“Yes, you understand,” said Klothalin. “However, his legend has a kernel of truth to it, I fear. He has achieved immortality through a form of necromancy. If Valgerius devours the life force of a victim, he transfers some of that energy to his body, allowing him to extend his own health. Evidently, the spell works because he has been here for the last two centuries.”
“And this troubles the dvargir?” said Third.
Klothalin grumbled under his breath. “It has become…vexing, let us say. The Council of Rzarns thought to use Master Valgerius as a weapon against Andomhaim. Regrettably, he has become…truculent. He lurks within the House of Mirrors like a spider crouching in its web. Come nightfall, he has his undead minions issue forth and drag victims into his home, whom he then devours and raises as more undead servants.”
“He has been killing dvargir, then?” said Third.
“He is not that stupid,” said Klothalin. “But several times his minions have seized slaves belonging to powerful Dzarks and Rzarns. Most recently his undead kidnapped the favorite gladiator of one of the Rzarns. The orcish gladiator in question was easily worth one hundred thousand gold coins, and had won several matches that made his owner several million more in wagers.”
“Then why have you not killed Valgerius already?” said Third. “If his presence has become too costly?”
Klothalin grimaced and shifted on his throne. “Anyone who enters the House of Mirrors…tends not to come out again. I have dispatched warriors to express the Council’s displeasure with Valgerius…”
“And they have not come out again,” said Third. “One supposes that Valgerius was within his rights to kill trespassers.”
“Mmm,” said Klothalin. “You see my dilemma.”
“Then if I deal with Valgerius for you,” said Third, “you will arrange for me to take passage on tomorrow’s barge to Owyllain.”
“If you wish, Lady Third,” said Klothalin.
Third smiled. “You will tell me that, explicitly, Lord Klothalin.”
The Dzark smirked. “I see you’ve dealt with us before. Very well. If you kill Valgerius for me, then I, Klothalin, Dzark of the Great House Tklathar, swear by the great void of Incariel that you shall be given space on the next barge taking the canal to Owyllain. Furthermore, we shall not charge you extra, nor shall we hinder or harm you in any way. Unless you attack us first, of course. I trust that is explicit enough?”
“Very well,” said Third. “Show me to this House of Mirrors, and I shall rid you of Valgerius.”
She supposed she was killing for the dvargir, but given that this Valgerius was a necromancer who had extended his wretched life by murdering innocent victims, Third’s conscience had absolutely no qualms about killing him.
“Splendid,” said Klothalin, getting to his feet. “This way, please.”
Chapter 4: The House Of Mirrors
The Market of the Outlanders was a busy place.
Except for the northwestern corner of the cavern, where no one ever went.
The reason for that, Third suspected, was because of the House of Mirrors.
“Why is it called the House of Mirrors?” said Third.
She stood with Klothalin and a guard of his dvargir warriors outside the House of Mirrors. The exterior looked like a small dvargir mansion. The face was three stories tall, carved with elaborate reliefs, the narrow windows closed by shutters of dvargirish steel. The door was open, and beyond Third saw an empty chamber illuminated by a dull blue glow.
Nothing moved in the gloom beyond the door.
“When Valgerius moved into the mansion,” said Klothalin, “he ordered a great many mirrors from our glassmakers. Once they were installed, he never let anyone else into the House, and he never seemed to leave it, either.”
“There are tunnels that dig into the rock beyond the mansion?” said Third.
“Several,” said Klothalin. “I thought about ordering a tunnel dug to enter the back of the house, but it would impair the nearby Quarters of the city. If I tried to bury him alive, I might wind up collapsing half the Market of the Outlanders.”
“I imagine the Council of Rzarns would find that displeasing,” said Third.
Klothalin glanced at the two ziggurats hanging from the ceiling. “Indeed. How shall you proceed?”
Third shrugged. “I will find Valgerius and kill him. If I have not returned in a day, assume I am dead. Wait for me here.”
