Demon in the Mirror

by Andrew J. Offut

  Eyes like a… cobra, Tiana thought, but she said, “Well, Lamarred, we meet at last. As we are all doubtless hurried, what offer am I made for these rare old books of ours?”

  “Your books?”

  “Certainly ours,” Tiana nodded. “By right of salvage. We found a Narokan merchant ship adrift, locked to a pirate craft. The corsairs had slain all the Narokans, but had drunk of the wrong cask. All were dead.”

  “And for believing that bit of imagination, the harbour-master receives a fourth part of the spoils,” the wizard said, without smiling.

  “Fifth,” Tiana corrected.

  “No matter, Captain Tiana. We have no need for haggling. When you examine your find, you’ll discover the books gone and a large bag of pearls in their place. They are Atean pearls, be assured; each is worth several pieces of gold.”

  “Impossible!” Gunda snapped, but Tiana soon proved him wrong.

  Having slashed off the sack — still bound with her knot — and clankingly unwound the silver chain, she opened the chest. She hefted the knobby bag she found within.

  “You’ve robbed us!” she accused, squeezing the bag that seemed miserably small for all her trouble.

  “Hardly; the books were not your property and the pearls are valuable. And as Caranga said, such things do not change hands by ordinary commerce.” Lamarred spoke ever in a murmur, seeming to caress each word that emerged almost as a purr.

  A purring cobra? Tiana thought, even as she noted that the mummified hand was still within the casket — slowly wiggling its fingers. It had given her no trouble; she treated it cavalierly.

  “Be still, hand. Lamarred — and what will you offer for this very rare and most unusual hand, which as you see moves without attached body?”

  “They are Atean pearls, right enough,” Gunda said.

  “Nothing,” Lamarred said. “For the time being, Captain Tiana, you must retain the hand.”

  “Must?” Tiana echoed, with a slight taste of fear in her mouth. “Why?”

  “Because Caranga was right to be nervous of involvement, but many years too late.” And the mage spun his web of words. “Captain Tiana, you were born into this intrigue of sorcerers. You are the daughter of Sondaman, Duke of Reme, by a union… not recognised under Ilan law. When you were nine, the dukes of Arcone and of Palance conspired with the wizard Derramal to overthrow King Hower. Because of your father’s loyalty to the king, the dukes had him slain and kidnapped his heir.”

  “Bealost,” Tiana whispered.

  “The same,” Lamarred nodded. “Your infant half-brother. The conspiracy failed and the conspirators were executed. The dukedom of Reme being vacant, the king thoughtfully conferred it on his cousin, Holonbad Lacklands.”

  Mention of the dead brother she had loved deeply brought on thoughts that cut like knives into Tiana’s brain. Her voice was harsh. “So I am a bastard.” She shrugged. “My father and brother died years ago. All you speak of is over and done. Here sits my father.”

  But even as her hand closed on that of Caranga, ghosts of memory awakened and Lamarred’s face became familiar, the face of a forgotten enemy.

  “No, Tiana of Reme, your brother is not dead.” The cobra eyes stared into hers. “Derramal realised the babe was a valuable pawn in the game of Empire. He hid Bealost — and took the secret to his death. And that brings us to the present problem. As the lawful heir to the Duchy of Reme, Bealost is a threat to Holonbad — who no longer stands so high in the king’s favour. Pyre, aye, Pyre, has discovered your brother’s hiding place and offered to sell his death to Holonbad in exchange for … certain concessions, which I would find disadvantageous.”

  Caranga spoke in a quiet growl. “You want us to assassinate Duke Holonbad?”

  “No, for then Pyre would but sell Bealost’s death to Holonbad’s successor.”

  Gunda made as if to speak, but his tongue locked. Logic seemed to call for their slaying of Pyre, the dread most powerful of wizards.

  “No, Pyre is invulnerable,” Lamarred said in answer to the unspoken thought. “I have already succeeded in slaying Pyre’s emissaries to the duke, as well as the duke’s emissaries to Pyre. The circumstances are such that each will blame the other. This little delaying tactic will give us time to find Bealost and establish his claim to the Duchy of Reme.”

