“To put the matter simply, the princedoms of Mordant survived by being conquered back and forth, generation after generation – and by always siding with whichever of the two powers happened to be absent at the time. Because Mordant existed in pieces, each piece was easily taken, but hard to hold. Cadwal, for instance, might make itself master of the Care of Perdon, or of Tor. Alend might take Termigan or Domne. At once, the Perdon – the lord of the Care – or the Tor, the Termigan or the Domne, would swear eternal allegiance to his new prince. At the same time, he would begin looking for ways to betray that prince. So Cadwal would sneak into Termigan, or Alend into Tor, and the people of the Care would be liberated, amid great rejoicing. At once, however, a new prince would replace the old. And so the entire process would begin again, varying only in detail when Cadwal or Alend made a convulsive effort to conquer the whole region. And so the Cares endured.
“Of course, all that bloodshed was terrible. Naturally, a certain number of men voluntarily fought and risked their lives. But they were a small minority of the victims. The peasants of Mordant were constantly being hacked down or conscripted, raped or driven from their land – brutalized in any way the whims of the tyrants suggested. The only reason Mordant was not entirely depopulated was that both Cadwal and Alend needed what they could grow in the fields and on the hills of this lowland, so they were forced to import labor – usually slaves, especially from Cadwal – to replace the lost peasants. These laborers invariably found that life as a peasant was better than life as a slave or a coerced servant, and so they learned loyalty to the Care in which they found themselves. In that way, the population of Mordant was renewed.
“But such things are only bloodshed and tyranny. Mordant’s plight was made much worse by Imagery.
“Am I boring you, my lady?”
Terisa was surprised by the realization that she had yawned. The wine, a long day, and reaction after the shock of Havelock’s appearance and behavior were making her drowsy. Nevertheless she shook her head. “I just wonder what all this has to do with me.”
A bit acerbically, the Master retorted, “It ‘has to do’ with you because you are here. It will affect everything that happens to you while you are among us.”
“I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“Very well,” said Quillon stiffly. His nose twitched for a moment.
“In those days, it seemed that every man of any consequence had in his service, or his employ, an Imager of some kind – or else he served or was employed by an Imager. Cadwal itself was raised to greatness by the first arch-Imager. And as recently as the past century the Alend Monarch used an entire battery of Imagers to bring the Alend Lieges into confederacy.
“Here again the situation was fragmented. The talent which can make an Imager is not common, but neither is it rare. And in times of war, it seems to breed under every hedgerow. As a result, Cadwal has at times mustered armies in which every captain was seconded by an Imager. Alend has been nearly as powerful. And of course every lord in Mordant was defended by an Imager who depended on him for support, patronage, or facilities.
“As I am sure you can imagine, the glass which makes mirrors is not something that can simply be poured out in a patch of sand behind some cottage. To study, develop, and use mirrors requires equipment, tinct, furnaces, and much else as well, and so any Imager not born wealthy has always been forced to ally himself with wealth in some way.
“But I digress.
“I wonder, my lady,” he said slowly, “if you possess the knowledge or experience to imagine the havoc dozens of Imagers can wreak, fighting each other and armies as well as innocent men and women who happen to get in the way. Consider it, if you can. Here stands an Imager whose glass shows a sea of lava. At his word, molten stone floods outward, devouring its own carnage as it moves. There stands an Imager whose glass shows a winged leviathan which can consume cattle whole. At his word, the beast is translated here to rage and ravage until he calls it back – or until some other Imager conceives a means to kill it. And they are only two men. Consider fifty of them, or a hundred, great Imagers and small, all dedicating what mirrors they have to battle and bloodshed.
“Perhaps in your world Imagery is used for other purposes. Perhaps it provides food for the hungry, water against drought, energy and power to better the lot of all men. That has not been our history.
“One consequence”– he sighed – “is that the knowledge of Imagery – the understanding of what it is, and why it works, and how it might be used – has advanced little from one generation to the next. Imagers have tended to guard their secrets zealously, as protection for their lives, and so the dissemination of new ideas, insights, or techniques has taken decades. In fact, it would not have occurred at all, if the making of mirrors were not sufficiently arduous to require Apts. But each Imager must have help, and so he must teach some youth with the talent how to give that help. In that way, slow progress has been made.
“It is a barbarous history, my lady.” This time, his sarcasm was directed elsewhere. “We are not traditionally a humane or scrupulous people.
“King Joyse has attempted to change us completely.
“Havelock” – he turned on his stool to face the Adept – “some wine would be a kindness. All this talk is thirsty work.”
At once, Havelock pushed himself out of his chair and hobbled away to the opposite side of the room, behind the pillar. When he returned, he was carrying a stoneware decanter and a clay goblet. The goblet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned any time during the past decade.
Unceremoniously, he thunked the decanter down beside Master Quillon and thrust the goblet into his hands. “We have a barbarous history,” the Adept said, waggling his eyebrows at Terisa, “because we drink too much wine. Wine and fornication don’t mix.”
Returning to his table, he started playing his invisible game again.
Master Quillon peered morosely into the goblet. Finally, he wiped it out with the sleeve of his robe. Muttering to himself, he poured some of the wine and passed the goblet to Terisa. Then he raised the decanter to his mouth and drank.
She wanted a drink herself. But the dark smear on Quillon’s sleeve dissuaded her.
“As I say,” he began again, wiping his lips with the ends of his fingers, “King Joyse set himself the job of changing everything.
“I can tell you quite simply what he did. First he conquered all the princedoms of Mordant, some by force, some by persuasion. And when he had made Mordant into a separate, sovereign realm, he began waging an odd war against both Alend and Cadwal. In battle after battle, raid after raid, for the better part of two decades, he took no territory, conscripted no soldiers, slaughtered no peasants. In fact, he did nothing to upset the ordinary structures of power in either country. All he did” – the Master rubbed his nose vigorously to make it stop twitching – “was to take prisoner every Imager he could find and bring his captives here, to Orison. At the same time, he offered universal patronage and safety to every Imager who would surrender voluntarily. In the end, he had collected them all – or we thought he had. From the western mountains of Alend to the eastern deserts of Cadwal, there were no Imagers anywhere but here.
“And when he had them all together, he did not do what Cadwal and Alend desperately feared. He did not try to weld all that talent for Imagery into his personal fighting force. Instead, he created the Congery. And he gave it work to do – peaceful work. Many of his assignments involved the study of specific problems. Could Imagery be used to relieve drought? Could mirrors put out fires? Could Imagers build roads? Quarry granite? Fertilize soil?
“Questions of wealth King Joyse left to Alend and Cadwal.” Master Quillon was digressing again. “Alend had gold. Cadwal had gems. Mordant did not need them. Crops and cattle, food and fabric and wine, these were Mordant’s strength and wealth.