A Man Rides Through (118 page)

This arrangement had been Joyse's idea, but Margonal had accepted it readily enough. He was learning to understand the way his old enemy thought. And he had ideas of his own—

Blind, weary, content—and unwilling to face the rigors of a second journey to Orison—the Alend Monarch had sent his new Contender to stand in his place at the wedding: a man who now could claim precedence over everyone in Orison except King Joyse and Queen Madin, because of his position as Margonal's representative and potential successor.

The new Alend Contender was Nyle.

Arriving for the ceremony, he still appeared perplexed and a bit daunted by his circumstances. But when Kragen had been installed as High Regent in Carmag, Margonal had needed another Contender; and the Alend Monarch had sensed in Nyle a man with a newborn but almost ferocious instinct for caution. Caution, the Monarch had declared, was the fundamental requirement for anyone who meant to rule over Scarab and the Alend Lieges. Kragen had shown himself altogether too prone to risks, and Margonal wished to replace him with someone who lacked that flaw.

Nyle had refused the honor—or the responsibility—at first. He didn't deserve it, he wasn't worthy. Eventually, however, King Joyse had confronted him with a royal command, and he had felt himself forced to acquiesce.

The reports which King Joyse had since received from the Alend Monarch indicated that Nyle was proving to be exactly the Contender Margonal wanted, despite his self-distrust.

Behind the Alend Contender, and behind the High Regent and his Consort, stood Castellan Darsint and his new bride, the lady Myste.

King Joyse and Queen Madin would have gladly combined the marriage of Darsint and Myste with that of Terisa and Geraden; but Darsint had flatly declined a public ceremony. On the other hand, he hadn't hesitated to accept the place of Castellan.

Chains of command, the procurement of supplies, the movement and housing of men and animals, discipline and defense: these were things the Congery's champion understood in his bones. And his role in the battle of Esmerel gave him an enormous personal credibility which carried him past the uncertain days while he was learning his new job. In addition, he had Myste's advice and support; and despite (or perhaps because of) her "romantic notions" she had a sense of practical ethics which tempered and guided his authoritarian instincts.

After the Castellan and his lady, the lords of the Cares were arranged in an order of precedence which depended solely on the parts they—or their predecessors—had played in the King's war. First were the Tor, the Perdon, and the Termigan; next, the Fayle and the Domne; last, the Armigite.

The new Tor was one of the old lord's younger sons—in fact, the only one of his sons who wanted the position. But the old Perdon had died without children; and his widow had positively refused to look at the prospect of being the first female lord in Mordant's history as anything except a cruel burden. "You have lost me my husband and my friends, my lord King," she had protested harshly. "Will you now deprive me of quiet as well?" So King Joyse, with a glint in his eyes which occasionally suggested humor, and occasionally malice, had named Artagel as the Perdon.

Artagel's protests had been considerably louder than those of the old lord's widow; but King Joyse had only smiled and insisted, glinting. And at last, in exasperation, he had snapped, "Be reasonable, Artagel. You can't be the best swordsman in Mordant for the rest of your life. The years won't let you. And those scars are never going to be as resilient as whole flesh and muscle. It's about time you had something else to do."

So Artagel had relented with an ill grace which had gradually faded as he realized that his new position in Scarping made it possible for him to have a home—and maybe even a family?—of his own at last.

As for the Termigan, everyone had expected him to refuse to attend the wedding, not out of any animosity, but simply because he was too busy rebuilding Sternwall. Nevertheless he had not only come, but he had come politely. Furthermore, he had brought with him an entire wainload of Rostrum wine as a marriage present: a gift which some people considered fit for a King; altogether too fine for mere Geraden and Terisa.

The Domne and the Fayle came next, old friends pleased in each other's company. But of Geraden's family no one else had made the trip to Orison: Tholden was consumed with the task of laying out and constructing a new Houseldon; Wester didn't enjoy travel; Minick couldn't leave his shy wife; Stead couldn't spare the time from his other pursuits. No one had accompanied the Domne except Quiss. Forthright and irrefusable as always, she had claimed that he couldn't hope to make the journey without someone to take care of him. Upon arriving in Orison, however, she had made it clear that her real reason for coming was to see Terisa and Geraden again, and to hear about everything they had done, and to give them the benefit of her advice.

The Domne himself didn't seem to feel compelled to give anyone advice. On the other hand, he was so happy and proud that he made Geraden's face shine and gave Terisa the glad impression that the whole family was present in the old lord's person.

Last of the lords came the Armigite, remarkably subdued in his manner and dress, miserable in his isolation. After the battle of Esmerel, everyone who spoke to King Joyse—in fact, everyone in Orison—had an opinion concerning how the Armigite should be treated. Among them, the Alend Monarch had counseled leniency: after all, the Armigite's imprecise loyalties had allowed the Alend army to reach Orison intact, with obvious (if unforeseen) benefits for both Alend and Mordant. In contrast, Darsint had recommended beheading: treachery deserved death. At last, however, King Joyse had settled on the worst punishment of all: he had decided to do nothing; to treat the Armigite as if his worse offenses were so trivial that they weren't worth noticing.

The Armigite spent most of his time before and after the festivities trying to get someone to talk to him; but no one was willing to be bothered.

Below and beside King Joyse sat Adept Havelock, in a place of honor—and of discretion, as well, a place from which he could withdraw easily if necessary. Since the battle of Esmerel, he seemed to have settled comfortably into his role as the madman of Orison. No longer obsessed by the need for lucidity, he had become able to relax and enjoy himself in odd ways. As a result, his madness appeared to grow more benign, driving him to fewer extremes, permitting him more satisfaction.

He never spoke of his struggle with the arch-Imager, never told how he had beaten Vagel. And he never explained why he had chosen to risk everything in personal combat with Vagel, instead of simply translating his old enemy and Eremis and Gilbur to Orison, as Terisa had intended. If anyone asked him a question, however, any question at all, he often replied with a complete, clear, and quite inappropriate description of everything he and King Joyse had done to meet Mordant's need.

So the celebration went forward, full of music and orations, dancing and wine, vows and homage. On the Congery's behalf, Master Barsonage rejected any unseemly ostentation for the Masters. For himself, however, he claimed the right to stand as Terisa's father during the ceremony. Happy and fustian in a remarkably red robe, he accompanied Terisa through the formalities, and made speeches on her behalf, and generally behaved as if he were as proud as the Domne.

Thus the arch-Imager Terisa of Morgan and Adept Geraden of Domne were married like the princess and the hero in a fable: grandly (some said gloriously) surrounded by family and friends and honor and respect, in a world which they had helped bring to safety. She had lost her father's wealth in order to gain her own power, and the enchantment which had held her was gone. And he had inherited something better than Cares or kingdoms, which was himself: his courage and his willing heart had come into their true birthright.

In the ceremony of marriage, they made a number of vows, all of which added up to the same thing: they promised to help each other hear horns.

End