  “And how,” Caranga demanded, “is this severed hand to help us find Tiana’s bro - half-brother?”

  “A discerning question.” Almost, the purring mage bowed. “In some of what I said I have… oversimplified. When his enemies overcame Derramal, they only partially neutralised the spell which protected him. In consequence, though they dismembered his body, he did not as you see gain the peace of death. The hand is alive, in a way, as is each severed portion of his body. These are scattered over the world, for as the faithful use the relics of saints in their prayers, so do wizards use the remains of mighty sorcerers in their spells. With Derramal’s body, ummm, collected and reassembled, I can neutralise the protective spell. He will then truly die, and by now he is ready… but there will be a few moments, Tiana, in which he can tell us where your brother is hidden.”

  “A grim treasure hunt!” Caranga growled. “How much of the body have you?”

  “Only the right hand, which Ekron sent, but it will aid us to gain the rest. Tiana — will you remove the tablecloth?”

  Tiana had long said nothing, while her brain worked furiously. Lamarred’s face was familiar, but impossible to remember. Whoever he was, he was deadly. Without knowing how she knew, she was sure that the slightest sign of recognition on her part, any hint that she had guessed the riddle of his identity, and the mage would slay her and her companions as a man might callously swat three flies.

  “Tiana,” the sorcerer insisted. “The tablecloth.”

  Not yet trusting her voice, she hastened to comply. The cloth’s removal revealed the table-top indited with a large map of the known world, a map more complete and detailed than any Tiana had seen. Lamarred spoke, purring forth words like water flowing over butter, but the words were not such as human ears might hear. To Tiana the murmuring voice was an icy breath from the realm of death, a blurred echo of insanity.

  From the chest came a creaking sound, a cracking, a tearing — and with a splintering of wood the hand stepped forth to walk on its fingers like a baneful spider.

  Eyes stared from frozen faces while the repugnant thing tick-ticked across the map. It stopped; the index finger tapped at a small village named Woeand, fifty leagues north of Reme. Moving northward, the hand tapped on the mountain Erstand. In quick succession it indicated Calencia, capital of Nevinia; Escallas capital of Bashan; Lieden, capital of Collada. Pacing southward, the hand indicated a small island off the coast of the black countries, and then the abandoned city of Killiar, each with two taps.

  These things done, the revolting relic collapsed, its unnatural life spent.

  “Perfect,” the sorcerer breathed, “perfect! This confirms my previous intelligence — and adds to it! Each of the areas located is the hiding place of a part of Derramal’s body. Tiana, you must go alone on the northern route while you, Caranga, must take Vixen and her crew south to the island of the wizard Serancon and thence to Killiar.”

  “By the Back!” Caranga swore. “You expect us to chase all over the world on no more than your word?”

  “I do,” the mage said easily. “You must know that no wizard can break a promise and oath made on his Power. I swear and promise on my Power that Bealost, Tiana’s half-brother, is not dead; and that if Derramal’s body be brought here, it will tell the boy’s hiding place and I will effect its disposal. If I break this promise, may my name which is part of my Power be changed and my Power lost.”

  “And Drood grasp you in each and every arm.” Gunda added with virulence.

  Lamarred did not so much as blink. “For solid evidence, here — Bealost’s locket. Pyre’s emissaries were carrying it to Duke Holonbad when I… deterred them.”

 
Tiana snatched the locket almost before it clinked on the table-top. Indeed, it bore the family coat of arms — aye, and on the back was the tiny inscription she herself had scratched one day when the jeweller wasn’t watching his tools. It was in truth her brother’s locket — but it was wrong side to. Both the armorial bearings and her inscription were reversed.

  Tiana felt as if she stood on the brink of a chasm of madness. Suddenly she knew the true identity of Lamarred, and it was an impossibility, a blasphemy against natural order. Previously she had feared showing some betraying sign of recognition; now she feared to think lest her enemy read her thoughts.

