by Mel Odom
Claiming to want to repay Kulik Broghan for his hospitality, and to seal a bargain they’d both agreed on to exchange lesser items, Brandt had given the wizard a mobile of a miniature elven city made up of glistening trees overlooking a large lake that was actually a mirror. The mobile was magical in nature, and Brandt had shown the wizard how—with a phrase—the mobile would come to life, progressing through the seasons in a matter of moments. Tiny, multicolored leaves would fall from the trees into the lake, rise again as snowflakes and become buds and leaves to repeat the whole season. Over and over.
Since it was magical in nature, and the spells had been laid closely together, only a truly trained wizard could see the additional spell that had been hidden that allowed someone to access the mirror through another made with the same spell.
“Here,” Cobner said. “Just ahead there.”
Wick spotted the mark on the wall. Most people would never have seen it, but he’d been told what to look for. He stopped by the mark.
Quickly, Cobner took his leather pack off and unpacked the mirror inside. He laid it on the uneven ground.
“We already tried to get in this way,” Cobner said. “Even sent Sonne, but she wouldn’t fit neither. She’s too big.”
“Too tall,” Sonne muttered. “I was too tall.”
In truth, Wick knew that the young woman was larger proportioned than he was.
“Craugh could probably explain to you why it’s so,” Cobner said, “but the farther the two mirrors are from each other, the smaller the opening between them.”
“Kowt’s Magical Theories of Transportation Reduction and Mass Shifting,” Wick said automatically. Reading about magic wasn’t one of his favorite pastimes, but he’d gotten familiar with some of the things written. “Magic isn’t without limitations, and when you confine a spell to a thing that’s not inherently magical, those limitations increase exponentially.”
Cobner just looked at him. “I’ll take your word for it, little warrior. If it was me, I’d try a magic potion that would allow me to walk through the walls.”
“Even if you could get through the walls with a discorporal potion,” Wick pointed out, “you’d still cross Kulik Broghan’s magical wards and set off alarms. With the mirrors, you can cross that space and it’s like you were never there.”
“I’ll take your word for it. You know more about it than I do. Shuck your gear and step lively. There are still some patrols around the wall now and again.”
Trembling a little, Wick dropped his gear and stood only in shirt and breeches.
“Here.” Sonne held out a knife.
“I hope I don’t need it,” Wick said.
She smiled at him. “Me too. But you never know.”
Nodding, he took the knife, then walked over and put a foot on the mirror. He closed his eyes, knowing he was about to get sucked into the treasure room like a boiled egg into a bottle with a fire at the bottom.
“Uh, Wick?”
Oh no! They know me! It was a trap! Then he opened one eye and saw Cobner and Sonne facing him. “Am I back already?” Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
“The Word,” Cobner said. “You’ve got to say the Word.”
“Right.” Wick took a deep breath and said the Word. Instantly the mirror’s surface took on a rippled look, like a pond blown by the wind. He dipped a toe in and found it was cold, but not uncomfortably so. “Hey, this isn’t too—”
The spell yanked him into the mirror with a loud SPLOOSH!
Instinctively, Wick held his breath as he was pulled under what felt like liquid. Cold blackness pressed in against him. For a moment he felt like he was coming apart. Then just as quickly he felt compressed and knew he was coming up to the moment of no return. His breath exploded from him as the spell sucked him through the opening.
No! he thought. I’m too big! I’m not going to make it! He felt as though a mule were sitting on his chest, as if a pair of mules were sitting on his chest. He screamed, and he felt the last of the air leave his lungs in a rush. This was where Sonne had said she’d been caught, and she had thought she was going to drown before the spell gave up and tossed her back out.
He flew through the air in a rush, landing in a pile on the hard stone floor. He coughed and sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said when he had his breath back. “I’m too big. I didn’t fit, either.” He looked up for Cobner and Sonne—
—and discovered he wasn’t in the drainage tunnel anymore. Soft lamps glowed in the corners of the room, throwing golden light over the chests of gold and gems sitting on the floor.
