To hold such a woman. .
That dream might at last be within his reach, he realized. In his hands he still held the Arcyan Crest. All he had to do was bring it to Mendel, who would be so pleased with him that he would at last grant Vandor Grizt a return to his body. .
An intense cold radiated from his hands.
“By Shinare, no!” Vandor knew exactly what the bone-numbing cold preceded. He pictured Mendel’s mirror, hoping he still had time.
Mendel’s chamber came into view. Vandor reached out, trying to thrust the Arcyan Crest through the mirror.
The artifact faded in his hands, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Vandor Grizt felt like screaming. His vindictive master would let him burn long and hard for this, no doubt saving the thief of mirrors only at the last moment, assigning him yet another impossible task. Vandor could suffer that torture gladly if he didn’t fear that this time Mendel might destroy his mortal body. After being preserved magically for so many decades, Grizt’s body would decay rapidly once Mendel released the spell.
To be so close to achieving freedom. .
He shook his head, trying to think. Vandor could do only one thing, a desperate measure, but all that remained to try. He could tell his master that he had not yet found the artifact. It would buy Grizt some time, staving off the inevitable. If Mendel thought the Arcyan Crest still existed, he would not punish his slave too severely. If he thought the crest was nearly within reach. .
Vandor was still struggling with what to say when Mendel entered.
The avaricious gleam in the crooked figure’s eyes immediately informed the thief that Mendel would have little patience today. His obsession with the crest had grown and grown.
“You have it? You have it?”
“No, Mendel, but-”
His master’s fury shocked even him this time. Mendel roared, unable to even articulate. He raised the staff high and, to Vandor’s horror, struck not at the frame, but this time at the mirror itself. He smashed hard and hard again, without holding back.
“Incompetent! Bungler!” Again the staff struck. “Fool!”
As he raised the wooden staff for a third strike, Mendel caught himself, for suddenly the mage lowered the staff, his eyes wide. Anger barely held in check, he leaned forward to inspect the magical mirror. Vandor, on the other side, was reeling from the blows. Mendel’s foul visage filled his vision.
“No damage. Nuitari be praised,” the old man muttered, apparently not recalling for the moment that his god, like all the others, no longer graced the heavens of Krynn.
Grizt spoke, seizing the moment and praying that his own cleverness would not defeat him. “Master, it is true I do not have the crest, but I think I’m close to its discovery!”
The anger in Mendel’s eyes faded a bit, replaced by a wary interest. “How so?”
Now the lie must be convincing. “When I searched tonight, I came across Prester. He looked very furtive, as if he had just come from some place important, some place deep in his sanctum-”
“Could mean anything.”
“Yes, but he carried with him an object similar to that one you had me steal for you but a month ago. Remember that tiny emerald spider?”
The emerald spider had been an old talisman Mendel had come across by accident. A merchant traveling through the region had been carrying it along with his other goods, gems, and jewelry befitting his noble clientele. Mendel had spotted it and had known it immediately for a magical artifact. With so few competent mages of the old school left, many items such as the spider had fallen into the hands of the unwary and then disappeared forever into their houses.
Two nights later, Vandor had reached out from the glittering reflections of the merchant’s gem collection and taken the spider. Mendel, ecstatic, took only a few minutes to leech the power from the artifact, not great power, but it had enabled the vulturish man to cast modest spells for several days.
“Did the artifact he carried appear to mask an inner fire, buffoon? Did it evince life?”
“If it once did, Prester no longer cared. As I watched, he discarded it into a rubbish container.”
Mendel rubbed his chin. “So he had already drained it of its magic, then.”
“Yes, that is what I supposed, but the important thing is he brought it from another place of hiding, where there must be other magical artifacts. You see? You were right as usual, Mendel! Prester must have the Arcyan Crest! Now I know it’s only a matter of time until I find it!”
“No.” The crooked figure stared down the ghostly thief. “It is only a matter of one night. One night, Grizt! I’m tired of waiting! Bring me the Arcyan Crest tomorrow morning or you’ll discover I’ve been merely gentle with you so far. . ”
Vandor swallowed hard. “One night?”