  After a moment her strength reasserted itself. Though Lamarred was clearly an enemy, he had struck her heart, where only Bealost and Caranga dwelt. I must play this cobra-eyed wizard’s game — and beat him! Yet how to solve the enigma, the dark riddle of insanity that was Lamarred? Many a knot is unravelled by the road, she recalled. Aye; somewhere on her distasteful quest she would find the answer to the mystery. Controlling her voice, she spoke.

  “It is my brother’s locket. I have no choice. I will undertake your grisly quest.”

  “Our quest,” Lamarred purred. “Good then, Tiana of Reme. You are strongly allied. What useful knowledge I have is written on the back of the map, which you will find can be slid from the table-top. And now — farewell.”

  The wizard turned and seemed to vanish even before the curtains fell before the alcove where he’d stood. Caranga cursed, but it was Gunda who leapt up to whip back the arras. Wordless exclamations broke from three pairs of lips.

  The small alcove was gone. It did not exist. It was as if it had never existed.

  In its place stood a tall mirror.

  “Again,” Tiana whispered, “a mirror… or the mirror…”

  Perhaps Gunda thought the glass concealed a secret door; perhaps he merely had need to express anger and frustration at Lamarred’s abrupt departure. Whatever the reason, Tiana’s big second drew axe from belt and, with the full power of his brawny right arm, struck the mirror. It rang from the blow that would have splintered a city’s gate… rang, and was neither shattered nor so much as scratched. Without a sound but an aspirant gasp, Gunda crumpled to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  His companions needed no examination to know that Vixen’s huge second mate was dead.

  Caranga stared, dumbfounded, a large black hand on Tiana’s bare pale back. He turned that expression of mingled astonishment and anguish on her.

  With her lips close-pressed, she answered her foster father’s unasked question: “We will go. When we finish our vile quests, we must learn the secret of the Inn of the Smiling Skull… and avenge our friend.”

  3 The Sisters of Death

  Hot moist breath blew on Tiana’s face and was followed by the slurping over her cheek of a large wet tongue.

  Tiana’s transition from sleep to full alertness was instantaneous. Even while her eyes focused, her dagger sprang into her hand. She gazed into great sombre grey eyes, which stared back. A mule!

  Relief did not completely replace apprehension; mules had masters. She rose, grasped her long, nastily slim rapier, and surveyed the forest clearing. There was neither sign nor sound of another human. Tethered as she’d left him, her horse calmly cropped grass. With a little frown, Tiana turned to examine the mule. It was dirty, unkempt and wore neither bridle nor harness. A small wound festered on its left fetlock, she saw; it should have been lanced and cleaned at least a day ago. Evidently the beast was masterless but not wild; it had come to her seeking human care.

  Good. I can use him. But — why would anyone abandon such a sound and valuable beast? An answer suggested itself, pleasant or no: perhaps no one did. His master was slain by robbers? Forest thieves? — and the clever animal fled the murderers.

  “Clever fellow. Here, stand easy now.”

  The mule did, placidly accepting her tending of its wound, and she sat down to a breakfast of the cold roast rabbit that remained of last night’s supper. The meat was doubly delicious for its seasoning of self-righteous satisfaction.

  As she had prepared to depart Reme, Caranga had remembered that for all her expertise asea, his piratical stepdaughter could hardly know aught of woodcraft or forest lore. She could blunder all too easily into any of a host of deadly traps. Tiana had listened with what she thought was considerable patience, while Caranga explained that in the forest one was ever both hunter and hunted. (And how, she mused, did that differ from the pirates’ life he and she had led all these years?) Pay attention to the principles he explained, Caranga bade her, and she’d be able to follow any trail through the forest while leaving none herself. He expounded at length on various methods of stalking game and men, on leaving false trails and deadfalls to evade or ambush pursuers and on which wild beasts were most dangerous under which circumstances. In the middle of why one should always approach a water hole from downwind, both Tiana and her stepfather had run out of the patience that was a virtue of neither. Heated words were exchanged. Caranga swore that his foolish daughter would never so much as see the hand she sought; she would starve in the midst of plenty for inability to catch so much as a rabbit.

  All of which made the rabbit especially delicious. With or without Caranga’s tediously detailed knowledge, she’d caught a fine fat rabbit on her first night in the woods. All she’d done was stand quite still while the little animal took his time hopping within rapier reach.

