The Mirror of Her Dreams (16 page)

'Alend and Cadwal were relatively quiet. Most of us'-his sarcasm returned-'were relatively immune to the disorder of the King's domestic affairs. For five years, we did not notice- because we did not want to notice-that his spark was dying out. Perhaps because he had nothing enormous or heroic left to do, he was ceasing to be the man so many of us had loved.

'But eventually we had to notice. Oh, we
had
to.' Master Quillon became more bitter by the moment. 'We could not ignore that there was something evil running loose in Mordant.

'An Imager had begun to translate horrors and abominations out of his mirrors and unleash them to rampage across the land wherever they could find victims.'

In the cool of the room, a sensation of tightening scurried from Terisa's scalp down the length of her spine.

'It is easy to assume that he is Vagel. That is as reasonable a guess as any. He was always expert at finding in his glasses men and monsters and forces of destruction. And he did not trouble his conscience much about the consequences of his translations.

But no one knows where he finds the patronage, the resources, to make such mirrors.

'We would also assume that he found them in Alend or Cadwal -but all his Images strike deep into Mordant, and it is inconceivable that such mirrors could be made elsewhere and then brought here across those distances without some word of the matter finally reaching the ears of Orison.

'But if not in Cadwal or Alend, then where? Who in Mordant would level such a threat against the realm? And why does King Joyse do nothing about it?

'Perhaps in the early years of the peril, patience and caution were indicated. After all, the attacks did not come often. Either Cadwal or Alend appeared to be the likely source. It seemed understandable that the King was waiting for his spies or his friends to discover the secret and bring it to him, so that he would know what to do.

'But the attacks grow worse, and no explanation comes. Instead, his spies and friends bring word that Alend and Cadwal have learned what is happening from
their
spies and friends, and are mustering their forces to take advantage of Mordant's danger. Armies gather beyond the Vertigon and Pestil rivers. Raids probe the Cares, testing their defences. Angry because they are compelled to defend their own without assistance from King Joyse, some of the Cares begin to mutter against him. And still the abominations being translated against us worsen, both in magnitude and in frequency. The arch-Imager-if it
is
him- forms mirrors at an unheard-of rate as well as in perfect secrecy. And still the King does nothing.

'Well, not nothing, exactly,' the Master muttered as if he had acid in his mouth. 'He plays more and more hop-board.

The Congery, of course, has been blind to the problem. Even if we did not hear the same reports which reach every ear in Orison, we would have our auguries-and we have learned a great deal about auguring since our efforts were united.

'We can see-Mordant dying, my lady, slaughtered by forces which we understand, but which our King-in founding the Congery-has forbidden us to act against. He will not allow us to be a weapon. Though he will do nothing to save Mordant, he is quick enough to march into our laborium and shatter any glass which offers a means of defence. He only permitted us to search for a champion because we agreed-after much squabbling debate-that whatever champion we chose would not be translated involuntarily but would rather be approached with persuasion and given the opportunity to refuse.

'In short, our King has brought us to the verge of ruin. Unless more men become disloyal-and do it soon-Mordant will return to the days when it was nothing more than a battleground for Alend and Cadwal. And if Vagel is strong enough by then, he will join with one and devour the other, and so will make himself ruler over all the world.'

Brusquely, Master Quillon picked up Terisa's goblet and tossed down the wine she hadn't tasted. Into the goblet, he muttered hollowly, 'I, for one, do not relish the prospect.'

She was listening to him so closely that she didn't notice Adept Havelock until he touched her sleeve.

He was grinning like a satyr,

'I remember,' he whispered. His breath smelled like swamp gas. 'I remember everything.'

'He remembers everything,' growled the Master sardonically. 'Mirrors preserve us.'

'Yes,' Havelock hissed. 'I remember.' His grin was more than lascivious: it was positively bloodthirsty.

Quillon sighed disconsolately. 'You remember, Adept Havelock,' he murmured as though he were playing his part in an especially dull liturgy.

'Everything.'

Abruptly, the Adept gave a capering jump that made his surcoat flap above his scrawny knees. He followed it with a pirouette, then confronted Terisa again, grinning like murder.

'I remember Vagel. He had a glass that poured fire. I had one full of water. He had a glass with a raving beast. But the beast could not breathe water. He had a weapon that fired beams of light which tore down walls and turned flesh to cinders. But the beams only changed water to steam. I
remember.

'I remember the chamber where I cornered him. Shall I tell you how many candles were lit upon the table? Shall I count for you all the stones in the walls? Shall I measure the way the shadows fell into the corners? Shall I describe everything that I saw in his last mirror?

'It was perfectly flat, but because of its tinct and shape it showed a place among the sharp hills and fells of the Alend Lieges. A high summer sun shone on the meadow grass of the hillside-and on the waterfall, so that it sparkled in the distance. I saw butterflies of a kind which do not come to Mordant, and they danced among the daisies and dandelions. Above the waterfall stood tall fir trees. I saw it all.

'Mark me, my lady.' He glared intensely into Terisa's face; but one eye or the other necessarily scrutinized the pillar behind her. 'I remember Vagel well. I heard his scorn as he laughed at me, and I saw him step into the glass as though he had nothing to fear. I saw first one boot, then the other come down among the grass, crushing the blades. I saw his robe flare ebony under the summer sun. I saw the waterfall blocked from view by his shoulder as he took a stride or two on the hillside.

'Then he turned and beckoned for me to follow him.

