The Tor’s face swelled purple; his eyes bulged. His fists came up trembling, as if he were in the throes of a seizure – as if he had finally been provoked to strike his King. When he lowered them again, the act cost him a supreme effort. As the blood left his face, his skin became waxen.
“I do not believe you. You are my King. My friend.” His voice rattled in his throat; his gaze was no longer focused on anything. “I, too, have lost a son. I will not believe you.
“Be warned, Castellan. You will suffer for it if you believe him.”
His flesh seemed to slump on his bones as he moved away and went slowly down the stairs, carrying himself as if his years had caught up with him without warning and made him frail.
Softly, so that he wouldn’t betray his jubilation, Castellan Lebbick murmured, “My lord King.”
At once, King Joyse turned on him. The King’s blue eyes continued to burn, but now they were unexpectedly rimmed with red. “That woman must be pushed,” he rasped under his breath. “She must be made to declare herself – or to discover herself.” Then he thrust a crooked finger into Lebbick’s face and snarled, “Be ready to answer for everything you do.”
Without allowing Lebbick time to reply, he reentered his rooms and slammed the door.
Since the guards were studiously not looking at him, Castellan Lebbick glowered at them to conceal his satisfaction. He hadn’t forgotten the rest of his job: Master Quillon, Master Eremis, Nyle; the organization and defense of Orison. But those things carried no emotional weight with him now; he would deal with them simply to get them out of his way. King Joyse had given him permission. His King trusted him to discover that woman’s secrets.
His King’s trust was the only answer he needed. The answer for everything.
Deliberately postponing the pleasure he desired most, he didn’t return to the dungeon. Instead, he went looking for Master Eremis – and Nyle’s body. Nyle is still alive. He had time before dawn to give himself the luxury of confirming that that woman had lied.
He found the Imager in the corridor leading away from the section of Orison where all the Masters had their quarters. Eremis was striding purposefully in Lebbick’s direction, and he greeted the Castellan by saying without preamble, “Nyle is still alive.”
Castellan Lebbick halted, braced his fists on his hips, faced the Imager fiercely. Now that Eremis had his attention, he remembered why he hated the tall, lean Master so much. He hated the lively and sardonic superiority in Eremis’ gaze, the combination of intelligence and ridicule in Eremis’ manner. Most of all, however, he hated Eremis’ success with women. Women whose faces wore an implicit sneer for the Castellan spread their legs for Eremis whenever the Master simply lifted an eyebrow at them. It probably wasn’t surprising that the sluttish maid Saddith was eager for the prestige she could get from a Master. But it knotted the Castellan’s guts to recollect the mute yearning he had occasionally seen in his prisoner’s expression at the mere mention of Master Eremis.
Lebbick himself would have been tempted to kill any woman who acquiesced to him without being his wife.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to hate Eremis at the moment. Too much was happening; the Master’s words seemed to open an abyss under his feet. “Alive?” he snapped. “What’re you talking about?”
“I hoped this was possible,” replied Master Eremis as if the Castellan had asked his question politely. “That is why I rushed him to my rooms. I have never seen Geraden do anything well, so I hoped that he might find it impossible to murder his brother successfully. Apparently, his knife missed Nyle’s heart.”
At once, relief reeled through Lebbick’s head. That woman was lying. She still belonged to him. For a moment, he was so giddy that he couldn’t pull his thoughts together enough to speak.
“Underwell is with him,” continued Eremis. Underwell was one of the best physicians in Orison. In fact, he was the physician Castellan Lebbick himself would have chosen to take care of Nyle. “If he can be saved, Underwell will do it.
“In addition, I took the liberty of making a few demands on your guards.” The Master’s eyes glittered with mirth or malice, as if he could read Lebbick’s confusion plainly. “If Geraden wants his brother dead badly enough, he may try again. It seems clear that he is in league with Gilbur as well as Gart – and almost certainly with the arch-Imager also. You may recall that they are apparently able to come and go in Orison as they wish. So I insisted on being obeyed by four of your men. Two of them are with Underwell and Nyle. The other two guard my door.
“Do you approve of my arrangements” – Master Eremis smiled amiably – “good Castellan?”
With some difficulty, the Castellan imposed a bit of order on his inner riot. He did approve of Eremis’ arrangements. They were right. No, more than that: they were so right that they made that woman’s accusations against Master Eremis look ludicrous. Just for a second, he found himself wondering whether Eremis had jilted her, whether her behavior could be explained by jealousy. But speculations like that only led him back into turmoil. What he needed at the moment was to forget about her for a while.
“They’ll do for now,” he replied, speaking roughly because he resented the necessity of giving Eremis even that much satisfaction. “In the meantime, I want you to come with me. I want some answers, but I haven’t got time to stand here talking.”
Master Eremis frowned, although his eyes continued smiling. With a hint of acid, he said, “My time is valuable also, Castellan. Our brave King threatened the Alend army with the strength of the Congery, did he not? And yet we have made no plans to back up his threat. It seems likely that our new mediator will call a second meeting of the Congery before this night ends.” The Imager’s tone gave nothing away. “If he does, I must attend.”
Lebbick consulted his mental hourglass and retorted, “I don’t think so. There isn’t time.” His anger matched Eremis’. “I’ve been commanded to meet Quillon at dawn. You can talk to him then.
“Come on.”
He almost hoped that Eremis would refuse. The Castellan would have enjoyed having the insolent Imager tied up and dragged along behind him. On the other hand, he had too much else on his mind and wouldn’t be able to give an experience like that the attention it deserved. So he waited until Master Eremis acceded; then he strode away.
His questions were the same ones which had come up during that ill-fated meeting of the Congery earlier in the evening. How did Eremis account for the fact that he was the only man in Orison who had been consistently able to know where that woman was when the High King’s Monomach attacked her? And why was Gart trying to kill her anyway, if he and Geraden were plotting together and Geraden loved her? And what had the lords of the Cares and Prince Kragen said to each other when they had treacherously met at Eremis’ instigation? And what was that story about an attack of Imagery on Geraden – translated insects trying to kill him? With or without Eremis’ knowledge?
Of course, Master Eremis had replied to all those questions during the meeting. But Castellan Lebbick hadn’t liked the answers. Taken together, they all contained one fatal flaw: they all presupposed that Geraden was a smooth and expert traitor; that he not only possessed but concealed unprecedented talents; that he had allied himself with Gart and Cadwal long before that woman’s translation into Orison; that all his clumsiness, his appearance of being a confused puppy, was a sham.
Lebbick found the whole idea incredible.
He believed that Geraden had tried to kill Nyle: he had seen it with his own eyes. But Geraden secretly plotting Mordant’s downfall? Artagel’s brother in league with Gart? The son of the Domne seducing that woman to crimes she wouldn’t otherwise have committed? Those things Castellan Lebbick didn’t believe. No, the crimes and the plotting and the seduction were hers, not Geraden’s.