  Now Tiana wondered idly if it mightn’t have been a bit too easy, if perhaps the abundant animals of this forest were unaccustomed to hunters — or unafraid of them. Could she have wandered onto some nobleman’s game preserve? Such lordly dogs were frequently too lazy to hunt, yet hanged starving peasants for “poaching.” Small matter, she mused with lifted brows. If she met a gamekeeper, she had plenty of gold and silver for a man reasonable enough to accept a bribe. And if he insisted on being honest to his lord, why then — her hand touched her sword.

  She finished her repast, saddled up, and was out of the forest by noontide. The mule followed her like a devoted dog.

  According to the map, the village she sought, Woeand, lay but a few miles along this dirt road. Strange; the fields on either side were overgrown with weeds, and cows feasted merrily on what little corn and wheat struggled up without seeming attention.

  The three farmhouses she’d thus far passed were ramshackled and weather-beaten, their windows laced with cobwebs.

  Why do these foolish people abandon their farms?

  Reining in, she dismounted to examine the soil, even to test its arable depth with her dagger. By the Cud! Rich and moist it was, and dark, the topsoil extending down and down. With such land even an indifferent farmer should grow fat and rich! Their counterparts to the west scratched out a precarious living from a hostile earth; up north, farmers ploughed land not half this fine in daily fear of the savage woodlings. That this fine land was idle and waste was… obscene.

  Pondering, aware of mystery, she rode on, followed by the mule. Even the graveyard she passed was deserted. No, the dead had hardly departed their abodes en masse, but all maintenance had been neglected. Headstones were overturned or poked forth at odd angles from masses of weeds. There was no sign that the nuns were performing their ceremonies — and duties! — and there was not one new grave.

  What ails people hereabouts? Bad enough they’ve stopped hunting and farming — have they ceased dying, too?

  At least the next farm was inhabited, though its proprietor’s efforts appeared far less than wholehearted. Less than half his fields were ploughed, and no furrow among those was straight. A weedy invasion seemed close to victory. Narrow-eyed, Tiana reined her mount up to the farmhouse. Curiosity tethered the horse there; curiosity impelled her through the open door.

  She inhaled deeply; the perfume was that of bread freshly baked and hot beef stew. Beside the stove, a large fruit pie was still warm. So, at a table set for five was the stew on the plates! Frowning,
hand on pommel, she looked about, called out. Did I frighten them off? Hardly! In less than a minute, she’d made sure the little house was deserted.

  A chill of apprehension, awareness of the foreboding unknown tautened her nerves.

  What emergency sent a family of five out of their home in the middle of the midday meal? A neighbour’s house afire? — there was not so much as the odour of smoke. Grimly and with nervousness riding her shoulders like a brooding vulture, Tiana mounted and rode on toward Woeand. She’d had the presence of mind to help herself to the pie; riding, pondering the mystery, she munched.

  “At least the cooking’s good hereabouts!” She’d spoken aloud, full-mouthed; her mount put back one ear and the mule hurried to catch up. Tiana tried to laugh. She failed.

  The village of Woeand carried on the nigh-abandoned appearance. Its few buildings were maintained only by patchwork and make-do. Tiana saw with new shock that the people were a sickly lot, pale and drawn of face and sunken of lacklustre eyes. Slump-shouldered, they walked in listless shuffles and seemed to fear her glance. It occurred to her that the region must surely be afflicted with some whelming plague that did not slay, but sapped vitality and spirit. The thought sent a nervous shudder running through her. At least she’d not be here long.

  Even so, she felt the temptation to forget her mission and hold her breath until she was many miles distant.

  She reined toward a listless youth. “Ho there — does this town have an inn?”

  The boy stopped to stare up at a magnificent woman astride a chestnut horse. Her face, framed by sun-glinted red hair, was alive with beauty; deep-green eyes stared down at him and burned with authority. Though she was enveloped in a long black cloak with gold braid at the shoulders, such of her supple limbs as were visible or outlined showed superbly moulded shapeliness and an unusual lithe strength. A woman, beautiful, bosomy, and armed as befitted a man of arms.