“I tire of these delays. . and your excuses!” Mendel shouted.
Vandor appeased him quickly. “I’ll find it, Mendel. I promise!”
A calculating look formed in Mendel’s dark eyes. “If you do, you might even get your body back. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dandy? To walk as a living, breathing bit of flesh again? I won’t really have much need of you any more once you find me the crest. I could let you go this time. . ”
Despite knowing that he could never bring Mendel the artifact in question, the thief could not help but feel hopeful. “Freedom? You’ll grant me my freedom?”
“First find me the Arcyan Crest.”
Mendel turned, dismissing both the mirror and the thief within. Vandor watched him go, knowing that the black-robed figure was already busy plotting uses for the legendary artifact. Mendel shut the door to the chamber, all but forgetting Vandor.
How could he give his master what no longer existed?
He had one desperate idea. Perhaps Vandor could find something, another precious object, that might fool the mage, that might fool him long enough for Mendel to bestow his reward, releasing Grizt’s body and allowing him to regain life. Once human again, Vandor could conceivably escape before Mendel learned the truth. It was far-fetched. It was dangerous. It was the only hope he had.
The day passed unmercifully slowly, interrupted by only two brief appearances from his master. The night came at last. Vandor waited for Mendel, for only Mendel had the power to compel the mirror to send him on his tasks.
Finally the mage stalked in, left hand clutching the cursed medallion. “Well? Why aren’t you off yet? You will go to the home of the red robe Prester, you will go only there, and you will search all night if need be! You will find the Arcyan Crest! Understood?”
“Yes, Mendel, I understand.” Released by the medallion, Vandor wasted not a moment more, darting into the mirror realm. He had to find some object he could use to replace the one he had let be destroyed, something that might fool Mendel. Unfortunately, it would have to come from Thorin Prester’s domain; Mendel had commanded he go only there, and thanks to the magic of the medallion, Vandor had to obey that command.
Within seconds, the thief of mirrors entered the former red robe’s house. He darted from one reflective surface to the next, searching Prester’s home from top to bottom. . room after room. . leaving the child’s chamber to the last. Vandor feared to go there, feared that the young girl with magical gifts might catch him again.
What a fool he was! What a fool! Why had he ever lied to Mendel? Doing so would only make matters worse for Vandor in the end. The black robe would punish him not only for losing the legendary artifact but for trying to lie about it as well.
One possible place where there might be other valuables was Prester’s own room. Vandor had searched it before, but now he knew he must search it again.
Prester still slept deeply as Vandor searched his bedchamber one more time, appearing and reappearing in one reflective surface after another. Reaching out of the large mirror overlooking the man’s desk, Vandor hunted through the small wooden chest he had noticed on previous visits. Unfortunately, the chest contained nothing the thie
f needed. Time was running out. There were few places left to search. Vandor grew frantic.
He suddenly sensed eyes watching him. They belonged not to Prester, for that one still slept solidly, but rather to a smaller, unfortunately familiar presence.
“I knew you’d come back.”
The sun could only be a few minutes away from rising. Vandor had no time for little girls with frightening abilities. He immediately dove back into the mirror.
That is to say, he attempted to do so. The thief of shadows struggled, head and arms trapped on the outside of the glass. He eyed the young wizard fearfully, not knowing any longer whether he feared her or Mendel’s wrath more. “I don’t have your brooch any more!” Vandor desperately explained. “Let me go, please!”
The child glanced at her father, who still slept soundly despite all the commotion. Her gaze returned to Vandor, and she said, “You’ll bum again.” When her prisoner said nothing, she frowned. “If you stay outside the mirror, will you burn again?”
“Yes! By blessed Shinare, yes!”
“I’m sorry.”
A gust suddenly hurled Vandor completely into Prester’s looking glass. He tried immediately to flee but could not move.
The girl came over to the mirror. She stared into it, giggling. “I can see myself standing next to you!”
