Night of the Eye

by Mary Kirchoff

  Not knowing what else to do, Guerrand reached out and wrapped his fingers over its surface, as if he could blot out the annoying glow. Beams leaked in thin strips between his fingers. Perhaps covering it briefly with a thick piece of cloth would trip some lever and turn off the light. Guerrand dropped the top of his robe to his waist and began to pull the cotton tunic beneath it over his head.

  Contorted thus, he could neither see nor hear the loops of ribbon and yarn lifting from the wall, straining toward him. They wrapped whisper-light in layers around his upraised arms and robe-covered legs, then stretched tight. Startled, Guerrand struggled against the unseen bonds, but only succeeded in tightening them further. He wiggled his face through the opening of the tunic and spied the ribbons. Exasperated, he wrestled against them and lost his balance. Unable to grasp the edge of the table, Guerrand crashed to the ground, dropping and smashing the globe. The light abruptly winked out.

  “Now it goes out,” Guerrand groaned, lying on his side in the midst of the shards of broken glass. He would have rubbed his face in his usual gesture of frustration, if only he could have reached it. He had no components, no hands with which to gesture an incantation that would get him out of this mess. He couldn’t even reach his limbs to bite them off like a coyote in a trap.

  Yes, Guerrand thought, Esme is very clever.

  * * * * *

  “It worked! My spell worked!”

  Guerrand started awake at the sound of Esme’s excited cry. He could hear her fumbling to light a candle.

  A flame grew. “Guerrand! What are you doing in here?” Esme’s delight turned to confusion. “You picked an odd time for your first visit. I told you I was going to the library.” Her eyes narrowed abruptly as her confusion turned at last to angry understanding.

  The apprentice on the floor looked sheepish. “Would you please let me loose so I can explain?”

  “No,” she snapped, turning her back on him. “I’m quite certain I don’t want to do that.”

  “I’m bleeding.”

  “I hope you bleed to death. You broke my globe.”

  “I know. I—I’m sorry.” Guerrand’s apology sounded lame even to his own ears. “Please, Esme,” he pleaded, “I know this looks bad. It is bad, but I can explain.”

  “Let me guess,” she said, running a strand of pearls through her fingers. “You needed to wear these with a very special outfit.”

  Guerrand sighed heavily. “You’re not making this any easier for me.”

  Her beautiful honey-colored eyes narrowed in the candlelight. “You made it hard for yourself when you broke into my room. You know Justarius’s rule about privacy.” She flung the pearls back onto the table. “I’ve a mind to tell him about this and demand he expel you from the order!”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Guerrand said softly.

  Esme jammed her hands on her hips. “I won’t go easier on you, just because you sound contrite now.” Her softening tone belied her harsh words. “Were you here to steal my components? Scrolls? My spellbook?” She shook her head sadly. “You were coming along quickly enough in your studies, Guerrand, without resorting to this.”

  “Gods, Esme!” he cried. “I may be an unprincipled snoop, but I’m no thief!”

  “Interesting distinction.”

  Guerrand laid his head down and closed his eyes in frustration. “This is coming out all wrong.”

  She eyed his arms tangled in the sleeves of the tunic that was half over his head. “If I weren’t so angry, I might laugh. You look ridiculous.”

  “I feel ridiculous. Will you please untie me so that I can at least pull my tunic down? I promise I’ll explain then.”

  Esme looked at him briefly, then bent down and slipped a stiletto next to Guerrand’s skin, slicing through the yarn and ribbons that held his limbs. Sitting up, he rearranged his tunic and settled his robes back onto his shoulders.

  “I’m waiting.”

  Rubbing his wrists, Guerrand looked her square in the eyes. “Justarius and I believe someone is trying to kill me.”

  Shock registered on Esme’s beautiful face. “But why?”

  Guerrand sighed. “I don’t know. I thought for a time it was my family, but we’ve ruled them out.” He told her of the first attacks against him. “It’s obvious whoever it is has magical abilities. This mage used magic on Lyim, which is why he tried to kill me at the Jest.”

  “But how can you rule out Lyim?” asked Esme. “He’s the only person who’s been present when these things occurred.”

