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Geraden again: he seemed to snap back into existence as though he had been lit to life by the abrupt orange illumination of the lamps and torches.
     
    He was still falling, his face stretched in consternation; he had misjudged the step behind him. And his hand still gripped hers. She couldn't recover. Even if she had been braced, she might not have been strong enough to stop his collapse towards the grey flagstones.
     
    So she landed on top of him. Because she was trying to get her arms between herself and the impact, she accidentally planted an elbow in his stomach as she hit. His mouth gaped pain, and the breath burst from his lungs. But his body protected her: she flopped onto him and then off again. As a result, she came to rest on her back beside him, her face turned towards the massive old vaulted stone ceiling.
     
    For a moment, the perceptual wrench had the effect of blindness. She started upward as though she hadn't observed the difference between this place and her apartment. Past her feet, and up two steps from her sprawling position, stood a large mirror in a polished wooden frame. The glass was nearly as tall as she was; it was tinted with a colour that only showed at the edges of its surface; instead of being made flat it had been given a faintly rippling curve. On some level, she was aware that what she saw reflected in the mirror wasn't the ceiling above her or the wail behind her. It also wasn't the living room of her apartment. Yet in other ways she was no more conscious of the mirror than she was of the stone on which she lay.
     
    Then, distinctly, she heard someone say, 'Where did you get herT
     
    'You were invisible in the mirror. How did you do that?'
     
    'Where did you go?'
     
    Slowly through her stunned surprise leaked the information that she was stretched on the floor in the centre of a circle of men.
     
    What? she thought dumbly, her throat choked with astonishment. A circle of men. Where?
     
    There must have been twenty or thirty of them, all staring down at her. At a glance, she saw that some of them were old and others weren't: all of them were older than she was. They wore a variety of cloaks and robes, cassocks and jerkins-warm clothing to compensate for the coolness of the air. Each of them, however, had a chasuble of yellow satin draped around his neck.
     
    Some of them peered at her in amazement and horror. She felt that way herself. Tool!' one of them rasped. Another muttered, This is impossible.'
     
    Others were laughing.
     
    At her side, Geraden gaped for air. A delicate shade of purple spread up from his corded neck over the tight lines of his cheeks.
     
    'Well, Apt,' one of the laughing men said through his mirth, 'here's another fine disaster.' He was tall, strongly built in spite of his leanness. His nose was too big; his cheekbones were too narrow, too flatly sloped towards his ears; his black hair formed an unruly thatch on the back of his skull, leaving his forehead bald. But the humour and intelligence in his pale eyes made him keenly attractive. He was wrapped in a jet cloak, which he wore with an air of insouciance. The ends of his chasuble hung as if he might start twirling them at any moment. 'With all the realm in danger, we send you questing for a champion to save us. But for you this is nothing more than an opportunity for dalliance.
     
    'My lady,' he went on, addressing Terisa, 'it may be that you found young Geraden appealing enough to lure you here. But now that you are here, I think you will discover that Mordant has better men to offer.' With a laughing flourish, he bowed over her formally and extended his hand to help her to her feet.
     
    Mordant, she echoed in the same dumb, choked surprise. He did it. He actually brought me to Mordant.
     
    Geraden whooped a breath and began to pull air past the knot in his stomach.
     
    Instinctively, Terisa turned towards him. At the same time, however, one of the men who hadn't been laughing crouched beside Geraden.