by Jack Massa
“I think as long as we keep the fires burning, we should be safe,” she said. “But three of you should always stand guard.”
Lonn nodded grimly. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll be ready if they come.”
They cooked the last of the fresh venison and ate it with hard bread from their stores. Wilhaven strummed his harp, his tune a soothing counterpoint to the sporadic howling of ghost dogs across the city. After eating a healthy portion, Draven rested on one elbow by the fire. Amlina was heartened to observe his strength returning so quickly.
Before retiring, Amlina removed the queen’s head from the basket and raised the eidolon body. Coming awake, Meghild stared around with lips parted, then drifted to the entrance of the hall. Amlina and Wilhaven followed her.
“Are you well, my queen?” the bard inquired.
The eidolon’s eyes gazed at the pyramid. “We are here at last.”
“Yes,” Amlina said.
“I am weary,” Meghild muttered, her voice barely audible. “So many visions, bright and harsh, but all have disappeared. And soon this one too will fade. How much time is left, Amlina?”
“Five nights till the moons align.”
Meghild sighed. “One more task, and then I shall rest.”
* O *
Glyssa was roused by a hand shaking her shoulder. She’d had only a few hours sleep after standing watch, but she came awake at once, pierced by a feeling of panic.
“I’m sorry to waken you.” Amlina whispered. “I need your help.”
Glyssa sat up, breathing hard. It was morning, a dreary gray light hanging over the ruined plaza. The remains of the bonfire smoked at the entrance to the hall. Eben, Lonn, and Karrol stood guard.
Amlina face betrayed care and fatigue. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
“I am all right.”
Glyssa pulled on her boots. She followed the witch into a storeroom off the main hall. The small chamber contained dusty bales of fabric and a shelf with ancient pots and jars. Amlina had spread her bedding against the wall. Tiny lamps burned on the floor, arranged in a star pattern. The head of the queen floated in a ceramic bowl filled with water. Meghild’s eyes were closed, and Glyssa had the feeling, for the first time, that she was looking at the head of a corpse.
Amlina sat down on the floor and directed Glyssa to do likewise.
“In four nights, I will forge the Mirror Against All Mishap,” Amlina said. “But mentally and physically, I am so tired. I fear I will lack the necessary concentration. I’ve decided, since there is time, that I will enter the dark immersion. In this way, I hope to replenish my energy. Starting this morning, I must not be disturbed for any reason. Do you understand?”
Glyssa nodded, lips parted.
“The problem is,” the witch continued, “I might not awake from the trance in time. That is why I need your help. To be summoned from dark immersion is dangerous, if not done properly.”
“What must I do?”
“Four mornings from now, if I am not awake, you must summon me back. Come in here alone. Call my name softly, and reach for me in your thoughts. Just as you did on the bridge, when you were blindfolded, but gently.”
“All right,” Glyssa said. “Is that all?”
Amlina smiled and touched her hand. “You are strong and faithful, Glyssa. I know I can rely on you.”
They stared at each other in the dim room, and Glyssa sensed the witch’s mind touching hers.
“I am a poor teacher indeed,” Amlina said. “I have not done nearly enough to help you. Or even paid attention to your condition. I know you are frightened.”
“Surely there is good reason for that,” Glyssa said. But even as she tried to make light of it, the dread welled up inside her, a dark, crushing force. Her voice faltered. “It is getting worse. I think it is the fishhook again. It started when we were on the river, but it grows worse all the time. And now, this place …”
Amlina held both her hands and gazed into her eyes. “You feel something unknown, but powerful and terrifying, reaching into you, seeking to gain control—”
“Yes. It feels like before, when the sorcerer made me a slave. But it can’t be he, can it? Because he is dead.”
“No. It is not Kosimo. I am sure Beryl killed him. I suspect what you feel is something I also am feeling—the blood magic, rising in both of us. It calls to the spirit of this place. That spirit is known as the Devourer, and it is his power I must use to create the Mirror. I did not realize you would feel its presence too. It is a mark of your growing talent.”
“What can I do?”
Amlina paused before answering. “Keep up your exercises, circulating the power inside you, to give you control and balance … And call on your klarn-spirit. That is an energy unknown to the lore of Larthang, but I have come to know it is a wonderful protection.”
* O *
Rain whispered and hissed in the night. Gray clouds had blown in from the west on the second day of the witch’s deep trance. The rain had started in the afternoon, dripping through holes in the roof, forming puddles on the floor. Some of the stored fuel had gotten wet, forcing the Iruks to build a smaller fire tonight, in the roofed section of the hall.
Standing over the fire, Glyssa peered into the gloom of the plaza, wary for any sign of movement. Two of the ghost dogs had rushed the camp last night. And though they’d been easily beaten back, a dozen others had lurked just outside the circle of firelight, growling and yapping till dawn.
Tonight, with the diminished firelight, Glyssa thought they might attack in force. She heaved a deep breath, pushing down her fatigue and gnawing terror. The tension of waiting felt unbearable.