Without another word or a backward glance, she walked forward and through the door into the House of Mirrors.
Third stepped into a large hall. Thick stone pillars supported the roof, carved with more reliefs. A long stone table ran the length of the hall, and stone chairs surrounded the table. They had been set on clever mechanisms to allow them to slide in and out with a flick of a wrist. Golden plates and goblets rested on the table, holding rotted food so ancient that it had long ago fossilized into something hard as a rock. A layer of dust coated everything, and the air smelled musty and stale.
Nothing moved in the dim blue light.
Third slid her short swords from their scabbards and took a few slow steps into the hall. The blue light came from another doorway on the far side of the room, which opened into another large hall. The air in here was colder than the air in the Market outside, far colder. Third could not sense the presence of magic, and she did not have the Sight the way that Mara did. Yet she was old enough to know when she was in the presence of magic, and she knew the chill was a sign of necromantic magic.
Powerful necromantic magic at that.
She looked at the pillars and the stairs climbing to the higher levels of the mansion. Where would Valgerius have concealed himself? She knew the Eternalists were cowards who feared death. Else they would not have gone to such vile lengths to make themselves immortal. So likely Valgerius would be lurking in the most secure room in the mansion. That would probably be the vault or treasure room built to hold the treasures of a dvargir noble.
Or Valgerius could come out to kill Third himself.
That would make things simpler.
She took a step forward and then heard rattling on the stairs leading to the balconies.
Third turned, swords in hand, and the undead descended.
There were a dozen of the creatures. Some had once been orcs, and others had been kobolds, no doubt slaves taken by the dvargir. Now they were all withered and mummified. The orcs’ green skin had turned to cracked yellowish leather and the scaly hides of the kobolds to leathery rags. Blue flames burned in their empty eye sockets, and they carried swords and shields of steel.
Third waited, swords hanging loose in her hands.
A dozen of the undead assembled at the base of the stairs, and then a dozen more.
Third waited, and rolled her shoulders, her fingers coiling tight around the hilts of her swords. Memories flashed through her mind of a thousand years of battles. There had been so many battles. She had killed so many enemies.
The undead charged, and Third called on the power of her blood.
Blue fire swallowed her, and she disappeared, reappearing behind one of the undead. Before the creatures could react, Third attacked. The blue steel of her blades stabbed out, and she took the head from the nearest undead orc. The ancient bone shattered beneath the dark elven steel, and the orc’s skull rolled away, the blue light in its eye fading as the creature collapsed. On minor undead creatures such as these, removing the head almost always broke the necromantic magic on the undead flesh.
Third took the head from an undead kobold, and then another. By then the undead realized that she had moved and turned to face her, and Third drew on her power and vanished once more. She reappeared atop the table and jumped. Her swords hammered down, and she took the head from another undead orc, decapitated a kobold, and traveled away before they could close around her.
She flickered back and forth through the hall, destroying one or two undead with every jump. Living creatures might have realized her tactics and tried t
o surround her or set an ambush, or at the very least withdraw. The undead had no such wisdom, and Third circled around them, cutting the creatures down one by one.
The final undead orc fell, tusked skull bouncing away, and Third turned in a circle, her blades held low.
Nothing moved in the hall. The undead lay in piles of scattered bones. Third supposed with the proper spells Valgerius could reanimate them, but there was no sign of the necromancer.
Likely the undead had been a test, an initial attack to assess the limits of her abilities.
Third took a few deep breaths, wiped some sweat from her forehead, and continued into the depths of the House of Mirrors.
Chapter 5: The Harvester
The next hall was a sculpture gallery.
Third stopped a few paces beyond the entrance and looked around. The hall was as large as the first one, and forty plinths stood in neat rows across the floor. Statues of pale white stone rose upon each of the plinths, images of dark elven nobles in armor or in robes, swords and staffs in hand. It seemed the mansion’s original owner had a taste for dark elven art, either acquired through trade or looted from dark elven ruins.
