about to discuss it when the Adept treated us to another of his fits. That distracted me, and I forgot my thought until now.
"You mentioned water."
Involuntarily, Castellan Lebbick froze. Water! Complex pressures seized his heart: he could hardly breathe.
"I can provide it."
Orison was desperate for water. The lack of water hurt a lot of people. And it was Lebbick's job to supervise that hurt. Because of his duties, he was responsible, culpable, as if he caused the hurt himself.
But he would have preferred to be gutted by whores than to accept any vital help from Master Eremis.
"I have a glass," Eremis explained, "which shows a scene in which the rain is incessant. The Image is always in a state of torrential downpour. I can take that mirror to the reservoir and translate rain to replenish our supply of water." He shrugged slightly. 'The process may take some time. The volume of rain that I can bring out at any given instant will be limited. But surely I can ease the need for rationing. Perhaps in a few days I can refill the reservoir."
Deliberately, he smiled as if he knew precisely how much distress he was causing Lebbick. "Will that prove my loyalty, good Castellan? Will that demonstrate the sincerity of my desire to serve Orison and Mordant?"
Castellan Lebbick made a rattling noise far back in his throat. Eremis' offer was so bitter to him that he was in danger of strangling on it. He couldn't refuse it, he knew that. It was just what King Joyse had always wanted from the Congery, from Imagery: the ability to heal wounds, solve problems, rectify losses without doing any injustice—real or theoretical—to the Images themselves. And it was just what Orison needed.
With enough water to keep them going, the castle's defenders might prove strong enough to repulse Alend, even if that bastard Kragen's catapults succeeded at tearing down the curtain-wall.
The offer had to be accepted. There was no way around it. The Castellan had to swallow it somehow, had to sacrifice that much more of himself for the sake of his duty. But he could not, could not choke down such a mortification directly. Instead of replying to Master Eremis, he turned on the senior guard so savagely that the veteran flinched.
"Pay attention," he snapped unnecessarily. "You were supposed to protect these people, and you did a great job of it. This is your chance to redeem yourself.
"Take this Imager to the King. Make him tell the King what happened here. Make sure he tells the King everything he just told me. Beat it out of him if you have to. Then take him to get that mirror of his. Take him up to the reservoir. Make him do what he promised.
"Use as many men as you need. He's your problem until that reservoir is full.
"Do it now."
"Yes, Castellan." Shock, fear, and anger made the guard zealous. Glad for something specific and physical to do, he clamped a fist around Master Eremis' arm. "Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?"
In response, the expression on Master Eremis' face became positively blissful.
He had more strength than Lebbick suspected—and better leverage. A twist freed his arm: a nudge knocked the guard off balance: a strategically placed knee doubled the man over. With sarcastic elegance, Eremis adjusted his jet cloak, straightened his chasuble. Then, in an excessively polite tone, he commented, "Good Castellan, I fear that your men are not trained well enough for this siege."
Before Lebbick could find words for his fury, the Master turned to the guard. "Shall we go? I believe the Castellan wishes me to speak to King Joyse."
Flourishing his arms, he left the hallway.
Paralyzed by pain and consternation, the guard stayed where he was. After a moment, however, the murder in Castellan Lebbick's glare sent him hobbling after Master Eremis with his comrade.
Lebbick remained alone. He didn't look at Nyle's mutilated corpse again, or at the bodies
"You mentioned water."
Involuntarily, Castellan Lebbick froze. Water! Complex pressures seized his heart: he could hardly breathe.
"I can provide it."
Orison was desperate for water. The lack of water hurt a lot of people. And it was Lebbick's job to supervise that hurt. Because of his duties, he was responsible, culpable, as if he caused the hurt himself.
But he would have preferred to be gutted by whores than to accept any vital help from Master Eremis.
"I have a glass," Eremis explained, "which shows a scene in which the rain is incessant. The Image is always in a state of torrential downpour. I can take that mirror to the reservoir and translate rain to replenish our supply of water." He shrugged slightly. 'The process may take some time. The volume of rain that I can bring out at any given instant will be limited. But surely I can ease the need for rationing. Perhaps in a few days I can refill the reservoir."
Deliberately, he smiled as if he knew precisely how much distress he was causing Lebbick. "Will that prove my loyalty, good Castellan? Will that demonstrate the sincerity of my desire to serve Orison and Mordant?"
Castellan Lebbick made a rattling noise far back in his throat. Eremis' offer was so bitter to him that he was in danger of strangling on it. He couldn't refuse it, he knew that. It was just what King Joyse had always wanted from the Congery, from Imagery: the ability to heal wounds, solve problems, rectify losses without doing any injustice—real or theoretical—to the Images themselves. And it was just what Orison needed.
With enough water to keep them going, the castle's defenders might prove strong enough to repulse Alend, even if that bastard Kragen's catapults succeeded at tearing down the curtain-wall.
The offer had to be accepted. There was no way around it. The Castellan had to swallow it somehow, had to sacrifice that much more of himself for the sake of his duty. But he could not, could not choke down such a mortification directly. Instead of replying to Master Eremis, he turned on the senior guard so savagely that the veteran flinched.
"Pay attention," he snapped unnecessarily. "You were supposed to protect these people, and you did a great job of it. This is your chance to redeem yourself.
"Take this Imager to the King. Make him tell the King what happened here. Make sure he tells the King everything he just told me. Beat it out of him if you have to. Then take him to get that mirror of his. Take him up to the reservoir. Make him do what he promised.
"Use as many men as you need. He's your problem until that reservoir is full.
"Do it now."
"Yes, Castellan." Shock, fear, and anger made the guard zealous. Glad for something specific and physical to do, he clamped a fist around Master Eremis' arm. "Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?"
In response, the expression on Master Eremis' face became positively blissful.
He had more strength than Lebbick suspected—and better leverage. A twist freed his arm: a nudge knocked the guard off balance: a strategically placed knee doubled the man over. With sarcastic elegance, Eremis adjusted his jet cloak, straightened his chasuble. Then, in an excessively polite tone, he commented, "Good Castellan, I fear that your men are not trained well enough for this siege."
Before Lebbick could find words for his fury, the Master turned to the guard. "Shall we go? I believe the Castellan wishes me to speak to King Joyse."
Flourishing his arms, he left the hallway.
Paralyzed by pain and consternation, the guard stayed where he was. After a moment, however, the murder in Castellan Lebbick's glare sent him hobbling after Master Eremis with his comrade.
Lebbick remained alone. He didn't look at Nyle's mutilated corpse again, or at the bodies
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