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Authors: Stephen Donaldson
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the lamplit tears spreading across his cheeks.
"My lady, help me."
His appeal reached her. He was her friend, one of the few people in Orison who seemed to wish her well. He had saved her from the Castellan. More than once. Biting back a groan, she shifted onto her hands and knees. Then she got her feet under her and tottered upright.
Swaying and afraid that she might faint, she moved closer to the door. For the moment, that was the best she could do.
"My lady, you must help me." The old lord's voice shook, not because he was urgent, but because he was fighting grief. "King Joyse has given Lebbick permission to do anything he wants to you."
She didn't understand. Like the Castellan's kiss, this was incomprehensible. Somehow, she found herself sitting on the floor again, hunched forward so that her graceless and untended hair hid her face. Permission to do anything. King Joyse had smiled at her, and his smile was wonderful, a sunrise that could have lit the dark of her life. She could have loved that smile, as she loved Geraden. But it was all a lie. Anything he wants to you. It was all a lie, and there was no hope left.
"Please," the Tor breathed in supplication. "My lady. Terisa." He was barely able to contain his distress. "In the name of everything you respect—everything you would find good and worthy about him, if he had not fallen so far below himself. Tell us where Geraden has gone."
Involuntarily, her head jerked up. Her eyes were full of shadows. You, too? Nausea closed around her stomach. You've turned against him, too? She couldn't reply: there weren't any words. If she tried to say anything, she would start to cry herself. Or throw up. Not you, too.
"You will not hurt him, my lady." The Tor was pleading. He was an old man and carried every pound of his weight as if it were burdensome. "I care nothing for his guilt. If he lives, he is far from here, safe from Lebbick's outrage. We are besieged. Lebbick cannot pursue him. And no one else can use his glass. It will cost him nothing if you speak.
"But King Joyse—" The lord's throat closed convulsively. When he was able to speak again, his voice rattled in his chest like a hint of mortality. "King Joyse has trusted the Castellan too long. And he is no longer himself. He does not understand the permission he has given. He does not know that Lebbick is mad.
"My lady, he is my friend. I have served him with my life, and with the lives of all my Care, for decades. Now he is not what he was. I acknowledge that. At one time, he was the hero of all Mordant. Now it is the best he can do to defend Orison intelligently.
"But he has only become smaller, my lady, not less good. He means well. I swear to you on my heart that he means well.
"If you defy Lebbick, the Castellan will do his worst. And when King Joyse understands what his permission has done to you, he will lose the little of himself that remains.
"Help me, my lady. Save him. Tell us where Geraden has gone, so that Lebbick will have no excuse to hurt you."
Terisa couldn't focus her eyes. All she seemed to see was the light reflecting on his cheeks. He was asking her to rescue herself. After all, he was right: if she revealed where Geraden was, the Castellan would have no more excuse to harm her. And in the process King Joyse would be saved from doing something cruel. And the Tor himself—the only one of the three she cared about—might be able to stop crying.
With more strength than she knew she had, she got to her feet. "King Joyse is your friend." To herself, she sounded dry and unmoved, vaguely heartless. "Geraden is mine." Then, trying to ease the old man's distress, she murmured, "I'm sorry."
" 'Sorry'?" His voice broke momentarily. "Why are you sorry? You will suffer—and perhaps you will die—out of loyalty to a man who has killed his own brother, and it will do him no good. Perhaps he will never know that you have done it. You
"My lady, help me."
His appeal reached her. He was her friend, one of the few people in Orison who seemed to wish her well. He had saved her from the Castellan. More than once. Biting back a groan, she shifted onto her hands and knees. Then she got her feet under her and tottered upright.
Swaying and afraid that she might faint, she moved closer to the door. For the moment, that was the best she could do.
"My lady, you must help me." The old lord's voice shook, not because he was urgent, but because he was fighting grief. "King Joyse has given Lebbick permission to do anything he wants to you."
She didn't understand. Like the Castellan's kiss, this was incomprehensible. Somehow, she found herself sitting on the floor again, hunched forward so that her graceless and untended hair hid her face. Permission to do anything. King Joyse had smiled at her, and his smile was wonderful, a sunrise that could have lit the dark of her life. She could have loved that smile, as she loved Geraden. But it was all a lie. Anything he wants to you. It was all a lie, and there was no hope left.
"Please," the Tor breathed in supplication. "My lady. Terisa." He was barely able to contain his distress. "In the name of everything you respect—everything you would find good and worthy about him, if he had not fallen so far below himself. Tell us where Geraden has gone."
Involuntarily, her head jerked up. Her eyes were full of shadows. You, too? Nausea closed around her stomach. You've turned against him, too? She couldn't reply: there weren't any words. If she tried to say anything, she would start to cry herself. Or throw up. Not you, too.
"You will not hurt him, my lady." The Tor was pleading. He was an old man and carried every pound of his weight as if it were burdensome. "I care nothing for his guilt. If he lives, he is far from here, safe from Lebbick's outrage. We are besieged. Lebbick cannot pursue him. And no one else can use his glass. It will cost him nothing if you speak.
"But King Joyse—" The lord's throat closed convulsively. When he was able to speak again, his voice rattled in his chest like a hint of mortality. "King Joyse has trusted the Castellan too long. And he is no longer himself. He does not understand the permission he has given. He does not know that Lebbick is mad.
"My lady, he is my friend. I have served him with my life, and with the lives of all my Care, for decades. Now he is not what he was. I acknowledge that. At one time, he was the hero of all Mordant. Now it is the best he can do to defend Orison intelligently.
"But he has only become smaller, my lady, not less good. He means well. I swear to you on my heart that he means well.
"If you defy Lebbick, the Castellan will do his worst. And when King Joyse understands what his permission has done to you, he will lose the little of himself that remains.
"Help me, my lady. Save him. Tell us where Geraden has gone, so that Lebbick will have no excuse to hurt you."
Terisa couldn't focus her eyes. All she seemed to see was the light reflecting on his cheeks. He was asking her to rescue herself. After all, he was right: if she revealed where Geraden was, the Castellan would have no more excuse to harm her. And in the process King Joyse would be saved from doing something cruel. And the Tor himself—the only one of the three she cared about—might be able to stop crying.
With more strength than she knew she had, she got to her feet. "King Joyse is your friend." To herself, she sounded dry and unmoved, vaguely heartless. "Geraden is mine." Then, trying to ease the old man's distress, she murmured, "I'm sorry."
" 'Sorry'?" His voice broke momentarily. "Why are you sorry? You will suffer—and perhaps you will die—out of loyalty to a man who has killed his own brother, and it will do him no good. Perhaps he will never know that you have done it. You
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