A pale blue glow shone from the archway on the far end of the hall. The archway opened into a narrow, high corridor, and the blue light came from the walls of that corridor.
Nothing moved in the statuary hall. Third took a step forward, half-expecting the statues to come to life and attack her, or for undead creatures to emerge from hidden doors, or for urvaalgs to emerge from concealment and strike.
But nothing happened.
Third took one more step, and then a robed shape appeared before the archway to the glowing corridor.
She went motionless.
The figure wore a ragged robe of simple black, the hands concealed within large sleeves and the face hidden beneath the deep cowl. Third wondered if it was undead, but she saw the faint ripple in the cowl as the figure beneath the robe drew breath.
“So,” said the robed form at last in a soft, thick voice. “You are the latest one that Klothalin has sent to kill me?”
“I am,” said Third.
“Foolish girl,” said the robed figure. “You cannot kill an immortal. For I am the Harvester, and I have lived for centuries upon the slaves of the dvargir.”
“You make three mistakes, Valgerius,” said Third.
A wet laugh came from the cowl. “Indeed? Do elaborate.”
“One, you are not immortal,” said Third. “Two, your true name is Valgerius, once an Eternalist and an outlaw Magistrius of Andomhaim.” A faint hiss of contempt came from Valgerius’s cowl. “Three, I have not been a child for a very, very long time.”
“No,” murmured Valgerius. “No, you are not a child. I don’t know what you are. A hybrid of human and dark elf, clearly, yet such hybrids rarely make it to adulthood before they transform. You seem to be an exceedingly rare creature.”
“People tell me that often,” said Third, considering her next move. It would be easy to transport herself across the statuary hall, appear behind Valgerius, and open his throat. Yet the wizard might have warded himself against attack. For that matter, Third had no doubt that he had watched her fight with the undead in the dining hall, and he would know about her abilities now. Surely, he would not be so foolish as to put himself in her reach without any defensive measures.
“You ought to be flattered,” said Valgerius. His hands emerged from his sleeves. They were long and thin and bony, the skin gray-tinged and pale. “The immortal blood of the dark elves burns within your veins. I have never devoured a dark elf before. Even a hybrid will be a welcome feast. Such vigor and strength your life force shall give me!”
“You seem quite certain,” said Third.
Valgerius reached up and drew back his dark cowl.
His face was ghastly. The skin had turned the same grayish-white as his hands, and it also glistened with the beginnings of decay. She saw his yellow teeth through the ragged strings of his left cheek. His dark eyes glittered with madness, and from time to time a ghostly blue light seemed to shine from within them. His head was completely hairless, without even eyebrows. Third wondered if he had shaved his head in imitation of the dvargir, but to judge from the lack of stubble, all his hair had simply fallen out.
Valgerius might have achieved immortality, but he hadn’t done a good job of it.
“I am entirely certain,” said Valgerius, “that I shall feast upon your life force.”
“Truly?” said Third, watching him for any sign of attack. “I fear you look as if a brisk walk might finish you off.”
“And you look like a moderately attractive young woman,” said Valgerius. “We both know appearances are deceptive. But, tell me. Did that coward Klothalin truly send you to kill me?”
“He did,” said Third.
Valgerius’s decaying face twisted into a sneer. “And are you a hired murderer for the dvargir?”
Third shrugged. “I assume that you killed every single one of those undead in the dining hall and raised them as your slaves. Given that you have likely done that hundreds of times over the centuries, I will feel no qualms about your death.”
“Would you like to know how to kill me?” said Valgerius.
“I suspect I have more practice at it than you,” said Third.
Valgerius laughed, a wet, bubbling sound. “I doubt that, my lady. I doubt that very much. But even blades of dark elven steel would not suffice to slay me. Cut off my head, and I shall reattach it. Cut my throat and stab my heart, and they shall heal. My magic has bound the force of life tightly to my flesh, and a mere blade cannot sever it.”