The sight took Wick’s breath away. Stunned, he sat up. I made it! I’m in Kulik Broghan’s treasure room!
Heart beating rapidly, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around. He’d arrived only a few feet from the elven mobile that had magically transported him into the room. The mobile was a thing of beauty, elegant and fragile looking. It sat next to an elven helm cut into the features of a snarling wolf on a stone head.
Wick couldn’t believe he was alone. He had half expected to find Kulik Broghan there. Or a small army of armed guards. Either one of those wouldn’t have been too big a surprise. Luck wasn’t something that came easily to him.
The treasure room was small but contained fortunes. Besides the gold coins and ingots and gems, there were a number of weapons. Swords, spears, bows, knives, and axes all occupied weapons racks.
Get moving! Wick told himself. They’ll be worried about you! On his way over, though, he couldn’t help stuffing the bag Cobner had given him, advising him to do as much “shopping” as he could while he hunted the weapons. Before he reached the weapons racks, the bag was filled to overflowing with gold coins and gems, surely a small fortune that would pay whatever Brandt was charging for helping them recover the two weapons.
Tying the bag back to his belt, he approached the weapons racks, spotting Boneslicer immediately. Grasping the battle-axe, he eased it free of the rack.
At that moment, the jewel-encrusted broadsword next to the battle-axe opened its eye. The eye was elongated like a cat’s but it looked vaguely reptilian. It blinked and focused on him.
Wick stood hypnotized. He’d read about animated weapons before, but he’d never seen one. Cautiously, slowly as he could, he leaned to the left.
The eye followed him.
Thinking maybe that was just a trick of the light, Wick took two steps to the right.
Effortlessly, the eye followed him again, looking right at him.
Metallic lips formed on the blade. “Greetings.”
Greetings? Wick thought rapidly, trying to come up with a ploy. All he came up with was, “Greetings.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.” Wick suddenly felt like he was trapped in one of those endless conversations he had with Grandmagister Frollo. Of course, when he got back there was going to be a new wrinkle in those conversations. Second Level Librarian, you’re the reason I was a toad!
“You took that axe.”
Wick looked down at Boneslicer as if he were surprised to see it. “This axe?”
“Yes. That axe.” The voice sounded petulant as a child.
“Oh. This axe. I thought you meant the other axe.”
“Which axe?”
“The one I’m not supposed to shine.”
“You’re going to shine that axe?” the magic sword asked.
“Yes. I’m the new treasure polisher.” Wick pulled out the tail of his shirt and started scrubbing on the battle-axe’s haft. “Kulik Broghan told me I had to shine this axe.”
“You’re a treasure polisher?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve never had a treasure polisher before.”
“Well,” Wick said with a hint of the conspirator in his voice, “if you ask me, that shows. Nobody should let their treasure get this dusty.” He shined Boneslicer some more, spitting on it and polishing again, hu
mming a happy tune as he did so. He also took a step backward.
The sword frowned, the eye half closing and the metallic lips pursing in frustration. “Why does that axe get all the special attention?”
“Does it get special attention?”
“You know it does.”
“No,” Wick said. “This is my first night.”
“I didn’t think I’d seen you before.” The sword looked in the direction of the big door. “In fact, I don’t remember hearing the door open.”
“You must have been asleep.”
“Maybe. It gets boring in here. When my master had me, we were always fighting dragons, rescuing princesses, and cutting the ribbons at market dedications.”
“Really?”
“I’m a very famous sword. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”
“Maybe I have. What’s your name?”
“Frostfire.”
“Really?” Wick asked, excited and interested in spite of the fact that he was meeting a magic sword for the very first time while in the treasure room of a wizard who had already hired people to try to kill him. “I have heard of you!”
“See?” the sword said smugly. “I told you.”
“You slew the giant Konnard! And the banshee hordes of Bluesdale!”
“That was me.” The sword seemed somehow to stand a little straighter in the weapons rack. “So I’m telling you that if anyone deserves polishing around here, it’s me.”
