Стивен Дональдсон - The Mirror of Her Dreams

Terisa’s emotions were in an alarming muddle. Her relief that he had tried to send word to her lasted only a moment. It was replaced almost at once by the sense that the information came too late. It didn’t change anything after all. She had made her commitment without him – had put herself on Geraden’s side. And not just by default: not just because the Apt was present and Master Eremis was absent. She had chosen Geraden because to distrust him – to spy on him, to betray him, as the Master had demanded – was intolerable. If only Eremis had come to her sooner. She bit her lip to try to keep her distress from showing on her face.

Still smiling, he studied her narrowly. After a moment, he said, “Saddith is of no importance, however. I will dispense with her to please you. You asked about my family.”

She nodded dumbly, hanging on every word he said while her heart hurt.

“It is a small family. Esmerel is a small estate, though beautiful. My grandfather was a man of high intelligence – and even higher refinement. He had an exceptional understanding of both knowledge and pleasure. And he dabbled in Imagery. In truth, one of our family legends is that he was acquainted with the arch-Imager Vagel. Of course, that was before the wars for Mordant, during which the arch-Imager went into High King Festten’s service.

“Unhappily, my grandfather had but one son, and that one son was a lout. Beauty and refinement were as blank as stone walls to him. He understood nothing except violence – and the pleasures of violence. When he came into possession of Esmerel, he spent years debauching its beauties as well as himself. Then he became a petty brigand to preserve some semblance of wealth in his ‘ancestral seat.’

“The accidental result of his debauchery was that he had three sons. The first was an exact duplicate of himself – therefore much loved. The second was a bit smaller, a bit less muscular, and a bit more cunning – therefore tolerable.

“I was the third.”

The Master’s voice was part of his spell. Terisa expected him to move toward her. The way he studied her made her feel that he was moving toward her. Her pain seemed to hypnotize her. But he remained motionless beside the bed.

“Fortunately,” he observed, “I was a good deal stronger than I looked. To all appearances, I was the runt of the litter, and my father despised me accordingly. For that reason, my brothers sought to earn his approval by tormenting me.” He spoke calmly, but the glint in his eyes was as calm as a hatchet. “On one occasion, I recall, they locked me in a wooden shed and set it afire to see what I would do.”

Breathing through parted lips as if she were rapt – or appalled – she asked, “What did you do?”

He chuckled. “I tricked them. I was no heir to Esmerel, but I was my grandfather’s heir in intelligence. Before I was old enough to be afraid, I was clever enough to protect myself. And soon I learned that the surest protection was to turn them all against each other. So I set out to teach each of them that he needed my help against the others. With a little judicious prodding, I was able to make them do whatever I wished.”

Drawn by what he described – things that must have been acutely painful, things that reminded her of closets and fading – she took a step toward him. “What did you make them do?”

He betrayed a glint of anticipation. “I made them all good citizens of the Care of Tor. I tamed my brothers. I deprived my father of his debaucheries. And I made them restore the resources of knowledge which Esmerel had once boasted, so that I could claim my grandfather’s true inheritance. It was his interest and researches that led me into Imagery.

“Since leaving Esmerel, I have done what I can to keep my family from bestiality. But a distance of two days’ ride seems like the world to men like them. I regret that there was nothing I could do to prevent the altercation that left my father’s firstborn dead.” His manner suggested that his regret wasn’t especially profound.

She took another step. His pale gaze seemed to be devouring her. “You came to claim me. What do you want me to do?”

He opened his hands as if to show her their strength. “Take off your robe.”

She touched her sash as a giddy acquiescence swept through her. But she shook it away. “I mean after that. What do you want me to do for Mordant?”

“Why must there be an ‘after that’?” he countered. “I will content your womanhood in ways you have not dreamed.”

In a small voice, she insisted, “I want to help you. I want to help Mordant.”

“Very well.” As though he were confident that she already knew and had accepted the answer, he replied, “Together, we will persuade Castellan Lebbick and the Congery that Geraden has betrayed us.”

When he said that, her heart gave a lurch – and then her courage was gone, as if he had kicked out the bottom of her spirit. Geraden? Was he back to Geraden? Still arguing that Geraden was in league with Gilbur and Vagel? Or did he have some new accusation to level against her only friend? She barely had the fortitude to ask, “What has he done?”

“Done? What has he not done? Has he not convinced you that I am a traitor?”

She shook her head.

“Then he is wiser than I thought. You would have become suspicious of him if he had tried to turn you against me.”

The Master considered her for a moment, then said, “Because he has been wise, you will probably not believe that he arranged to leave you alone in the bazaar so that Gart could attack you. You will probably not believe that his failure to stop Elega was no accident.”

She stared at him in frank horror.

“Those are subtle points,” he went on. “I grant it is difficult to credit him with such subtlety. But I will tell you something you must believe. Cadwal is marching. Have you never asked yourself why Cadwal is marching? Have you never wondered why High King Festten feels he must attack now?”

Terisa didn’t reply. Her mind was blank with dismay. A new accusation. New reasons to believe that the only man who cared about her and encouraged her and stayed with her was a traitor.

“In the ordinary course of events,” Eremis explained, “the High King’s spies must have told him that Alend was coming to Orison. What would he do?” His voice was like the wind, growing harsher as it filled the room. Light from the hearth made his face unnaturally ruddy. “On one side is the risk that Orison might fall, giving the Congery into the Alend Monarch’s hands. But with Castellan Lebbick – if not our good King – defending the castle, that is unlikely. On the other side is the certainty that the forces of Perdon would be drawn to Orison’s support. Alend and Mordant might easily cripple each other in that battle – and then everything the High King wants could be taken almost without cost. Why did he not wait for his enemies to destroy each other?

“I will tell you why, my lady.” The Master made a short, brutal gesture with both hands. “He did not wait because he knew of Elega’s intentions. He knew our danger was greatly increased by the fact that Orison would be betrayed from within by Prince Kragen’s allies.

“Think, woman. How could High King Festten have known that Orison would be betrayed to Alend? By Imagery, his Monomach can enter or leave the castle – although how this is done remains a mystery. But access to our halls does not give him access to our secrets. Who but a traitor would tell Gart that Elega meant to poison the reservoir, depriving us of water and exposing us to summary defeat?”

“No,” Terisa murmured. She wanted to collapse into a chair. “No.”

Master Eremis ignored her protest. “And who but Geraden knew the danger?”