Demon in the Mirror

by Andrew J. Offut

  Table of Contents

  Demon in the Mirror

  1 Snakes in the Door

  2 Bargaining with the Devil

  3 The Sisters of Death

  4 Paradoxes

  5 The Elixirs of Serancon

  6 Riding the Thunder

  7 Bird of Prey

  8 Incident in Dark Forest

  9 In the Tomb of Kings

  10 The City of Shadows

  11 The Garden of Turgumbruda

  12 Siege of the City of Light

  13 A Wizard and a Prince

  15 Egg of the Phoenix

  16 Paying the Devil

  Demon in the Mirror

  Andrew Offutt & Richard Lyon

  © Andrew J. Offutt and Richard K. Lyon 1978

  Andrew J. Offutt and Richard K. Lyon have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the authors of this work.

  First published in 1978 by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc..

  This edition published in 2017 by Venture Press an imprint of Endeavour Press Ltd.

  “To Ina and Jodie

  without whom,

  precious little

  The Woodling Raiders

  There was no warning. One moment she was alone in the coolth and shade of the woods; the next, six of the weirdly painted men were on her. She was shamed and galled; it was debasing to be taken without inflicting so much as a scratch on her captors. In disgustingly short order, two of the silent men were carrying her along like a slaughtered deer. Her hair streaming down to sweep the forest floor, she hung head-and-bottom down from a pole to which her wrists and ankles were thonged.

  Tiana wondered what they planned to do with her. She gritted her teeth. They’ll use me, of course. Who could resist? It was one of the problems of being a woman. She put it out of her mind. These men’s teeth were filed. Cannibals, surely. Well, we’ll see. They underestimate me, else they’d have slain me at once. All I need do is wait for an opportune moment — and think very positively about there being one!

  1 Snakes in the Door

  The larger ship, a Narokan merchantman, flew no flag and bore the marks of fire and sword. The other vessel’s flag still fluttered in the gentle breeze: the black banner bore the outline of a fox’s head in the scarlet of new-spilt blood. A pirate craft she was, Vixen, out of Ilan. Locked together now like lovers, the two ships rode the moon-bright water almost in silence. Attack and battle were long over. The vanquished slept in the sea; the victors, pirates and newly freed galley slaves, slumbered nigh as deeply from much ale and strong wine.

  The night was silent, save for the gentle liquid sounds of a calm sea. Having posted no watch, the victors had left themselves defenceless. Yet danger of attack was minimal, and the pirate captain’s judgment was that it were best to let the men drink until they knew not the colour of their own skins; the corsair crew was white and the galley slaves black.

  The piratical ranks held but one black, the first mate Caranga. It was his conceit that he slept with one eye open, thus ever keeping watch. The sprawled man’s heaving chest was broad and powerfully muscled as that of a hibernating bear — and presently produced a snoring quite as loud. For all his strength, Caranga was not a tall man, and his hair showed grey at the edges.

  Not all the victors slept so comfortably.

  Near the starboard rail lay three blacks whose first taste of freedom had been bitter indeed. They moaned from time to time, their skins tinged with green; nor was there aught remaining in their stomachs to hurl into the sea. Having found a keg of ale, the delighted trio had either not heard or ignored the order that all such finds were to be fetched to Caranga. Narokans were fond of posthumous vengeance, and their ships generally carried a poisoned keg or two to abbreviate the triumph of successful pirates and mutineers. When no such keg was brought Caranga, he went seeking, and the new freedmen were happy to have him quaff their ale.

  A single touch of his tongue to the brew was sufficient. Caranga spat vigourously.

  That the trio had drunk the poisoned ale was too bad — for them. But the act itself was a matter of less import than its being a direct violation of Caranga’s order. Punishment for that offense was the returning of all that they had consumed. The miscreants might have preferred death by poison: both pirates and their fellow blacks joined in the sport of alternately forcing water and feathers down their gullets.

