He brought his charger directly to Terisa and Geraden, did a curvet that nearly knocked them down; then he settled his mount. “You gave me good advice,” he said loudly, so that everyone could hear the lord of Termigan approach as close as he was able to an apology. “I should have listened sooner.”
Geraden laughed again. “You listened soon enough, my lord Termigan.”
The lord’s flinty features almost grinned as he withdrew to let King Joyse and Prince Kragen speak.
The Prince didn’t seem particularly interested in speaking. He had already jumped off his horse to embrace Elega; he was too busy hugging her to think about anything else for a while.
From horseback, regally, King Joyse faced Terisa and Geraden, Artagel and Nyle.
“You have a story,” he said, “which I am eager to hear. For the moment, however, tell me only the result. What have you accomplished?”
“My lord King,” replied Artagel at once, “the High King’s Monomach is dead.”
“And Master Gilbur is dead,” Geraden said.
A moment later, he added, “Adept Havelock has killed the arch-Imager Vagel.”
Terisa cleared her throat. She wanted to say, What about Nyle? Can’t you see what happened to him? He needs help.
But the King’s blue gaze held her; the memory of horns held her. As well as she could, she said, “Master Eremis looked at his own Image in a flat mirror. I don’t think he’s going to bother you anymore.”
King Joyse’s smile was as bright and cleansing as the warm sunlight and the ineffable sky.
When he looked at Nyle, however, his smile went away.
He dismounted; he strode toward Nyle sternly, like a sovereign with a traitor to punish.
Then he stopped.
Instead of speaking harshly, he murmured, “Nyle, forgive me.”
Nyle’s face twisted helplessly. “Forgive—? My lord King, I betrayed you.”
“Yes!” King Joyse retorted at once. “You betrayed me – as my daughter Elega betrayed me – as the Congery betrayed me. And because I was betrayed this victory became possible. Everything you did against me, you did out of love and honor. And for that reason everything you did played its part in the saving of my realm. You betrayed me to do Mordant good, Nyle. I failed you. I failed to see your importance, your worth, when my esteem would have been to your benefit.
“I could not have protected you from hurt. But I could have helped you place a higher value on yourself.”
Nyle tried to answer; there may have been a number of things he wanted to say. But he couldn’t control his weeping.
Both Artagel and Geraden put their arms around him.
King Joyse turned away to address everyone within earshot.
“Nyle has suffered,” he announced in tone both grim and elated, sorry and glad. “Do you hear me? He is not a traitor. He has suffered as the Perdon suffered, and as the Tor suffered, and Castellan Lebbick, because his love is strong and he did not understand.”
As he spoke, his voice carried farther and farther, until it reached the walls and the armies, the men of Mordant and Alend and Cadwal throughout the valley.
“A great many good men have suffered and died, among them Master Quillon, who served my purposes when I could risk them with no one else, and Castellan Norge, who served Orison and Mordant and all of you with his life. And with their pain they have purchased a victory which we could not have gained otherwise.
“Remember that they were hurt for us! Remember that we have freedom and victory and life because of them!
“And because all of you fought like heroes!
“Now the world is ours, and we must heal it. From this day, let us make our world a place of peace.”
When he finished, the cheering went on for a long time.
After the wounded had been cared for as well as the circumstances allowed, and the men of the three armies had been fed by supplies translated from Orison, King Joyse ordered all of High King Festten’s captains, in addition to his own and Prince Kragen’s, to join him while he heard the tales Terisa and Geraden, Artagel and Nyle had to tell. He asked the Prince and Elega, Myste and Darsint to describe what they had done. He told his own story again, so that his actions would be as widely understood as possible. Then he returned the Cadwal captains to their men.
He sent several hundred of his guards to find and subdue Master Eremis’ stronghold. And he sent other riders to go among the hills, announcing to any hidden or belligerent Cadwals the same amnesty he offered the men who had surrendered: return to their homes or not, join him or not, as they chose, without fear of being hunted down or coerced. King Joyse feared no one and intended to shed no more blood.
Then the Congery began producing hogsheads of ale and casks of wine, and everyone who remained in the valley of Esmerel was invited to the King’s celebration.
That night in the Care of Tor there was no more fighting.
EPILOGUE: CROWNING THE PIECES
Some time later, as spring turned toward summer, Terisa and Geraden rode out of Orison to the stand of trees among the hills where they had first been attacked by callat – where the horsemen of her dream had first appeared to her in the wrong guise, just as they had later come to her in the wrong place, doing the wrong things.
The late cold and snow which had hampered the march to Esmerel had done considerable damage to fruit trees and flowers and early vegetables across the Demesne and the Care of Tor; but there were no signs of chill-blight here. The trees were rich green and elegant, shading the long grass beneath them with easy sweetness; and through the grass wildflowers peeped like delicate and unexpected possibilities. A low breeze ruffled the foliage enough to make the trees murmur, keep the air cool; not enough to disturb the tranquility of the place.
Terisa had brought Geraden there because she wanted to hear horns again. She had a decision to make, and she thought that the keen music which had once lifted her out of herself in a dream, opening her heart to him and King Joyse and Mordant, would help her.
That dream had been a strange kind of augury, at once accurate and misleading: false on both occasions when it had been fulfilled, and somehow true in conflation, as if each occasion had contributed a piece of the truth.
Nevertheless she would have liked to have another dream to go by, an Image reflected in a mirror made of the pure sand of dreams. She needed a sense of direction, of purpose; a hint to guide her.
She had to decide whether to stay where she was. Or to return to her former life.
Geraden was being studiously, almost grimly noncommittal. She would have liked to hear him ask her to stay: that, too, might have helped. But he was determined to respect her wishes, bring no pressure to bear on her decision. Oh, he wanted her to stay; she knew that. But he also wanted her to be happy. He had always been that way, caught up in what she needed or wanted, instinctively willing to let her lead him. And the stronger he became, the more confidence he gained, the less he demanded for himself.
Her happiness wasn’t something he could achieve by asking her to subordinate her desires to his own.
Unfortunately, his determination to let her reach her own decision only seemed to make the decision itself more difficult.
She wanted to hear horns.
The woods held a gentle music of their own, but it wasn’t the call which thrilled her spirit, the potent blend of melody and hunting. The wildflowers bobbed their heads in the light breeze, nodding to her as if they understood, but revealing nothing. She thought of her former life as a struggle between Reverend Thatcher and her father – a battle to help the ruined and destitute of the world against rapacity and unconcern, against men who inflicted misery for their own benefit simply because they were able to do so. And the more strength Reverend Thatcher showed, the more she wanted to help him.