Realms of Valor a-1

by Douglas Niles

  "What happened?" Adon asked, gathering Corene's twisted form in his arms. She lay silently in the patriarch's comforting embrace.

  "It was during the Time of Troubles," Sarafina said. "For the first few days, we were spared much of the wild magic and unnatural beasts caused by the gods' fall. But one day, when we went into the groves to pick olives, we found that Tegea hadn't escaped completely." She shuddered. "The trees bled when we took their olives. Then they shrieked curses at us and tried to club us with their branches. Lord Gorgias came and cast a spell to calm them, but something went wrong. He cloaked the entire mountain with black fog so thick you couldn't see a pace ahead."

  Sarafina started up a narrow lane toward her father's inn, motioning for Adon to follow along. "We didn't see Lord Gorgias again until the fog had lifted."

  "And when was that?"

  "A month after the gods ascended to the heavens again," said Sarafina. "He'd become the monster you see now. Somehow, though, he'd come to believe that he was more handsome than ever. He still believes that."

  "This is all very interesting, but there's nothing in what you've said that convinces me Lady Mystra is powerless to help us," Adon said, already puffing from the exertion of carrying Corene up the steep slope.

  "I haven't finished," Sarafina replied. Unlike the cleric, she showed no strain at carrying her heavy burden. "After the fog lifted, Gorgias cursed the gods for harming his people and for letting magic become unstable. He cast a spell over the village to hide us from the heavens. We were safe from the gods-but they could no longer hear our pleas. It was as if Tegea had died to them." She paused and turned sad eyes to Adon. "We had a church of Chauntea here, but the priests found they could no longer commune with the Great Mother. They lost their status in Tegea, so they left. When our crops didn't suffer for their leaving, Gorgias said it was only more proof that gods held nothing for us."

  "And what did it prove for you?" Adon asked softly.

  "That the clerics mustn't have been very holy." She sighed mournfully, making her veil flutter. "They were only interested in being important people in the village. A few other wandering priests have been through here, but they leave when they discover they're cut off from their gods."

  "But Corene cast spells to protect the village. You saw her cover Broka's face with boils," Adon noted. "And I summoned that pillar of fire to strike down the duke."

  "It's true," Sarafina admitted, "you and Corene are the only clerics who have been able to call upon your goddess for even the most minor magic, but…"

  "Go on," Adon prompted kindly.

  "Forgive me, Patriarch, but your flames did nothing to the duke." She looked down at the misshapen woman in Adon's arms. "And Lady Corene's magic couldn't save me-or save herself from a fate worse than mine."

  Adon stopped walking. "You just might be right," he said softly. "The duke's spell may make it difficult for Mystra to answer our prayers, but I can't give up."

  The patriarch laid Corene on the ground and tried again to dispel the magic that had turned her into such a hideous thing. This time, though, Adon prayed only for Corene to be healed, with no thoughts of his own part in bringing her to this sorry state.

  The novice's body began to glow with a greenish aura and was quickly swaddled in swirling lights that obscured her from view. For several moments, Adon waited in silent anticipation. When the radiance finally died away, he saw that his spell had worked, more or less. Corene's body had returned to normal, but her face remained disfigured.

  Corene returned to her feet, staring at her arms and legs as if seeing them for the first time. "You've saved me!"

  "Not entirely," said Sarafina, pointing timidly to her face. "But it will make your journey easier."

  "What journey?" Adon demanded. "We're staying. You've seen that I can undo the duke's magic."

  "And what of her face?" countered Sarafina, reaching down to stroke the white fleece hanging off Corene's chin. "Her curse isn't so different from mine. You haven't rid her of that."

  "If it's the only way I can prove to you I'm right and you should have faith in Mystra, I shall," Adon said.

  A yellow glow spread from Adon's hand to engulf the novice's head. For a moment, her features seemed to soften and the hideous lumps began to recede. Then, just as Adon was certain of his victory, a gray shadow started to creep back over Corene's face.

  As the lumps began to rise again, Corene backed away, breaking contact with Adon. "Stop, before it affects you too!"