Draven stepped up and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you get some rest, mate? You look worn out.”
Glyssa winced, remembering how his neck had looked when Wilhaven changed the dressing that morning—raw and shrunken, a chunk of flesh missing. “You’re the one who should be resting,” she said.
Draven harrumphed. “After five days flat on my back, this feels like a night in the tavern.”
Glyssa responded with a cheerless laugh. She glanced around the camp. Lonn, Karrol, and Wilhaven also stood watch, with only Brinda and Eben sleeping. The weariness welled up and her shoulders sagged.
“Perhaps you are right,” she said. “I will try to sleep a little.”
She slumped over to the bed furs, took off her sword belt, lay down with her weapons close at hand.
* O *
Glyssa moved through a narrow passage. Beneath her feet, the floor lifted and sank. She was back on the ship, the Larthangan vessel they had traveled on from Kadavel—after her mates saved her from enslavement. She remembered the passages below decks, but this corridor was longer, endless. She was lost. She had to find Amlina’s cabin …
She drifted past doors hung with a silver sheen, like the looking glasses she had seen at inns in Fleevanport, and later in Gwales. You could see yourself, everything around you, reflected perfectly. They were called mirrors.
“What do the mirrors mean?” A voice sounded behind her. Glyssa spun around, but saw no one.
“Belach?”
“Yes, it is Belach. What do the mirrors mean? You must remember.”
She was surprised to find Belach here, but the force of his question compelled her to search her mind for the answer. “Amlina is making a mirror, the Mirror Against All Mishap.”
“Is she indeed?” Belach sounded surprised. “Where is she making this mirror?”
“Here, in Valgool. On the pyramid.”
“So? And when? When will she be finished?”
Glyssa wondered why Belach was asking these things, and why she could not see him. But she trusted the shaman, and so felt she must answer. “A few more days.”
After a pause, Belach said suddenly: “Amlina is in danger. You must go to her.”
Glyssa sat up. She was unsure how she had come to be lying down, but this question vanished as she reached for her
sword. Amlina was in peril. The serd had come for her, was going to enslave her as Glyssa had once been enslaved.
Glyssa rose to her feet, distantly aware that she was in the ruined city, rain dripping from the roof. Her mates stood guard with their backs to the fire. Silently, she crept to the rear of the hall, like a hunter stalking prey. She slipped into the storeroom.
In the flickering lamplight, Amlina lay in deep trance. A thin, black-robed creature hovered over her, leaning close as though to feed on the witch’s soul. The sorcerer, the one who had once been Glyssa’s master, the one she hated above all others in the world.
“Hurry,” Belach whispered in her ear. “You must strike now.”
Glyssa cringed, but the sword felt true and solid in her grip. She stalked past the lamps, lifted the blade to plunge into the serd’s back.
But she hesitated.
The sorcerer was dead. Amlina had told her so.
The black-clad figure turned, changing. It was not the serd, but Belach!
“Stop, Glyssa, daughter of Sorcha!” he said. “You are about to kill your friend.”
“Agh!” A gasp of rage sounded from behind.
Glyssa whirled and spied—not Belach, but another—a tall powerful woman she had seen before, in the cavern under Kadavel. Amlina's enemy, the one called Beryl.
The truth sprang to her mind. Beryl had bewitched her, possessed her, tried to trick her into killing Amlina. In pure fury Glyssa lunged, stabbing the Archimage in the belly.
Beryl shrieked and vanished in a flash of searing black. Pain tore up Glyssa’s sword arm, and she was flung backward, cracking her head against the wall.
* O *
Controlling her rage with a grim effort of will, Beryl limped through the upper chamber of the Bone Tower. The Iruk's sword her struck her etheric body, of course. But Beryl had chosen to manifest the wound in physical form, to heal it more quickly. A puncture, an inch deep, just below the stomach—she had sealed it at once to stop the bleeding. The soreness, she knew, would last some days.
Now, pausing to lean on a heavy chair, the Archimage pondered her next move. She had been so close to killing Amlina and ending the threat. At the last moment, the Iruk shaman had broken free and wriggled out of her grasp. Then Glyssa had moved with stunning speed, stabbing Beryl's projected form before she could defend herself or break the link.
Once again, she had been caught off-guard by the toughness and tenacity of her opponents. Perhaps the long decades of dealing only with slaves and weak-willed minions had left her soft, over-confident.
Regardless, she could not afford any more mistakes. She needed to assess the danger now, coldly and clearly. She had learned Amlina's location, Valgool, and the name of the ensorcellment she meant to cast. The Mirror Against All Mishap—no doubt, an ancient Nagaree design, its purpose obvious enough from the name, a protection against all attack.
The Mirror would be forged in a few more days. Did Beryl have time to prevent its completion? Difficult, at this distance and with Amlina's barriers so effective—even if Beryl had her full strength. But with this wound …
Too early to decide. First, she must replenish herself. Her gaze tracked to the far wall, the alcove hung with a black curtain. As she headed in that direction, the treeman emerged from under a table and followed her, his long tail twitching with anticipation.