'He beckoned to me, my lady.' Havelock's hands made fierce scraping movements, tearing the air in front of Terisa like hungry claws. 'He
beckoned,
and his scorn was still on his face. So I followed him, though every Imager knows that a translation which does not go anywhere is madness.' His voice began to scale upward in pitch. 'Wait for me, Vagel, I'm coming. I'm coming. Ah.' His groan came out strangled, like a scream.

'I'm an Adept. I opened his glass. I stepped into it. But when I did'-his voice was now a high, falsetto croon-'he plucked the sun down from the sky and drove it into my eyes, and deep inside me everything was made light. Light, my lady, hee nee. Light.' From his throat came sounds like a little girl locked in a closet trying to comfort herself.

Master Quillon coughed. His eyes were red with wine or grief. In a husky voice, he said, 'My lady, you asked why some men call him 'the King's Dastard'. That is because they think him a traitor to his own kind-to other Imagers.

'Well, it is true that he betrayed many Imagers to King Joyse. In his mind, the King's purpose outweighed their right to freedom. But his greatest act of treachery was to the Imagers gathered around Vagel in Carmag. It was he who broke that cabal. Concealing his identity and loyalty, he joined the arch-

Imager as simply another crafter of mirrors hungry for power. For three years-his life always in the deadliest jeopardy-he served and studied Vagel, acting the part of an avid disciple, but in truth learning the cabal's defences and plans. And when he had taught himself how to counter them, he sprung his trap, admitting King Joyse and a squadron of his guard into the keep where the Imagers lived and plotted.

'But the arch-Imager,' Quillon continued sadly, 'had one power which Havelock lacked. He was able-we know this now, though at the time we considered it impossible-to translate himself
within
our world by means of flat glass. When Havelock attempted to follow Vagel, the wrench of a translation which went nowhere cost him his mind, as it has cost the mind of every man but Vagel who has attempted it. For that reason, we believed the arch-Imager dead when Havelock returned raving to King Joyse and no trace of his foe could be found.

'As I say,' the Master sighed, 'Adept Havelock has his lucid moments. But for ten years now the King's chief friend and counsellor has been a madman.'

The Adept had been growing increasingly restive during this speech. When Quillon finished, Havelock suddenly flung his arms out violently, as if were he ripping a veil in front of him. Then he grabbed Terisa's arm and dragged her off her stool, pulling her in the direction of the open door. 'Come on, woman!' he roared. 'I can't stand the suspense!'

Suspense? Terisa's thoughts were too full of the things she had just heard: she forgot herself. Apparently, she didn't like being hauled around like a disobedient child. She took a couple of quick steps to catch up with the Adept, then planted her feet and twisted her arm in an effort to break his grasp.

It was easier than she expected. His old fingers slipped from her arm: he nearly fell as he stumbled away from her.

Her heart pounding-not so much at the exertion as at the shock of her own audacity-she turned back to Master Quillon.

He studied her with interest, his head cocked to one side and his nose twitching.

'I want to thank you,' she said before her nerve failed. This is a big help. I won't give you away.'

He inclined his head gravely as if her promise were bigger than she realized. That would be much appreciated, my lady.'

'I don't know anything about your mirrors,' she went on at once. 'I'm not an Imager. But I think the worlds you see must be real. The place I come from isn't something Geraden and a piece of glass invented by accident.'

Master Quillon shrugged, and his depression returned. 'I hope you are right, my lady. I believe you are. But the arguments on the other side are difficult to refute. If your world is real-and if you are no Imager-then how was it possible for Geraden's translation to go so far awry?'

'
I don't know,' she repeated. 'It's all new to me. But'-she was astonished to hear herself say this-'I'm going to try to find out.'

Perhaps simply to keep herself from saying anything else so much unlike her image of who she was, she yielded to Havelock's dramatically mimed impatience and turned to follow him back into his secret passage.

'Nothing else,' the Adept muttered at her darkly. 'Only hop-board signifies.' When she had entered the passage, he closed the door. In the darkness, he fumbled around for a moment before producing a light from his piece of glass. Then he hurried upward, taking the stairs as rapidly as his old legs could manage.

She found climbing the stairs easier than descending them because she had a better chance to find where she was about to put her feet; but Havelock complicated the ascent by jerking his light from side to side and shining it far ahead of him rather than holding it steady. He was becoming more tense by the moment. His exertions made his breath rattle raggedly in his lungs; but he refused to slow his pace.

'What's the hurry?' she panted after him. The elevators of her apartment building hadn't prepared her to run up stairs.

He paused at an intersection and flashed his light in all directions. Then he squinted down at her for a moment. The trouble with women,' he gasped, heaving for breath, 'is that they never shut up.'

As he started upward again, the stone corridor suddenly felt more constricted, narrower. The beat of feet on the stairs seemed like the labour of her heart, reverberating almost subliminally from the walls. The ceiling was leaning down at her. He was crazy: it was crazy how he managed to communicate things he didn't say. Where had this urgency come from, this panic? She didn't understand why she rushed to keep up with him-or why she tried to muffle her breathing at the same time.

Surely they had passed her rooms by now? It wasn't possible that she had been dragged so far down without a better sense of the distance. She nearly collided with him when he stopped.

'What-?'

At once, his arms flailed furious shushing motions. He stood with his light aimed at his feet and his face in shadow, concentrating hard-listening. In the reflection from the grey stone, she saw that his lips were trembling.