Vandor stood in the mirror, watching her with growing apprehension. The thief of mirrors repeated his earlier words. “I don’t have your brooch any more. It’s. . it’s gone.”
“Silly ghost. .” the little girl giggled. “I’ve got it here!” She pointed to her hair, at the same time speaking so loudly that Vandor expected Prester to awake, but the father remained still. Whatever magic this girl wielded she wielded well. Mendel would have been very, very jealous.
The full impact of her words struck him. “You- Vandor blinked. “You have it?”
At last he took notice of the elaborate brooch fastened to her hair. The ethereal thief stared in disbelief. True enough, a brooch identical to the one he had stolen clung there, griffons and kingfisher with jeweled eyes. Yet, it could not be the very same brooch, for that one had vanished before his eyes, a victim of the whims of the mirror realm-or so Grizt had thought.
“Is that. . is that the same one?”
“It’s the one Mama gave me.”
“But I-but I took it.”
An enigmatic expression crossed the child’s features. “It always comes back to me. I forgot that before, but it always does.”
“Indeed?” Grizt did not pay much attention to the girl’s response, already breathing a sigh of relief. There was still a chance for him. Already he was calculating his chances of stealing the Arcyan Crest again. What did it matter if, after he put it into Mendel’s hands, it disappeared again? Just so long as he would not be blamed for failing the damned black robe. .
“Are you really a ghost?”
“A ghost?” Her words made Vandor shudder, for he often felt like a ghost. Only the knowledge that his body remained preserved by Mendel’s spells kept him sane. To be a ghost forever. . Grizt could imagine no worse fate. “No, my spirit is trapped in a mirror,” he answered, “but I’m very much alive. The man who makes me do this- steal things-possesses my body. If I don’t do what he says, he’ll destroy it.”
She seemed to believe him immediately. His words were truthful, and what was more rare for him, sincere. Desperation had given Vandor Grizt sincerity.
“I’m sorry for you,” the little girl finally said.
“If I don’t return soon, I’ll be punished.” He glanced up. Already the darkness seemed to be waning. Predawn. He had scant minutes remaining. “I have to return by first light. It’s nearly that now.”
“I didn’t tell Papa about you,” she mentioned. “I thought I dreamed you.” She leaned forward. “My name’s Gabriella. What’s your name?”
He was beginning to see light! Why had the black robe’s mirror not forced him back yet?
“Vandor Grizt. Little mistress, you said you wouldn’t like to see me burn. Much worse will happen if I don’t leave now!” He held out his hands. “See? I’ve got nothing of yours this time!”
As dawn began filtering into the chamber, Prester stirred. The girl looked at her father. “He should sleep longer.”
Grizt tried to avoid thinking about what her statement indicated: power but not the experience to wield it sensibly. She was able to keep her father sleeping but only for a time.
“Please, my fine young lady! Let me go! It’ll be our little secret that I came here at all! Wouldn’t that be a grand thing? You like secrets, don’t you?”
“If you go without Mama’s jewel will the bad man hurt you?”
Vandor sighed, too unnerved to lie. “Yes.”
Her expression darkened. The thief felt a new twinge of unease. Never had he seen such an expression on so otherwise innocent-looking a child. “I don’t like him,” she said at last. “He’s just like Garloff. Garloff’s a nasty wizard in a story Mama used to tell me. Garloff was evil, not like Huma. Huma was the hero in Mama’s story.”
Grizt had lost the path of the conversation, his eyes straying to the growing daylight. How much longer could she hold him here? Certainly not forever, and when her hold slipped, Vandor would suffer worse than ever. “Gabriella, listen to me!”
She did not. Her eyes brightened, and she peered at him in a manner vaguely familiar. “Garloff is like your wizard, and you’re just like Hurna.” Before the thief could absorb the obviously absurd comparison, the little girl added, “He won’t hurt you if I give you Mama’s jewel.”
Vandor Grizt blinked, uncertain that he had heard correctly. “What?”