  Adon closed his hand and hung his head. "It won't work until Mystra can hear our prayers," he said. 'The duke's curse makes his magic stronger than any I can cast while cut off from Our Lady."

  "The only true faith that exists in this village is that which Lord Gorgias places in himself, and it's clear that you're not powerful enough to overcome that on your own," Sarafina said. "You must honor your promise and leave."

  Adon did not answer for several moments. Finally he said, "Perhaps you're the one who will have to honor her promise, Sarafina."

  The innkeeper's daughter frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Adon turned to Corene. "I assume you've studied the spell of true sight recently?"

  "Of course, but-"

  "Good," Adon said. He looked back to Sarafina and smiled. "I hope there's a mirror in your father's inn."

  As it turned out, Sarafina had an ideal mirror. It was just large enough to cover Adon's forearm like a small buckler, yet small enough to support with one hand.

  Holding it as though it were a shield, the patriarch stood before the oaken gates of Castle Gorgias, his mace held firmly before him. At his side stood Sarafina, her veil fluttering in the warm breeze. Behind them, waiting at the edge of the cobblestone street, were Corene and Myron. The innkeeper did not approve of Adon's plan, but, at his daughter's insistence, had reluctantly agreed to go along.

  Broka's pocked face appeared in the window of the gatehouse. "You still have time to leave, cleric," be cried, peering at the blazing sun. "It's not quite highsun."

  "I've come to challenge your ugly master for Sarafina's hand," Adon called. "If he's not too much of a coward, he might win himself a wife this day."

  Broka raised a brow at Sarafina. "Is this so?"

  "It is," she answered. "If Lord Gorgias wins this combat, my father will offer my hand to him."

  She had barely finished speaking before the castle gates crashed open. Lord Gorgias scuttled into the street and glanced at the mirror on Aden's arm. "Do you really think that will protect you?" he snickered.

  "You can't hit what you can't see," the cleric answered.

  He angled the mirror so that it reflected the sun's brilliant rays into his opponent's eyes and rushed forward. Sarafina fled to her father's side.

  "This will be a short combat," the duke promised, his fingers already working to cast a spell. He pointed at the patriarch, his deep voice growling his spell. When his gaze fell on the mirror's silvery surface, though, he stumbled over the syllables of his incantation.

  Taking advantage of his enemy's blunder, Adon lashed out at Lord Gorgias. The blow struck him in the head, knocking him senseless. It also made the duke's spell misfire; a black beam shot into the wall of the gatehouse. Amid the clatter of broken stones and crumbling masonry, Broka's death scream rang out as the tower collapsed around him.

  Adon thrust his shield toward Lord Gorgias's face. 'Take a good look, hideous duke," he said. "This is your true self-inside and out!"

  The duke turned away. "That's not me!" he growled, lashing out. "It's an illusion!"

  Adon ducked, then moved around to keep the mirror in front of Lord Gorgias. "You're the one who has been casting illusions, but you've fooled yourself and no one else!"

  Lord Gorgias snapped a foot out, catching Adon in the ribs. The cleric stumbled several steps backward before finally falling to the ground. He clutched the mirror to his chest and struggled to draw a breath.

  The duke pointed in Sarafina's direction. 'Tonight, yo
u sleep in my bed!" he said, his tusks gnashing in fury.

  Adon leaped to his feet and moved forward warily. "The only enchantment on this mirror is a spell of true sight," Adon said, thrusting the silvered glass toward Lord Gorgias's face. "Look!"

  The duke peered into the mirror for barely an instant, then whipped his head around so that he would not have to see himself. Adon sprang forward, swinging his mace again and again. Lord Gorgias gasped in pain and a bloody welt rose each time the weapon struck, though any one blow would have killed most normal men.

  The duke tried to strike back, flailing his arms and legs about blindly. He landed only glancing blows that bounced harmlessly off Adon's armor. Several times, Lord Gorgias tried to look at the patriarch, but he always glanced away when he saw his own image. Twice, he lashed out at the mirror itself, but the cleric was ready for this tactic and knocked the hand aside with a sharp blow of his mace.

