A Shadow on the Glass

by Ian Irvine

  The ladder creaked. Karan ran across and looked down. Qwelt was on the third rung, leering up at her, the other man just below him.

  She heaved a bag of grain over the edge. It tore on a nail and moldy grain cascaded down. Qwelt swore, clawed at his eyes, fell on his brother and they both crashed to the floor. She shook the last few lumps down and rained down crocks and boxes at them until Qwelt fled and the other man lay motionless. The air stank of vinegar and pickled onions.

  Now she clambered up onto the bales and started to hack away at the thatch where it was black. The dust tickled her nose. It was hard work but shortly blessed daylight was visible through a small hole. The ladder creaked again but she did not hear it. The hideous head edged up. Karan hacked with all her might; still the hole wasn’t big enough.

  Qwelt was in the loft now, advancing on her with a wicked pitchfork in his hand and a lunatic glower in his eyes. Karan started and fell down. Qwelt lunged at her with the pitchfork, she rolled and the tines speared into a rafter with a crash that shook the whole building. While he tried to jerk it out, she smashed a crock of olives over his head.

  She crept across to the ladder and as the battered head of the second man appeared she clouted him in the face with a leg of ham. Rotten ham splattered far and wide and there was a tremendous stench. He slipped, fell through the ladder, hung by his chin for a moment then plummeted to the floor. For good measure she dropped the putrid remains on him, flung another jar at Qwelt then hurtled back to her hole. Finally it was big enough to get through. Karan sheathed her knife and sprang up, but the bales toppled, revealing a hideaway stuffed with boxes of silver and goldware and other precious things. No wonder there weren’t any horses for sale!

  Karan frantically restacked the bales so she could reach the hole. Already the scarred man was stirring. She sprang upwards, forcing head and shoulders through into open air, but something stopped her from going any higher. The forgotten pack was caught in the thatch! Her legs kicked uselessly in the air. She heaved until her shoulders creaked and at last the pack popped free.

  Just then someone caught her by the foot and wrenched. Karan screamed, kicked and felt an impact. She heaved again with her arms, the boot came off and she was free and scrabbling up the thatch.

  Qwelt bellowed and the pitchfork shot up through the hole, so close that the tines went through her trousers. She tripped, rolling back toward the hole just as he burst through. Karan thrust the pitchfork at him but he wrenched it out of her hands. He was on the roof now, astonishingly quick despite his bulk and his belly. Karan snatched out her knife, but realizing that it was useless against his weapon, she leapt sideways, bounced on the thatch and slid off the edge.

  The eaves hung low and the fall was not as bad as she expected. Karan landed hard on her bottom, yelped and hobbled down the alley, still clutching the knife.

  At the corner she ran full tilt into a tall figure in robes and hood. Fingers the color of chocolate clamped her wrists so tightly that there was no possibility of getting free. Karan looked up at her captor in dismay.

  “Karan of Bannador, I presume,” said a cheerful voice in a Crandor accent “I am Tallia bel Soon. I have been looking for you. Here, give me that knife; you won’t need that again today.”

  Tallia pushed back her hood. She was very tall, with beautiful skin and a flashing smile. There was something familiar about the sense of her. What was it? Fiz Gorgo! The watcher! Karan tried to fling herself out of Tallia’s arms but was held effortlessly.

  “Hold on! I mean you no harm. I want to talk to you. Come with me—there’s an inn here that has rather good tea.”

  Karan jerked in her arms, trying to look down the alley. She was sure that Qwelt would plunge the pitchfork right through them both. Tallia looked over her shoulder. “Whoever you were running from, they’ve gone,” she said.

  Karan could not get the scene out of her mind. She shuddered, then for the first time in weeks she allowed herself to give way to her feelings. Tallia let her weep, and when the worst was over she led her along the street to a brightly painted inn. At the door Karan resisted; she did not want to go inside.

  “As you wish,” said Tallia. “We can sit here.”

  She ordered hot drinks from a menu of fifty kinds, licorice tea for herself and hot sweet tea, spicy with nutmeg, for Karan, who was shivering.

