“Of course,” she breathed. “Why did I not see it for myself?” At once, she returned to her chair. Smiling so beautifully that she wrung Elega’s heart, she said, “Very well. Ask me something specific.”
Elega gaped at her – gaped like a fish until Myste started laughing.
Elega couldn’t help herself; she was suddenly so full of joy and relief and confusion that she laughed herself.
After a while, Myste subsided. “Ah, Elega, we have not done that together since we were girls.”
Mocking her own dignity, Elega replied primly, “Do not be arrogant, child. You are hardly old enough yet to be called a woman.”
Myste chuckled happily. For a moment, the only thing that prevented her from looking like the Myste Elega remembered – romantic and dear, vaguely foolish, not to be taken seriously – was the scar on her cheek.
But that scar changed everything. It made the new Myste impossible to ignore or forget. She inspired a rush of confusion in Elega.
“Myste, where were you? Where did you go? Why did you go? And those clothes. What have you been doing all this time?”
“Elega,” Myste protested humorously, “I said, ‘Ask me something specific.” But then she sighed, and slowly the laughter faded from her face. “Well, I will tell you.” Her expression became one Elega didn’t know how to interpret: sober and contemplative; a little sad; a little excited. “If you do not take it well, however, there will be trouble for us all.
“I left Orison to search for the Congery’s champion.”
Elega was so surprised that she cried, “You did what?“ before she could catch herself.
The Myste Elega used to know would have flinched or blushed; she might have hung her head or sounded defensive. The new Myste did none of these things. She only raised her head slightly, squared her jaw a bit, and repeated, “I left Orison to search for the Congery’s champion.”
A moment later, she added, “Terisa helped me.”
Take it well. Elega didn’t want to make a fool of herself, so she stared at her sister and said nothing.
“I went from her rooms through the secret passages down to the breach he made in the wall. It was not very well guarded then, so I was able to escape without being seen. From there, I followed his trail in the snow.”
Elega stared, waiting for Myste to say or do something that made sense.
“Eventually,” Myste continued, “I caught up with him. He was hurt, not able to move quickly. In fact, he was down in the snow, bleeding his life into his armor.
“I startled him – he thought he was being attacked again.” Myste’s tone remained mild and firm. “He fired at me.” She touched her cheek. “Fortunately, he did little harm. Then he saw that I was a woman, and dropped his weapon. I was able to approach him.”
Elega forced herself to blink her eyes, clear her throat, shake some of the astonishment out of her head. Carefully, she said, “Go back to the beginning. Tell me why.”
“Why?” Myste’s gaze drifted into the distance. “Why not? There were so many reasons. There was Father’s strange decline, his impulse to destruction – and our helplessness, which I enjoyed no more than you did. There was Terisa, who faced a world she did not know or understand with more courage and resourcefulness than I could find in myself. And there was the dishonesty of the Congery’s action.”
“ ‘Dishonesty’?” objected Elega. “The Masters were trying to defend Mordant. The translation of their champion was the only action they could have taken that might have aided us.”
“No.” Myste was certain. “I will not speak of the ethical question – whether it is ever permissible to impose an involuntary translation on any living thing. But the Masters were not honest with themselves. They claim that they translated their champion in response to Mordant’s need, trying to find the hope of their auguries – but how did they expect him to react to what they did? He was injured – he and all his men were embattled for their lives – and suddenly he found himself in another world.” Her voice took on a hint of passion. “What could he think? Surely he could think nothing except that this change was yet another attack by his enemies.
“If the Masters had been honest, they would have admitted that the only way such a champion could ever become an ally of theirs was if they approached him peacefully, unthreateningly, rather than playing upon his instinct for violence.”
In some ways, Elega found Myste’s argument as surprising as her previous revelations. What she said seemed perfectly clear, eminently logical. Elega wasn’t accustomed to hearing her sister reason in such terms.
“I never thought of it that way,” she admitted. Then she added almost accusingly, “But you did. And you decided to do something about it.”
Myste shrugged as if to dismiss the suggestion that she had shown bravery or initiative. “The Fayle attempted to warn Father of the Masters’ intention. When Father permitted that translation to take place, I realized that if I remained where I was and did nothing I would begin to hate him. And when I conceived the idea of trying to help the champion, my heart lifted.”
Speaking dryly to control herself, Elega said, “So you put on your warm clothes and went out into a hard winter for the sake of a warrior who might kill you as soon as he saw you. For no reason, really, except that you felt sorry for him.”
A small smile touched Myste’s lips.
“And you found him and helped him. How was that possible? Was he a man inside his armor?”
“Oh, yes. Different in little ways – but very much like us. Like us in everything that matters.”
To Elega’s renewed amazement, Myste blushed. Myste hurried on promptly, however.
“Like Terisa, he speaks our language – perhaps because of the translation. His name is Darsint,” she commented by the way. “His instructions enabled me to get him from his armor and tend his wound. His weapon made a fire for us easily, and I had food.
“Since then, we have been together, hiding when we can, fleeing when we must. Shelter and even food have been simple to find in abandoned villages and farms—”
“And since the army’s arrival,” Elega interrupted, speaking in a rush to catch up with the implications of what her sister revealed, “you have been watching us. Together – you and the Congery’s champion. You said it took you several days to persuade yourself to come to me. It was not you you had to persuade, it was him. You are his knowledge, his guide.”
Inspired by the fire of ideas in her head, she paused to say, “His lover.” The mind which aims the weapon. Then she sped on.
“That is the decision you have had to make. You are companion to the mightiest man in any of the kingdoms. He loves you – he is dependent on you. And you must decide how to use his power.”
Now it was Myste’s turn to stare. Unable to contain her sudden, urgent hope, Elega swept out of her chair to confront her sister. “Myste, you must help us.
“All that force, all that strength, only waiting to be used. Oh, my sister, why have you delayed? You can bring this siege to an end almost without effort. Do you not understand what must be done? We must take Orison. We must put an end to the King’s foolish resistance, so that the battle against Mordant’s true enemies can begin while the realm and the Congery remain intact.”
“No, Elega.” Myste came to her own feet swiftly, met Elega’s passion face to face. “It is you who do not understand.” Her scar made her look fiery and unanswerable. “The question I have sought to resolve is not whether I should help you, but whether I should help Orison against you.
“The Alend forces are too large for even a man with Darsint’s weapons to combat alone. Also his strength goes from him with every use. The word he uses is ‘recharged.’ His weapons cannot be ‘recharged’ in this world. For that reason, we must be cautious. Nevertheless I have been thinking long and hard about the damage he could do to the Alend Monarch’s army. The truth is that I have only held back because of your presence – and because of Prince Kragen’s inaction.”