  Finally, Lord Gorgias dropped to his knees. "It's me!" he cried, covering his head. "I admit it. That's me."

  Adon stood over the cowering duke. "It doesn't have to be," he said. His voice sounded thin and reedy, winded as he was from the fight. "You can change what you see here."

  The duke raised his head and stared into the mirror. "Don't you think I've tried?" he demanded, grimacing at the image. "It's impossible!"

  "No, it isn't." Adon kept the shield in front of Lord Gorgias. "You have to face this, like you're doing now. Then we can get help."

  "Help?" Lord Gorgias asked. He used a filthy-clawed finger to scratch at the image in the glass. "Who can help me escape that?"

  "Our Lady of Mysteries."

  "No!"

  The duke lashed out and plucked the mirror away, then swung his legs around and swept the cleric's feet from beneath him. 'The gods are the ones who did this to me!" Lord Gorgias yelled, throwing himself on Adon.

  "Not Mystra," the cleric gasped. "She wasn't even a goddess then."

  Lord Gorgias smashed his bony forehead into the cleric's nose. Adon heard cartilage snapping and his cheeks exploded into pain.

  "Have a look at yourself!" snickered the duke, holding the mirror over Aden's blood-smeared face.

  The patriarch had no choice but to do as Lord Gorgias commanded. His nose had been broken and lay spread across his face, and both eyes were already turning black.

  But it was what he did not see that astonished him. The ugly scar on the left side of his face was gone. Yet, when he reached up to touch it, he felt the same cord of rough skin that had been there since the Time of Troubles. It simply was not visible in the mirror.

  "Mystra?" the cleric gasped.

  Lord Gorgias brought the mirror down. Adon barely managed to throw his arm across his eyes, then his entire face exploded into agony as the glass shattered against him.

  A fiery streak shot from across the street, where Corene had been watching the battle with Myron and Sarafina. A magical arrow of flame buried itself into Lord Gorgias's ribs. The shaft continued to sputter for an instant after it struck, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning flesh. The duke cried out, but didn't even glance in the direction from which the attack had come. Instead, he closed his fingers around Adon's throat and began to squeeze.

  A dark curtain began to descend inside Adon's mind. He thrust a hand up, sticking his fingers into the smoking hole that Corene's fire arrow had opened. Lord Gorgias tried to pull away, but Adon hung on tight, at the same time uttering an incantation. A wave of unimaginable cold ran down his arm and directly into the wound. With a sizzle, a cloud of red steam shot from the puncture, making the duke scream in agony. He threw himself off the cleric and rolled away, clutching his stomach.

  Adon stood and, after wiping the blood from his eyes, retrieved the largest mirror fragment he could find. It was about the size of his hand and shaped like a squat triangle. He walked toward Lord Gorgias cautiously, at the same time enchanting the shard with one of his most powerful spells. The duke struggled to his knees and glared at the cleric.

  "Your hatred has consumed you," Adon said, holding the blood-smeared shard toward the duke. "That's what made the monster you see here, not the gods."

  "But they abandoned me-and my village! They did this to me! They refused to answer my prayers!"

  Lord Gorgias sprang.

  Adon tossed the mirror fragment at him, at the same time speaking the command word that triggered the spell it contained. The shard struck the duke's arm and sank deep into his flesh. A silver light flashed from the wound, and Lord Gorgias's anguished voice rang off the castle walls. In the next instant, he vanished.

  The mirror triangle tumbled to the ground.

  When Adon picked up the shard, it felt so cold that it stung his fingers. No longer was it possible to tell that it had once been part of a mirror, for its smooth surface had become as hard as polished stone. In place of the cleric's reflection was the image of Lord Gorgias, his shadowed eyes glaring out at the world, his tusks gnashing in anger.

  The patriarch studied the shard for a long time. He felt a great sense of relief and hope, but also of loss and fear. Today, he had vanquished a monster, but he had also vanquished something even more terrible-something that he'd been afraid to face for many years.