  “Justarius is certain that the spell cast during the Jest was beyond Lyim’s skill. Besides, Lyim was the one who saved me during the ambush north of Palanthas.”

  Esme nodded thoughtfully. “Could be a clever cover.”

  “Too clever.”

  Esme shook her golden head. “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with you searching my room.” Her eyes snapped up suddenly, and a hand flew to her throat. “You suspect me!”

  Guerrand winced at her anguish. “I suspect no one, and I suspect everyone, Esme. Palanthas is filled with mages, many of whom were at the Jest. Anyone could have learned I was traveling here from Wayreth, or even seen me leave that stall in the marketplace with Lyim.”

  “But what possible reason could I have for wanting you dead—” she scowled “—until now, that is?”

  “None,” he said honestly. “I told myself I was coming here to eliminate you as a suspect.” Guerrand lowered his eyes, and his heart raced along with his words. “I know now that was just an excuse to justify my curiosity about you. You’re so aloof and mysterious. Ever since you gave me your scarf at the Jest, I’ve tried to envision you sitting in here, studying at night, while I’m across the dining room doing the same thing.”

  “You have?”

  “I think I’d better go now,” he muttered thickly. Guerrand picked himself up from the floor and turned to leave.

  “If I’ve been aloof,” she said to hold him, “it’s because I’m reluctant to trust. I withheld nothing from my father, and he disowned me for my honesty. So perhaps you can understand why I don’t warm up to many people.”

  An awkward silence fell as neither apprentice knew what to say. Esme stooped to sweep up the shards of her globe. Guerrand reached down to help, then noticed the blood on his fingers. He wiped the digits self-consciously on his red robe.

  “Here, let me see that,” said Esme, taking his bloody hand in both of hers. Locating the cut on his thumb, she applied pressure at the base until the bleeding stopped.

  “Thanks.” Embarrassed, Guerrand yanked his arm back more forcefully than he’d meant. The mirror he kept in the folds of a wide sleeve cuff tumbled forth. His hand raked out, and he caught the magical shard in midair.

  “What’s that?” demanded Esme, clutching it before Guerrand could slip the shard back into his cuff. She held its jagged edges gingerly in her fingers. “This isn’t part of my globe. It’s a looking glass. Vanity, Rand?” She looked at him in amusement.

  “Belize gifted me with it to inspire my trip to the Tower of High Sorcery.”

  Esme looked truly shocked. “I got the impression that the only thing the Master of the Red Order felt for you was contempt. But why a mirror? Does it do anything interesting?”

  “It can scry, though I don’t know how to activate that ability.” Guerrand thought he could see Zagarus’s misty image in the glass. “I accidently—or rather, my familiar—discovered that you can slip inside it. That’s where Zagarus is now.” He extended a hand. “May I have it back, please?”

  “A familiar? How impressive.” Esme gently handed the mirror to him. Her eyes snapped open wide with an idea. “Say, what about Belize? He was at the Jest. He was particularly angry at you for defeating Lyim, if I remember correctly.”

  Guerrand frowned. “I suggested that to Justarius, but he thinks it’s highly unlikely. Belize has far bigger fish to fry than me.”

  “Does Justarius know that you knew
Belize before, or that he gave you this mirror?”

  “He knows that I’d met Belize, but he’s unaware of the mirror. I can’t see that either matters. Why would Belize want to kill me, when he was the one who gave me the resolve to pursue magic?”

  “Then why does he hate you so now?”

  Guerrand’s shoulders raised.

  “It’s no coincidence Belize’s name keeps cropping up, Rand,” Esme said firmly. “Our master said the red mage was an unlikely, not impossible, suspect, and Justarius didn’t even know about the mirror. I have a hunch that you’ve overlooked the real villain.”

  “So what do I do,” snapped Guerrand, “march up to Belize and ask if he’s trying to kill me?”

  Esme gave a dry, brittle little laugh. “That would be one solution. Not the best one, however. No, as I see it, you have two options. You can voice your suspicions to Justarius again and have him represent you before the Council of Mages. They may, or may not, believe an apprentice over one of their own. Or you can seek some real evidence against Belize.”