  Aside from the moaning, listless trio of former slaves whose education had been thus furthered, the victors were in good condition. Their dead had greatly outnumbered the seriously wounded — and they had taken no prisoners. Who, after all, wanted to buy a Narokan?

  Linked like friends leaving a tavern, the two craft slid over the moon-bright water. Snores were the only sounds that rose from them, and ale-induced sleep gave to few movements. They might have been ghost vessels under the wan circle of the moon.

  Not quite all aboard were asleep. Two had transferred to the merchant ship, where both were on quests, though of different natures. Belowdecks of the Narokan craft, a single candle ghosted about. Vixen’s captain explored the prize.

  Captain Tiana had fought hard and worked harder afterward, at surgery. Yet she was not a tippler and her curiosity would give her no rest. Alone with her candle, she searched the gloomy passages of a depopulated ship.

  “There must be something of extraordinary value aboard this accursed hulk, Rarn — else why was it so well guarded?” But a glance told her that Rarn had departed swiftly, on his own mission.

  She moved on, reflecting, wondering. Had it not been for the slave mutiny, she mused — and of course her own superb leadership — the battle for a merchant ship unexpectedly filled with marines would have ended very differently. Yet, while the cargo appeared to be readily marketable at a good price, it comprised nothing of unusual value. So, with her candle and while her men slept, Tiana searched.

  Until she came upon the mirror. Full length it was, and one glance at her reflection told her this glass was of the highest quality. Tiana stopped.

  No doubt lingered in her mind that she was no less than beautiful, and this opportunity to inspect and admire herself was irresistible; there were no mirrors on Vixen, in grudging deference to the Sinchorese who thought them bad luck. Assuring herself that a nearby keg held naught but nails, she waddled it forward and rested her candle on it. With a toss of her deeply red hair she stood before the glass and gazed into her own green eyes, below brows arched with a confidence Caranga called o’erweening, and occasionally supercilious. She frowned at her long black cloak with its gold braid at the shoulders. During the victory celebration she had worn the concealing mantle and kept herself apart, so that her men might think of her not as woman or companion but as their captain.

  The night was not chill and vanity warmed her; she removed the cloak.

  Tiana was dressed as she’d been during the battle — indeed, for the battle. A wide black belt girt short breeches and a loose-sleeved shirt that was signally tight in the torso. Shirt and breeches were of shimmery green silk; the leather boots were glove-soft. Bloodstains marred her garb now, but she smiled. The clothing had been calculated; Tiana well knew her looks, and she well knew men. She’d been much on display, and, if those fool Narokans had chosen to gape at her body when they should have been plying their swords, why then that was their problem. The rapier and dagger at her belt had punished their error and ended all their problems.

  Busy inspecting herself with uncritical eye, Captain Tiana of Vixen paid no mind to the two strangely bright spots in the mirror’s upper-right corner.

  She turned in profile to the excellent mirror: she stretched forth a leg of uncom
mon sheen and shapeliness; she jiggled with fully satisfactory results. “Look like you’re trying to smuggle a pair of tahlequah melons,” Caranga had observed with asperity, nor had he exaggerated overmuch. Again she smiled at her reflection. And what, she mused, might you bring on the slave mart, my beauty? She could fair hear the clammer’s voice: What am I bid for this fire-haired darling with a body so perfectly formed and her still young as well?

  “Hmp!” Tiana pursed her lips. That would depend to some extent on the market. In Sinchore the nobles favoured women like dolls, tiny fragile creatures, while in Aradot the aristocratic taste ran to tall, large-boned girls and strapping women. True, over most of the world demand was for women such as herself, of medium stature and frame, well endowed with curvature, not muscular but with firm strong limbs.

  Of course, anyone buying Tiana of Reme would soon discover that she was considerably stronger than she appeared. She mused, smiling, giving her hair another shake and a few touches. Not so bad a thought; were piracy to become unprofitable for this reason or that, she could arrange to have herself sold. Once inside the home of a wealthy purchaser, she’d loot it and vanish. If any sought to deter her — so much the worse for them. Being Tiana was of great advantage in a world peopled with fools who considered combat a matter of brute strength rather than skill and speed, and women something for the using.

