Mordant's Need by Stephen R. Donaldson

Author:Stephen R. Donaldson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-29T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT: A DAY OF TROUBLE

astellan Lebbick stood with the three Imagers on the ramparts of the northwest wall and watched as the brown shape which Adept Havelock had translated reduced the second Alend catapult to firewood and splinters. At this elevation, behind the defensive parapet built into Orison’s outward face, he had a good view despite the distance.

Judging by the old scowl cut into the lines of his face, the knot of his jaw muscles, the bleak glare in his eyes, he wasn’t impressed.

He ought to have been impressed. He had had no idea that this mirror existed – or that a creature with no more definition than dense smoke could be translated and controlled, could be made to carry rocks as heavy as a man anywhere the Adept commanded. And that wasn’t all. In plain fact, he had had no idea that Havelock was still sane enough to cooperate in Orison’s defense – that plans could be designed on the assumption that the Adept would carry out his part in them. In some way, the Castellan’s warrior spirit probably was impressed. Unquestionably he ought to have been.

He wasn’t conscious of it, however. He certainly didn’t show it. The truth was that only a harsh act of will enabled him to keep his mind on what he was doing, pay any attention to the situation at all.

‘Well done,’ Master Quillon breathed as the airborne shape returned to Havelock’s glass, gusting easily across the wind. ‘You surpass yourself, indeed you do.’ And he actually patted the Adept’s shoulder like an old friend – which would have surprised Lebbick under other circumstances, since Havelock’s lunacy had made friendship with him impossible for everyone except King Joyse. Who was himself, the Castellan thought sourly, no longer particularly sane.

‘Fornication,’ Adept Havelock replied negligently, as if he normally performed such feats of Imagery standing on his head. ‘Piss on the slut.’ In spite of his tone, however, he was concentrating so hard that his misaimed eyes bulged slightly.

‘Of course,’ murmured Master Eremis. ‘My thought exactly.’ He was the only other man near the mirror, although a number of guards and several Apts were clustered a short distance away, watching raptly. ‘Yet it occurs to me that you have been a bit too coy with your talents, Adept Havelock.’

Nominally, Eremis was here only because the Castellan wasn’t done with him. Too many questions remained to be answered. Nevertheless his interest in what happened was intense: his wedge-shaped head followed everything, studied every movement; his eyes gleamed as if he were having a wonderful time. ‘If the Congery had known of your resources, we might have made different decisions entirely.’

Master Quillon glanced rapidly at the taller Imager. ‘Is that so? Such as?’

In response, Master Eremis smiled distinctly at the Castellan. ‘We might have decided to defend Mordant ourselves, rather than waiting politely for our beloved King to fall off the precarious perch of his reason.’

Lebbick really should have replied to that jibe. Eremis intended to provoke him – and provocation was his bread and meat.

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