  Guerrand frowned his disapproval. “You mean break into his villa and search it.”

  Esme looked at the mess around her and said archly, “You didn’t seem to mind breaking into my room. Nevertheless, I was also going to suggest you explore the world inside his mirror.”

  “Which would you do?”

  Esme’s thin shoulders raised. “Considering that Belize is the most powerful mage of our order, it would be safer to take your chances with the Council of Mages.”

  “Then I’ll search Villa Nova,” said Guerrand. Esme looked surprised but pleased. “I’ll no longer seek the easy road, and I won’t have someone else fight my battles,” he added resolutely. “The mirror is a second option, but I prefer to face what I understand first.”

  “We can leave whenever you say,” said Esme, her tone eager. “Just let me change into more practical clothing first.”

  “We?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I can’t let you go stumbling alone into someone else’s traps, can I?”

  Guerrand smirked. “Well, when you put it so nicely …” He dashed through the curtain and into the antechamber. “I’ll meet you outside in two shakes.”

  * * * * *

  “You’re certain both of them are gone?”

  The two apprentices passed under the first arch into Belize’s villa.

  “Lyim told me Belize was going to be away, penning his next work, for more than a fortnight,” Guerrand whispered back. “I know for sure that Lyim is, uh, doing field work.”

  They stepped inside a vast rotunda that was so large they felt like ants. Both apprentices gasped in wonder. The circular, domed room looked more like a guild hall or temple than a home. Square recesses adorned the inside of the dome, leading to a large, perfectly circular opening at the peak. The floor was cold gray marble, except in the very center of the room. There, sunlight streamed in a narrow column from the hole above and splashed across an elaborate parquet of red and black marble triangles, squares, and circles. The majority of the room was empty, except along the walls; Guerrand thought there was not enough furniture in all of Palanthas to fill it, anyway.

  Four arched doorways at equidistant points around the rotunda led to unseen rooms beyond. Between these portals were elaborately mantled alcoves that contained gilded mirrors, chairs and small tables, or marble statues on pedestals. Guerrand recognized one of the busts, of the great wizard Fistandantilus, from a book he’d read frequently in his father’s library.

  The two apprentices walked a third of the way in, slowly turning to survey the surroundings. Esme watched her reflection in six mirrors.

  “This place looks like a maze at a festival fun house, with all these mirrors,” the young woman whispered. Even so, her voice echoed in the rotunda. “They make me feel as if we’re being watched.”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out,” muttered Guerrand with a shiver. “Let’s just find his laboratory and some evidence so we can get out of here.”

  Esme nodded. “It’s a sure bet he didn’t leave a checklist lying around that says: ‘Ways to Kill Guerrand.’ ” Her gaze traveled to each of the four large doorways. “Should we just start turning knobs?”

  “I have a less risky idea,” said Guerrand, rummaging around in the pouch that hung over his shoulder. He withdrew the mirror, brushing away flecks of lint, and mentally summoned his familiar. Zagarus tumbled out, startling both bird and woman.

  She knows about me? asked Zag. Guerrand nodded his head.

  “A sea gull!” cried Esme. “And such a magnificent one. I love the black-and-white markings on its head.”

  “Zagarus is a he. Uh,” Guerrand continued hastily as Esme reached out a hand, “Zag doesn’t like to be pet—” To Guerrand’s surprise, Zag preened happily under the hand on his feathered head.

  Such an observant judge of avian superiority can pet me anytime, the sea gull nearly purred.

  “If you two are finished admiring each other,” Guerrand said aloud so both could hear him, “I have a job for Zag.” The bird was instantly alert. “First, get back into the mirror.”

  Hey!

  Frowning, Guerrand clamped a hand around his familiar’s beak. “Just do as I say, Zag. We don’t have time for petulance.”

  Zagarus blinked at the hand on his beak. Guerrand quickly withdrew it and held out the mirror. Zagarus dipped his head, as if trolling for fish, and disappeared inside the shard’s glassy surface.