  Just before Lord Gorgias had smashed the mirror against his face, Adon had seen himself without his scar. It was then that he had realized why Mystra had sent him to Tegea. The power to remove the scar always lay inside him, just as the ability to defeat the duke had been his all along-if only he turned his gaze outside himself, focused his thoughts on something other than his own petty concerns. The clerics of Chauntea who'd abandoned the village had done so because their own selfish interests had stopped them from breaking the silence the duke had imposed upon their souls. And all the spells that had failed Adon in the last few days had done so because he'd cast them, not to help others, but to prove himself a worthy servant of Mystra.

  By the time he realized where he was, Adon had walked back to the center of town. Myron, Corene, and Sarafina were trailing along behind him, keeping a respectful distance from the pensive young patriarch.

  Finally Myron came forward. "I didn't believe anyone could banish the duke, but you have." He paused for a moment, then pointed at Castle Gorgias. "Corene and Sarafina are already talking about making a House of Mysteries out of that."

  "You'll have plenty of help," Sarafina said from beside the crowded pool in the center of the square.

  "Yes, when our husbands return from the fields this evening, they'll be so glad to see us without veils that they'll have it converted before morning," said another.

  Dozens of women were filing into the street, all without veils, all smiling broadly. Some had big noses and some double chins, while others were missing teeth and had cheeks as leathery as saddles. Nevertheless, Adon would not have called any of them unattractive. Too him, they were all as beautiful as Corene.

  "Well, Corene," Adon said, turning to the novice, "are you looking forward to seeing Arabel again?"

  “I’ll be going back with you?" asked Corene, stepping to Adon's side.

  "Not exactly," the cleric replied, looking down at her. Her button nose had returned to its normal size, and her pale cheeks had begun to shine with their old radiance. I’ll be staying here. I don't think the spell the duke cast to shield the village from the gods has been lifted entirely. It'll take someone of the right temperament to maintain contact with the Lady once the church is established here."

  Corene kissed Adon's cheek. Then, wiping the blood from her lips, she said, "I don't know if it will work, but I could try to heal your nose and those cuts."

  "Fine, but leave my scar alone," said Adon.

  Sarafina, still hidden behind her veil, stepped up to Adon's side and slipped a slender arm around the patriarch's waist. "I've thought from the start that it gives your face character."

  "Maybe you're right," the priest said, laughing. "But I'm not going to spend any more time worrying about it. My concer
n now is how to help Tegea."

  Sarafina lowered her veil and smiled at him. It was the most beautiful thing Adon had ever seen.

  DARK MIRROR

  R. A. Salvatore

  Sunrise. Birth of a new day. An awakening of the surface world, filled with the hopes and dreams of a million hearts. Filled, too, I have come painfully to know, with the hopeless labors of so many others.

  There is no such event as sunrise in the dark world of my dark elven heritage, nothing in all the lightless Underdark to match the beauty of the sun inching over the rim of the eastern horizon. No day, no night, no seasons.

  Surely the spirit loses something in the constant warmth and constant darkness. Surely there, in the Underdark's eternal gloom, one cannot experience the soaring hopes, unreasonable though they might be, that seem so very attainable at that magical moment when the horizon glistens silver with the arrival of the morning sun. When darkness is forever, the somber mood of twilight is soon lost, the stirring mysteries of the surface night are replaced by the factual enemies and very real dangers of the Underdark.

  Forever, too, is the Underdark season. On the surface, the winter heralds a time of reflection, a time for thoughts of mortality, of those who have gone before. Yet this is only a season on the surface, and the melancholy does not settle too deep. I have watched the animals come to life in the spring, have watched the bears awaken and the fish fight their way through swift currents to their spawning grounds. I have watched the birds at aerial play, the first run of a newborn colt___

  Animals of the Underdark do not dance.

  The cycles of the surface world are more volatile, I think. There seems no constant mood up here, neither gloomy nor exuberant. The emotional heights one can climb with the rising sun can be equally diminished as the fiery orb descends in the west. This is a better way. Let fears be given to the night, that the day be full of sun, full of hope. Let anger be calmed by the winter snows, then forgotten in the warmth of spring.

  In the constant Underdark, anger broods until the taste for vengeance is sated.