“Then how would you like me to kill you?” said Third. “I would prefer to do it quickly and painlessly, but one must be flexible.”
Valgerius pointed at the glowing corridor behind him. “Do you know what a soulstone is?”
“Yes,” said Third.
“I found one ere I came to Khaldurmar,” said Valgerius, “and I bound my soul within it. So long as it endures, I cannot be slain by any spell or blade or weapon. No wound can kill me. Burn my body to ashes and scatter them across the face of Andomhaim, and in time I would regenerate. The only way to kill me is to shatter the soulstone.”
“And why are you telling me this?” said Third.
Valgerius’s rotting face twisted into a ghastly smile. “I will even tell you where it is.” He pointed behind him again. “It is in the chamber beyond this corridor. Come and claim the soulstone, hybrid, and with it my life. If you are strong enough.”
Third had heard enough. She lifted her swords, intending to use her power to travel behind Valgerius and kill him. If he claimed that he could heal from any wound, Third intended to put that to the test.
But he vanished before she could move.
Third frowned, looking around. There was no sign of Valgerius in the statuary hall or in the glowing corridor. Presumably, he had gone to his hiding place. Well, what he wanted was obvious. He wanted her to march down that glowing corridor of his, which was no doubt lined with traps. Third was going to disappoint him.
She walked to the archway leading to the glowing corridor, and a sudden tightness closed around her mind.
The sensation was nothing physical. It was rather something Third felt with her thoughts. It was also something she had experienced before. The corridor had been warded. No doubt Valgerius had raised the wards to keep the dvargir shadowscribes from spying on him with magic.
The wards also had the side effect of blocking Third’s ability to travel.
She looked at the corridor. It was built from dark stone, and she saw no obvious signs of mechanical traps. Any magical wards potent enough to kill intruders would have been visible – distortions in the air, glowing sigils, or other such signs. Large, shallow niches lined the corridor walls at alternating intervals, their backs giving off both a pale blue light and a gleam…
A gleam?
No, a reflection.
The back
s of the niches were lined with enormous mirrors.
The House of Mirrors, indeed.
Whatever Valgerius intended for her, it had something to do with those mirrors.
But mirrors could be broken.
Third took a few slow, deep breaths to steady her hands and then stepped into the corridor.
Chapter 6: Blood Without End
Silence ruled in the House of Mirrors as Third glided forward.
Her boots made no sound against the gleaming dark floor, and nothing moved in the corridor. At the far end, she saw a cylindrical chamber with a stone plinth in the center, a harsh blue light at the top of the plinth. Likely that was the corrupted soulstone Valgerius had used to extend his wretched life.
Third approached the first niche on her left, a pale blue glow shining from the mirror within. She eased forward, blades angled to stab or parry, ready to attack or fall back as the situation demanded.
Then she stepped in front of the mirror, and she saw…
Nothing. The niche was empty. Third saw nothing.
She did see herself, though that was only her reflection in the blue-glowing glass.
Something about the image held her eye for a moment. Third knew what she looked like. She saw a woman, tall by human standards, with a pale, angular face, pointed ears, and long black hair. Her eyes were as black as her armor, and her black hair had been bound back in a tight tail to keep it out of her eyes in battle. She knew that many human men found her attractive, though Third did not return the feeling. She did not like to be touched.
Third shook her head, and her reflection followed suit. It was just a reflection, and nothing more.
She glided forward, another niche on her right. Third expected to see her reflection again.
But something different was in the mirror this time.
She froze, staring at the image in the glass.
It showed her a different place, a different time. A dead woman lay upon the ground of an eerie forest, her throat cut. A ragged girl in a filthy dress knelt over her, sobbing incoherently. The girl was about five or six, with black eyes and black hair and pointed ears.
Shield Knight Third's Tale Page 3