  Karan sat down with her back to the wall. She laid her head on her arms. She had given up. She had no more strength.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  Karan nodded without lifting her head. She was ravenous. Tallia signaled to the waitress again.

  “What happened back there?

  Karan sat mute, then the whole ghastly story flooded out of her. “All I wanted was a horse,” she ended, and burst into tears again.

  Tallia was horrified. “That can be fixed,” she said, waving to a street boy. He came running, anxious to earn a copper.

  “Go to the street of the silversmiths and bid Yehudit come to me here. Give him this sign.” She found a fragment of sard bark in a pocket and inscribed a glyph on it. The boy scampered off. “I have no power here, you understand, but I know those that do. These people will be brought to justice.”

  Karan suddenly slumped down on the bench, in shock. Tallia lifted her back up. Her skin was clammy, her head wobbled. Tallia took a paper-wrapped slab out of her pocket, broke it in half, cracked off a brown corner and pressed it into Karan’s mouth. Karan jumped. She spat it back into her hand and examined the substance suspiciously.

  “What is it?”

  Tallia broke off another comer and ate it with relish. “In my country, Crandor, which is on the other side of the world, it is called chocolate. Eat it. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Karan nibbled the tiniest corner off. “Oh!” she said, her face lighting up. “It’s wonderful—the nicest thing I’ve ever tasted.” She ate it all and felt better.

  Tallia folded the waxed paper over carefully and put the rest of the chocolate in Karan’s pocket. “For later,” she said.

  Shortly a platter of meat and cheese and vegetables appeared. Karan consumed the lot without once looking at Tallia. She was too afraid. “What dos you want from me?” she said with her mouth full.

  Tallia sat back and stared at Karan as though weighing her. Finally it seemed that she had passed the test. “I lie only when I must,” she said.

  What an odd thing to say! Karan examined Tallia with renewed interest.

  “I judge that you are honest too, despite what you have done. I will not lie to you,” Tallia continued. “I am chief lieutenant of Mendark, though I am here under another name.”

  Karan looked startled. “Mendark! But I sensed you at Fiz Gorgo.”

  “And I saw you. Why did you steal the Mirror of Aachan?”

  Karan was profoundly shocked. Was the secret out already? A map of the future began to unroll in her mind’s eye. This woman was diabolically clever and capable, for all her play-acting at kindness. Tallia would carry her in chains to Thurkad or, more likely, take the Mirror from her and leave her dead in a ditch.

  “I saw you come out of the water,” said Tallia. “Who did you steal the Mirror for?”

  “Myself,” said Karan sullenly.

  Tallia laughed with genuine amusement. “You could use one!”

  Karan was stung, so striking a woman criticizing her looks.

  “What do you want it for, Karan?”

  “I’m giving it back to its rightful owners.” It was not necessarily a lie: she might yet do that.

  “And who are they?”

  “Find out for yourself! What are you going to do with me?”

  “Nothing. Until you threaten Mendark I obey the rule of law. You are free to go once we have finished our chat.”

  “I’ve finished already,” said Karan, draining her tea. “The matter has nothing to do with Mendark. Nothing I will ever tell you, either. May I have my knife?”

  She was astonished when Tal
lia put it on the table in front of her. “lean go?”

  Tallia waved a hand. “Go,” she said.

  Karan stood up, very suspicious, slammed the knife into its pouch, backed away and, when she was well beyond Tallia’s reach, said, “Thank you for lunch,” and disappeared into the throng.

  On the other side of the city she found an entirely respectable stable. Karan bought a horse, the best she could afford, though it was a bony creature and much scarred along the spur line. At a nearby market she purchased boots, food, soap, salve and warm clothes for the mountains, measuring out the coins reluctantly. The horse had cost half her money. As soon as it was dark she reclaimed the nag, bought a large bag of oats, another coin begrudged, and slipped quietly out the Sunrise Gate.

  Four torches flared on the wall outside the gate. The light drew her eyes up. Beside each torch a corpse swung from a gibbet—three big men; a woman with streaming gray hair. Swift justice in Preddle. She dug in her heels and fled north along the Hirthway.