  “Good,” said Guerrand. He strode to within two paces before the door to his left, knelt down, and set the mirror on the cold marble floor. Esme had trailed him. She watched, curious but silent as he took a wad of gum arabic from his pouch. Closing his eyes, Guerrand conjured a mental picture of the bones and muscles of his right arm stretching like hot taffy. “Voligar et,” he said firmly. Instantly, even before he opened his eyes, came the gentle tearing in his limb that told him his spell had worked.

  He reached out with the elongated limb and pushed the mirror three-quarters under the door, keeping his fingers on the jagged edge. “I’ve sent the mirror across the threshold, Zag. Pop your head up on the other side and tell me what you see.”

  I’m in a wide, empty hallway, said the bird. It looks like it leads to the kitchen.

  “All right, get back in the mirror,” he said, sensing Zag’s desire to explore. “I’ll pull you over.”

  I’m inside. Zag’s disappointment was obvious.

  Guerrand reeled back his three-foot-long arm, bringing with it the mirror. He turned to Esme, who looked impressed with his tactics. “Zag says this one goes to the kitchen. We’ll have to keep trying.”

  She nodded. “While you’re doing that, I’ll look around, see if I can find something odd,” she suggested.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, watching her take tentative steps toward the center of the room.

  Guerrand turned back to his own task. Scooping up the mirror, he followed the curve of the rotunda to the right, stopping a safe distance before the next door, where he repeated the process.

  “What do you see?” he prompted Zag.

  I’m not sure, he mumbled. It’s another hallway, darker than the last, but I think I can make out a staircase.

  Guerrand felt hope flutter in his chest. “Back in you go,” he commanded, then waited a few moments before drawing the mirror back, taking it up in his long fingers.

  Suddenly he heard a scream behind him. Esme! He whirled about and spied her on a shield-sized platform that was rapidly rising skyward from a shaft in the center of the rotunda’s floor. She clamped off a second terrified scream with one hand. Dropping into a crouch, the young woman used the other hand to grip the side of the circle of marble as it brought her ever closer to the sunlit opening in the peak of the rotunda.

  Guerrand ran to the base of the shaft. “Hang on!” he called up. Stuffing the mirror in his pack, he looked desperately for some lever on the thick metal column that rose several stories abov
e on the platform of marble. He found none. Guerrand began to fear she’d be shot out of the opening like a stone from a catapult.

  Near the top, the shaft ground to a stop. “I’ll think of some way to get you down!” he called lamely.

  “Do you think this thing will lower itself? Oh, bother,” he heard her mutter. “I won’t wait for that. Stand back,” she called, kneeling at the edge of the platform to address him directly.

  “Esme, no!” Guerrand yelled, but he was too late.

  Esme threw herself from the platform. Horrified, Guerrand ran beneath her, expecting to catch her, or at least break her fall. The young mage plunged for a heartbeat, but then her decent slowed until she was floating gently like a feather to the floor. Smiling, Esme did a dramatic one-foot landing.

  “Feather fall spell,” she explained calmly, considering the mixture of horror and relief on Guerrand’s face.

  “Next time tell someone what you’re about to do,” her companion growled.

  “I’m fine, if you’re wondering,” Esme said lightly, ignoring his anger.

  Abruptly both apprentices jumped away from the parqueted marble as the shaft began to move again, sinking soundlessly back into the floor. The platform looked once more to be a seamless circle of inlaid black marble.

  Hey, that looked like fun, said Zagarus, who’d left the confines of the mirror.

  “Everyone, stay away from the parqueted shapes,” commanded Guerrand, scowling at Zag’s response. “Standing on that inner circle must have activated a trap.”

  As traps go, it seemed harmless enough, said Zagarus. Aren’t you the least bit curious to learn what the other shapes do?

  “What if they release an army of bugbears or wraiths, or kill intruders instantly?” Guerrand asked aloud, snorting. “I think I can live without knowing any of that.”

  If Belize was concerned about anyone getting in, posed Zagarus, why didn’t he trap the doors? We’ve encountered nothing the least bit threatening.

  “That’s what worries me,” said Guerrand, scratching his head. “I just don’t understand why he’s made it so easy for strangers to get in.”

  “Maybe,” suggested Esme, “he assumes everyone is cowed by his position and wouldn’t dare break in.”