  More than one man had sneered at the long needle of a blade she had unsheathed to daunt him. Each had learned that one last lesson.

  She flouted and flaunted before the mirror, and its two areas of brightness gazed down upon her, unblinking. Without thinking about it, she assumed them to be reflections of her candle; there was naught behind her to cast such reflections. Nor did she note, in these few moments she had stood before the mirror, that the light-flecks had grown a bit brighter.

  Stepping back a pace, Tiana whipped out her rapier and fought a mock duel with her reflection. Booted feet danced on the rough planking with swift easy grace as she parried and lunged. The rapier was a weapon well suited to her; its length compensated for the shortness of her arms and its lightness enabled her to make the very most of her agility and swiftness.

  A small sound behind her brought her whirling, rapier ready. Instantly its point lowered; she recognised the sound of well-padded little feet, followed by a brief angry tussle slashed by a tiny shriek. A moment later Vixen’s cat appeared, carrying a still-twitching rat.

  “Good for you, Rarn,” Tiana told the triumphant cat. “You’re about your business — as I should be.”

  She was picking up her candle when she thought to examine the mirror. The perfect image it provided made it rare and valuable — but its wooden frame was an anomaly. It was not even well made. Elevating the candle and peering close, Tiana saw that the wood was old, very old — while the mirror’s silvering was in faultless condition. The glass did not approach the mirror’s true age.

  “Rarn… consider. Why would anyone place a highly valuable glass in a poor frame that does so little to protect it from breaking?”

  She did not ponder long. Seeing no immediate profit in the solution to this mystery, Tiana moved on. The mirror was left in shadow. She was gone when the cat stared at the glass — and with a hiss, arched its back. With the candle’s light removed, Rarn saw the evidence of his nose: the two spots of brightness on the glass were… eyes.

  Though largely in darkness, the owner of those eyes was visible to the cat: a tall man who stood not before the glass, but within it.

  The eyes did not focus on the alarmed animal or indeed on anything else. They stared at infinity. Their owner’s hands moved in a gesture that puzzled the cat. Rarn was a keen observer of humankind in all matters pertinent to the obtaining of food. The gesture he saw was one made by fishermen to signify that the bait had been taken. Rarn preferred fish; rats were for sport, and strokes from his human. Yet no fish appeared for him to steal.

  While the cat watched with eyes no less green and no less curious than his master’s, the man faded from the mirror. His image was replaced, but not by a normal reflection. Rarn hissed and backed a pace, gazing into the image of a second mirror. It too held an image…

  No reflection of himself or a ship’s hold Rarn saw but of an empty tavern.

  Then that mirror faded, with its image…

  It was replaced by a normal reflection. Rarn grasped the rat jealously, made sure its neck was broken, and growled his warning. The other cat, too, held a rat — and was fading, blurring. The blurring increased; Rarn blinked. A network of cracks raced through the silvering. The glass was warping even as he watched. In a few heartbeats both glass and silvering were as old and time-ravaged as the wooden frame.

  Stalking forward, Rarn sniffed. His tail moved restlessly. The cat’s knowledge of mirrors was limited to the fact that they held strange, handsome tomcats one could not fight. This mirror was strange. It had exuded the odour of Bad, rather like a stalking great beast.

  Now Rarn smelled only glass and wood. Rarn consulted his stomach and decided he was hungry enough to eat two rats. Too, it would be easier to catch the second on an empty stomach. The cat acted on that notion with alacrity.

  *

  Two knobs adorned the door at the end of the narrow passageway. The inner one was round and plain; the other was formed in the shape of a serpentine head. Tiana bent to examine them. The round knob was unmarked, while the other showed small scratches, as though it had been opened only by a mail-gloved hand. A faint green discoloured the knob at the left of the snake’s mouth. It seemed to stare at her while Tiana considered.