  Tallia had spent more than a week in Preddle, for Mendark had a factor there and she had other business with him. She had not specifically been waiting for Karan, though she was not surprised to see her, for Preddle was the only town of substance in these thinly populated lands.

  Tallia, weighing the possibility of learning more from Karan, decided that without forcing her she would get nothing. There had been no reply to her earlier message to Mendark. This Mirror might be worthless, like most ancient things that people thought to profit by. Had it been war she would have acted differently, but she did not have the inclination to take the Mirror by force without good reason, even assuming that Karan still had it.

  Four days later Tallia’s skeet reappeared, bloody and missing the feathers of its right breast.

  Tallia,

  I must have this Mirror. Leave everything else and find her. If she does not come willingly, take her and bring her to me. Beware the Whelm.

  M.

  Tallia was furious with herself. She took two horses, the best in town, and rode them day and night, but somehow knew that she would not catch Karan. She took the skeet as well, in a basket. Karan’s destination appeared to be Hetchet, a village at the foot of the mountains, a long way to the north.

  At the dismal halfway hamlet of Flumen, where the inn was made of warped logs through which a cold wind rushed, she sent another message to Mendark, advising him to contact his people in Hetchet, Chanthed and other possible destinations and have them search for Karan. Later she came upon Karan’s horse on the road, but it had been dead for days and in the stony hills she lost all trace of her.

  Karan rode most of the night, stopping off the road before dawn for a few hours’ rest, all she dared in this open land. She rested again in the afternoon by a creek that was nearly dry, just a few shallow waterholes in a cobbly channel.

  The horse, whom she had named Thrix, had a congestion of the throat that made him cough and snort constantly. You will be no use if ever we have to go secretly, she thought. She dozed while the hobbled Thrix tore at the dry grass.

  At dusk she rose, took her mount to water, rewarded him with a hug and a double handful of oats which he snorted all over her, then climbed into the hard saddle and rode till after midnight. By the time they stopped, with the glaring nebula already starting its descent, she was so sore that she could barely stand. Most of the night she lay awake, picking oats out of her hair, counting her bruises, watching the stars and the standing shadow of Thrix, who snorted even ins his sleep.

  Before dawn she woke suddenly from a troubled sleep, from dreams of faces in the Mirror, faces glaring out at her, accusing her, demanding that she do her duty. The dreams faded as she was still trying to remember who the faces were. Maigraith was there, or was it the older woman she had seen in the Mirror in Fiz Gorgo?

  And now there was this new complication. Mendark would know as soon as Tallia could get a message to him. This Mirror was drawing all the powerful to it, sucking the whole of Santhenar into its whirlpool. She did not know much about the Magister, but rumor did not make him a kind man. Karan had no wish to have any dealings with him.

  Karan rode on, still troubled by the dream. For days she had been worrying about her duty to the Aachim. She owed them so much, much more than her debt to Maigraith. Breaking that oath now seemed the lesser crime. After all, the Aachim had held the Mirror for thousands of years and did no harm with it. And Karan knew that the making of the Forbidding had been a time of great upheaval. What would happen if Faelamor broke it?

  Karan still had friends among the Aachim of Shazmak. One of them, Rael of the red hair and the wistful smile, could have been more than a friend once. She lost herself in memories of growing up in Shazmak among the towering mountains, the roar of the furiously rushing Garr never out of her ears. It was Rael who had taught her how to climb. She still missed him. If only Tensor hadn’t…

  Tensor! Leader, if they could be said to have one, of the Aachim of Shazmak. A mighty man with a mighty presence; a hero in the struggles of the Aachim with their enemies, the Charon, in ancient times. One of the original Aachim whom Rulke had brought to Santh from Aachan. Tensor was a stern proud man who had never given up the struggle, who was full of bitterness at their loss and who talked constantly of the renascence of his people. A man with an implacable hatred for their ancient enemy Rulke, the Charon responsible for all their troubles.

