet he also seemed to see something else, something secretive and wonderfully enticing. It may have been a covert hope: the hope, perhaps, that she could shift the Image in the mirror (but of course that wouldn’t do anything to help either her or King Joyse); or the hope that Eremis would foolishly give her the chance to translate him away (but to do that she would have to physically thrust him toward the glass, and he was stronger than she was, much stronger); or the hope that she could use the mirror to escape herself (but he had no intention of giving her the opportunity).
Or maybe she was nourishing a hidden and hopeless desire to do him harm.
Whatever she concealed, it was exactly the spice he coveted. For a moment, he let her disobey him simply because he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her gently or tear her clothes apart.
Studying the mirror, she asked in a thin, disinterested tone, “Where did you get those creatures? The ones that attacked Geraden and me. How did you get them to serve you?”
Master Eremis was happy to answer her. “The callat. They were a fortuitous discovery – as all things are fortuitous for men who can master life. They were first discovered among Vagel’s Imagers in Cadwal, but no use was made of them. Apparently, every faction in Carmag feared that they might prove to be a decisive force – for someone else. However, after I had redeemed Vagel from his tenuous exile among the Alend Lieges, he remembered the formula and shaped a new mirror.