  Just like Narokans to guard a door with poisoned needles! Yet… if there is venom in the snakehead knob, is the plain one harmless?

  Careful not to touch either as she pressed her ear to the door, she heard a faint slithering sound within. Within what?

  Tiana vanished from the corridor to reappear in seconds, carrying a length of rope. With care, she knotted one end to the plain knob set almost in the door’s centre. She stepped back a few feet, set the candle on the floor and held her rapier ready for a swift thrust. She tugged hard at the rope.

  The door did not open. A compartment did, within the door. As Tiana stared, three ugly cobras dropped thumping to the ship’s planking.

  Tiana snapped out a. curse. She had half expected a single snake and had known little apprehension; the greater reach of her rapier would result in its swift demise. But three! — The captain of Vixen faded back, hoping one hooded reptile would rush ahead of the others. Instead, they advanced on their liberator in perfect side-by-side formation. Tiana’s nape prickled. Hooded heads wove invisible designs a foot or so above the floor while the creatures stared with unblinking eyes green as her own but hardly comparable. Malign they were, and…

  A chill slithered along her spine. There was intelligence in those eyes! It was no illusion, and neither was their continuing formation — a perfect defence against rapier thrust.

  Great Cud — I’ve loosed sorcery on myself!

  She backed another pace. She could easily slay one, but before she could recover for another thrust, no matter how swiftly, she’d be twice bitten. Had she a weapon designed for edgework, she could have lopped off those three broad heads at a single stroke — but she was bode by an uneasy conviction that against a broadsword or sabre the snakes would have chosen a different formation…

  Tiana took swift stock. She had rapier and dagger, flint and tinder, and naught else of use. Her soft leather boots would no more stop a cobra’s fangs than would her silk clothing. Curse me for not wearing mail to battle! Retreat was possible but disadvantageous: in the main hold, the cobras could attack from three sides at once.

  The concept of racing back to her own ship for help never entered Tiana’s mind.

  Her left hand shot to her belt, and the dagger leapt forth to fly at the centre cobra. The dagger’s aim seemed true, but the snake’s head was like the smoke above a candle; the knife passed (through?) without effect. With
her heartbeat increasing its tempo, Tiana stepped back, and back and, with a running start leaped over the leftward cobra. Its head flashed up and fangs narrowly missed her bare leg — while, in air, Tiana slashed down at the rightward snake.

  Thumping lightly to the deck, Tiana instantly whirled and thrust. Her point skewered the centre snake. The right serpent lay motionless, its head bloody. As swiftly as she’d stabbed, Tiana freed her sword from her second victim.

  “Two down! Now, you demon from the —”

  Tiana broke off. Rather than turn and recoil or strike, the third reptile slithered rapidly from her — and knocked over the candle. The flame was snuffed and the instant blackness was total. Tiana’s heart pounded and her armpits prickled. Fighting down panic, she moved silently through the darkness. The advantage was clearly the snake’s; Tiana knew she could move as soundlessly, but a misplaced thrust would betray her position, while the cobra could strike and miss without a sound. Her skin tingled. Would she feel only a blow at one leg, or the needly piercing of the fangs? And then how long would she have? Would it strike again — and again? If she succeeded then in slaying it, would there be time for the horror of trying to saw off her leg — or would she faint in pain and slide into the coma that would precede death by venom?

  She stood motionless, straining her ears for the slightest sound. The pounding of her heart seemed a drum shouting her location to the enemy.

  A faint slithering sounded to her left and on the instant her rapier streaked down. It impaled something soft, then the floor. She felt her victim wriggle; felt it go still. Relief weakened her. She wanted to shout her victory —

  A terrible suspicion entered her mind and paralyzed her lips. Freeing her sword of the floor and raising it, she examined the snake’s corpse with trembling fingers. Her rapier had entered the creature just behind the head — but there was a wet cut on the head.