  She could see him now, black locks flying, beard bristling, great fist upraised. “Just give me the power,” he had raged.

  Karan’s respect for Tensor bordered on awe, as was due to him, but she had never felt comfortable in his presence, had always felt that he had something against her, as though he had judged her and found her wanting; or perhaps had found her father wanting for going outside. Tensor had tutored her in the development of her talent in her early days in Shazmak, though the experience had been uncomfortable and she felt as though she had lost something because of it. And later when he had sent Rael away to the eastern cities, Karan had known that it was because of her.

  Perhaps I should give the Mirror to Tensor. After all, I owe the Aachim more than I can ever repay. But, they failed to support me when Emmant harassed me. That cancels a good part of the debt. What would Tensor do with it anyway? Perhaps it would just be fuel to bis hate.

  Faelamor or Tensor? The Faellem or the Aachim? Was one option better than the other? Was either better than Yggur who, for all his imperial ambitions, was reputed to be a just man, a law-bringer?

  Well, I took the Mirror, she thought. I set all this in motion and now I have a duty to make the right choice.

  Agonizing over her decision, Karan traveled the Hirth-way north to Flumen, through country that became increasingly barren, and then to the hills of Sundor, a distance of a hundred leagues, in only eight days. In all that time there was no sign of any pursuit and she relaxed a little. That was when it all began to go wrong again.

  Climbing into the arid and desolate hills of Sundor, riding too hard, Thrix slipped on the rough ground, fell and shattered his foreleg. Her heart went out to the great beast as it lay on the road, looking at her with its moist brown eyes, but there was only one thing to be done. She gave Thrix a last hug, her arms not meeting around his sweaty neck, covered his eye with her hand and cut his throat with one deep cut. The hot blood sprayed all over her arm and her clothes and the big head slowly sank to the road.

  She turned away, tears watering her dusty face. It was a long time before she forgot the killing of her horse, and the smell of his blood stayed with her for days. And, in her distress, she relaxed the control of her talent and her emotiosns that she had been exercising since the swamps.

  In the hills of Sundor the hallucinatory dreams came back. Once more she dreamed that the hooded Whelm were listening for her. But this time it was worse, for a big wasted hound crouched beside them, the firelight reflected in its staring eyes. For two nights she had these dreams. On the third morning Karan woke in terror and saw
the Whelm far below, and so she fled once more. Soon the chase blurred into that hunt in the swamps, and though that was weeks ago the interval now seemed like a minute’s waking in a day-long nightmare.

  That night, as she dozed upright with her back against a stone, a single howl came on the wind. A low-pitched, ragged-at-the-edges note, endlessly drawn out. Karan jumped. It cut off suddenly and was not repeated, but she knew what it was—the hound from the cistern, or another just like it. She had been expecting it even before the dream. She could sense it, could imagine the gaunt thing perfectly, if she closed her eyes. She was more afraid of this Whelp—that was a good name for it!—than even of the Whelm.

  She looked around her camp. It wasn’t much to defend—a pouch of coarse grass with upthrust rocks above and below, halfway up a stony hill, and a couple of scrubby conifers on her right. She was protected only from above. Karan was tempted to light a fire even though it would draw the Whelm. They would find her soon enough in this country, with dogs. There was no hope even if there was only one Whelm, one dog! The panic built up until the urge to scream was irresistible. She put her fingers in her mouth and bit down hard and kept biting until the pain brought her to her senses.

  Karan realized that she was broadcasting her panic again, drawing them to her. She forced herself to breathe slowly, to slow her racing heart, to make some defense.

  Fire was not a good idea. Up among the rocks with her back to a bit of an overhang was the best she could manage. Her only weapon was her small knife. Not enough! She gathered a pile of rocks for the sake of doing something. What a stupid idea: rocks were useless in the dark. She wrenched a small branch down off a tree, hacking the tough bark away from the trunk. It wasn’t big enough to do serious damage though it felt good in her hands. Now she waited, wanting sleep but not game to doze for an instant, staring into the night until her imagination began to make Whelm stick-figures out of the shadows.