Gabriella carefully removed the brooch. She cupped it in her hands, covering it so tightly that Vandor could not see it. “He won’t hurt you if I give this to you. Here.”
Gratitude nearly overwhelmed Vandor Grizt. She wanted to give the Arcyan Crest to him in order to save him from Mendel. The little girl saw him as some tragic hero out of one of her late mother’s stories. In the past, when he was alive in the real world, there had been many women who had fallen sway to his lies, believing him to be a great champion rather than merely a well-dressed thief. He had never dissuaded them, never felt guilty. . until now.
“Gabriella,” he managed, “thank you.” It pained him that she would give up so valued a belonging to the black robe, who would use it simply to enhance his miserable existence, but by no means did Vandor intend to turn down her generous offer-not if it meant finally escaping the world of mirrors.
“Papa gave this to me after Mama died.” She opened up her hands again, revealing the brooch in all its glory. It appeared to glow in the gathering daylight. “He told me all about it.”
Not all, Vandor suspected. If the girl knew that the brooch contained magical powers, he doubted that Gabriella would part with it even to rescue her new storybook hero. That he dared not mention.
“Here, Sir Vandor.” The little girl reached out with the artifact, nearly touching it to the face of the mirror.
Grizt took it with hands still unburning, hands that trembled in relief. He stared at the desired object, stared at the griffons and the kingfisher who seemed to mock his hopes. “Thank you, my lady.”
She giggled again, and her expression darkened once more. “You have to give it to him, Sir Vandor. I don’t want him hurting you again.”
Did she really think that he would keep the bauble for himself? Magical artifacts were useless to him, all the more so in the shadow world. He started to assure her but held back, seeing something in her eyes that disturbed him. What sort of child stood before him? At times she frightened him more than Mendel. “I will, my lady,” Vandor finally managed. “I will. . and thank you again.”
The slumbering form moved restlessly again. Gabriella calmly looked at her father, then returned her gaze to Grizt. Never had he seen so old a look in the face of a little girl. “Goodbye, Sir Vandor. Please come to play with me some t
ime.”
The thief found himself flung from the mirror, the stubborn pull of Mendel’s own looking glass suddenly and at last triumphant.
Yet. . as Vandor returned to his familiar prison, he noted with some surprise and relief that for once he felt no pain in the transition. Even the harsh cold did not bother him much this time. Grizt wondered that the little girl could be responsible, that she could be so powerful. The Arcyan Crest, on the other hand, held tremendous power and perhaps some of that transferred-
The Arcyan Crest! Vandor thrust the girl’s brooch through the glass, placing it carefully on the table in Mendel’s chamber. Only then did he sigh in relief. His youthful admirer had given the precious artifact to him in order to save his life; but if he kept it too long in the mirror realm, surely it would be destroyed this time, and Vandor Grizt would only have had himself to blame for repeating his folly.
A moment later, the cadaverous form of his cursed master appeared in the doorway. “You have it? Give it to me, you stupid cur! I want it!”
After the calm manner in which Gabriella had spoken to him, Mendel sounded much like a spoiled child. . a spoiled child who could dangle the thief’s life before him. Nonetheless, Vandor was tempted to reach out and grab the artifact back. If not for the gnarled mage’s hold on him, the thief would have let the chill realm destroy the Arcyan Crest. Mendel’s aghast reaction would be well worth the loss. Vandor sorely wanted to leave the realm of mirrors; he wanted his body back, though, wanted it more than anything.
“It’s there,” he muttered. “All yours at last, Mendel.”
“The Arcyan Crest!” The gleeful figure scooped up the brooch, cradling it in his hands. Mendel’s eyes surveyed his prize, fingers stroking the fine craftsmanship.
Vandor Grizt studied the mage in disgust. Mendel did not deserve such a treasure. He himself had made no effort, had sacrificed nothing. Grizt, at least, had the credo of a thief; he worked to earn his prizes. Mendel could thank the little girl for the Arcyan Crest. Only because she had been willing to part with her mother’s heirloom for Vendor’s sake did the black robe now have more power with which to stoke his ego.
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