Then Wick remembered something very distressing. It was true that Frostfire had been the human hero Murral’s sword, but when it had disappeared, it had been subjected to a spell by an evil wizard that had altered its nature. No longer content with aiding its hero, Frostfire had turned on him and given his position away again and again until the ice trolls had finally killed him.
“You’re right,” Wick said, suddenly feeling in danger again. “You do need polishing. Let me put this axe away.”
“I’ll be right here.”
Trying not to panic, Wick walked over to the elven mirror, said the magic Word again, and dumped the axe in. Boneslicer slid through like it was sinking into a small rippling sea.
“Hey,” Frostfire said.
“Yes?” Wick replied.
“Did you just shove that axe into that mirror?” The eye bulged on the sword as if trying to peer over the other weapons.
“No,” Wick said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “I laid it down over here by the wall.”
“I can’t see it.”
“Do you want to see it?”
“Yes,” the sword replied. “I’m supposed to guard everything in here.”
“All right,” Wick said, “but if I’m going to pick it up again, I might as well shine it.”
“Never mind,” the sword said. “I guess I need to get my eye checked. I haven’t been out of this treasure room in a long time. Maybe I’m just seeing things.”
Wick returned to the weapons rack, looked down at the sword, then picked up Seaspray.
“Hey,” Frostfire called. “Over here.” The sword jostled in place. “You grabbed the wrong sword. I’m the one with the eye. See?” He blinked rapidly.
“I know,” Wick said. “I was just told to shine this sword, too.” He carried Seaspray over to the elven mirror and saw the spell was still in effect because the surface was still rippling.
“I thought you were going to shine me.”
“I am. I just don’t want to forget these weapons. Kulik Broghan will be very cross with me if I don’t remember to shine these two.”
“Why are they his favorites all of a sudden?” Frostfire asked in a petulant voice.
“He doesn’t tell me things like that.”
“He hasn’t told me, either,” the sword said, “and I get tired of it, I tell you. I mean, how many other sentient swords does Kulik Broghan have?”
None, I hope, Wick thought. He dropped Seaspray into the mirror pool. It went in with hardly a ripple and only a slight sploosh.
“Hey,” Frostfire protested. “You did it again!”
“Did what?”
“You put that sword in the mirror like you did the axe!”
“I’m sure it only looks that way from there.”
“Actually, it looks that way from here, too.”
Noticing the change in the sound of the voice, Wick peered over his shoulder and found Frostfire floating there, gently bobbing as if riding out an invisible ocean.
“I was watching you that time,” the sword accused. “You dropped that sword into the mirror.”
“Uh—” Wick thought furiously. “No I didn’t.”
“I saw you.”
“I didn’t drop it,” Wick said. “It slipped.”
“Slipped?” Frostfire blinked at him, as if considering the truth of what he was saying.
“Sure. I have polish on my hands. It gets slippery.”
“You dropped the sword?”
“Yep.” Wick showed the magic sword his best innocent smile. Maybe it didn’t work on Grandmagister Frollo anymore, but surely it would work on the sword. After all, Frostfire hadn’t been all that bright to begin with, and the evil spell had dulled its wits.
“Swords don’t fall through mirrors,” Frostfire said.
“I’m not responsible for the mirrors,” Wick said, drawing himself up. “I’m just here to polish weapons.”
Unfortunately, a rather large ruby chose that moment to spill out of the pouch he’d crammed so full of loot. The gem skittered across the floor and bounced against the wall.
Tilting forward, Frostfire examined the bag at Wick’s hip. “That bag is full of gold coins and gems.”
“I’ve got to polish those as well,” Wick said, thinking it was at least worth a try.
Frostfire’s eye narrowed in suspicion. “You know, suddenly I don’t believe you. You know what? I don’t think you’re a treasure polisher at all. I think you’re a—” The sword’s voice rose by several decibels. “—THIEF! Help! Thief! Thief in the treasure room! Help!”
Immediately, the sound of running feet pounded in the room outside the door. Kulik Broghan obviously kept guards posted nearby.
“Thief in the treasure room!” the sword continued to yell. It spun around, bringing its blade up to engage Wick.
Moving quickly, Wick grabbed the snarling wolf-face elven helm from the stone head and used it to block the sword blow. Just as quickly, he reached out and poked the sword in the eye with a forefinger.
“Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!” the sword screamed. “He poked my eye! He poked my eye! I’m blind! Help!”
The door rattled as it started to swing inside.
Unwilling to wait around any longer, Wick dove into the mirror, grabbing the loot bag and shoving it ahead of him because he didn’t want to get hung up on it. There was a moment of the intense black cold again, then he shot through the other mirror and back into the drainage tunnel.
“Little warrior,” Cobner called, starting forward. He held Boneslicer in both hands. His own battle-axe was slung over his back.
Sonne stood nearby with Seaspray.
Wick landed painfully on his head and immediately scrabbled to get to his feet. “Get back!” he called. “We’ve been found out!” He twisted toward the mirror and grabbed it in both hands while Sonne reached down for the loot bag. Only a few gold coins and jewels had spilled from it.
“What are you doing?” Cobner asked.
Not wanting to take time to explain, Wick lifted the mirror and swung it toward the wall. Just before the mirror made contact with the wall, Frostfire flew free and spun through the air. Then the mirror hit the wall and shattered into a thousand gleaming pieces in a rainbow spray of color that filled the drainage ditch.
“There you are!” the sword shrilled. It spun across the intervening space.
“Duck!” Cobner ordered.
Wick ducked, grabbing his head in both hands, knowing he was about to have it shorn from his shoulders. Metal shrieked. Daring to look up e
ven though he didn’t want to, Wick saw Boneslicer intercept Frostfire.
“Thief!” the sword yelled, withdrawing and hanging in the air.
“A magic sword?” Cobner asked.
“Nobody mentioned there’d be a magic sword,” Wick complained.
“We didn’t know,” Cobner said. Frostfire feinted and drove in, screaming curses. Amazingly the dwarf blocked every attack and the tunnel filled with the clangor of ringing metal.
“I’m gonna get you!” the sword screamed. “I’m gonna get you!”
“By the Old Ones,” Cobner said, “I hate talking weapons. Never know when to shut up.”
“Help!” Frostfire screamed. “Hellllllppppppp! Guards! Thieves! Thieves!”
Sonne handed Wick the loot back, then grabbed his shirt and yanked him into motion. “Run,” she ordered.
Wick ran, heading for the other end of the tunnel as fast as he could go. He didn’t doubt that the alarm would be spreading inside the fortress. Kulik Broghan’s guards would converge on them in seconds. The ringing duel followed him, coming quickly.
Outside, Wick ran down the short, steep incline toward the reeds where Craugh, Brandt, and the others waited in a small riverboat. For the moment, they’d decided to leave One-Eyed Peggie out in the harbor and try to keep from setting sail with a dozen ships nipping at their heels.
Besides, Sokadir and Deathwhisper were upriver in the Forest of Fangs and Shadows. That was where they needed to go. Provided they escaped.
Wick ran for all he was worth, but his steps got ahead of him and he tripped, spilling down the incline to the river’s edge. He held on to the loot bag tightly, losing less than a handful of coins. Rolling to a stop on his back, he looked up at Craugh.
“What’s going on?” the wizard asked.
“Magic sword,” Wick said. “Nobody said anything about a magic sword.”
“Well,” Brandt said, lifting the loot bag from Wick’s grasp and handing it back to Hamual, “no one mentioned there was a magic sword in the treasure room when I talked with Kulik Broghan.”
Sonne ran from the tunnel, followed by Cobner, who was still battling the magic sword.
Wick tried to get up, then discovered he’d slipped and fallen in mud, thoroughly soaking his clothes. He groaned, then hoped that he lived long enough that wet clothing was the worst of his worries.