Beryl pulled back the curtain and scanned the line of bronze cages. Four captives stood within, two male and two female, eyes closed, brains asleep. Beryl placed a finger to her lips and scrutinized their naked bodies, deciding which one she would feast on.
No. In this extremity, better to take two.
* O *
Glyssa walked through an empty landscape under a gray-white sky. Snow crunched beneath her feet, and white flakes drifted in the air. After walking some distance, she spotted a figure clothed in black feathers. Glyssa marched up to him.
“Belach? Is it you?”
“Yes, daughter of my tribe.” He lifted the beaked mask, revealing his face.
“I thought it was you before, but it was another.”
“Yes, I know. She is a mighty witch, that one. She bound me and stole my shadow. Only at the last moment, when she thought she had won, was I able to break free and warn you.”
“She is the witch we mean to kill. She almost tricked me in killing my friend. I am glad you warned me.”
“I am glad also.” Belach’s black eyes appraised her. “You have done well on your quest, overcoming your fears. But now you have met the second great enemy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean deceit!” Belach clucked his tongue three times. “When you travel in the spirit worlds, many may try to deceive you. This time we were lucky. I was able to intervene. But you must learn to conquer this enemy yourself, just as you have the first.”
“How can I do that?” Glyssa asked. “How can I know what is true?”
“By clarity! By looking carefully and fearlessly, not only with your eyes and brain, but with your heart. The eyes, the nose, the mind—all can be fooled. But never the heart.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Belach smiled kindly. “Clarity is not easy. As with facing the first enemy, it must be won again and again. But you are clever and brave.” He laid a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Be well, daughter. And be wary!”
He spread his arms, the cloak moving like wings, closed them again and disappeared.
Twenty-Three
“Glyssa. Glyssa, my friend. Return to us now. All is well.”
Glyssa's eyes blinked open. Amlina leaned above her—and behind the witch’s shoulder, Lonn and Brinda and Karrol peered with grave concern.
After probing Glyssa’s scalp with her fingers, the witch sighed with relief. “She will be all right now.”
“How do you feel?” Lonn asked gently.
Her mouth was parched. “Thirsty.”
Chuckling, the mates sat her up. Karrol fetched a cup of water.
“You had us worried,” Lonn said. “We found you lying here and couldn’t rouse you. We didn’t know what to do. Finally, Amlina came out of her trance this morning.”
Glyssa frowned, confused. “I was supposed to wake you.”
“No matter,” Amlina smiled. “I was able to wake you instead. What do you remember?”
“I’m not sure. I was on guard with Draven and then … I must have fallen asleep.”
“What else?” Amlina insisted.
Glyssa squeezed her eyes shut, straining to clear her thoughts. The memories rose with a surge of fear. “The master … the serd, he was attacking you—No, it was not him. It was your enemy, the Archimage. She must have bewitched me.”
“Yes.” Amlina blanched. “I thought I felt her presence in the Deepmind. So now she knows about the Mirror …”
Glyssa knew that was true. “She read it from my mind … And then she tried to trick me into killing you.”
The witch regarded her with surprise. “What prevented you?”
“Belach appeared, our shaman. At first Beryl pretended to be Belach, but then he appeared in truth, and warned me. And then I saw that it was Beryl, and I stabbed her with my sword.”
“Indeed?” Amlina's surprise deepened. “Seems I owe Belach a debt—and you as well.”
Wits returning, Glyssa looked around at her mates. “Are the rest of you all right?”
“Well enough,” Lonn said. “We are holding the camp.”
“Barely,” Karrol interjected. “The ghost dogs attacked in force last night. We killed six before they retreated. And we are running short of fuel.”
“That won’t matter.” Amlina stood. “Before nightfall we will climb the pyramid. I am almost certain they won’t follow us there.”
“So it’s tonight,” Glyssa said. “I was gone for two days?”
“Yes,” the witch replied. “Tonight we cast the Mirror.”
* O *
After the Iruks left the storeroom, Amlina kn
elt on the dusty floor. While she lay in trance, the tiny lamps had burned for four days and nights, fueled by energy channeled from the Deepmind. Now, with a word, she extinguished the flames one by one.
As Amlina had hoped, the dark immersion had revived her, balancing the vast powers of the blood magic in her body and spirit—leaving her with a cool, steady determination.
But while Amlina floated in trance, Beryl had learned about the Mirror. The Archimage had managed to pry into Glyssa's mind and seize control of her body. Yet, at the crucial moment, Glyssa had fought back and driven Beryl away. The untutored prowess of the Iruk woman continued to surprise Amlina. And now, looking at the problem with deepsight, Amlina perceived that Beryl had withdrawn, perhaps been damaged by the encounter. Had Glyssa's sword actually wounded her? Impossible to tell. And once Beryl comprehended the power of the Mirror, she might strike again to prevent its creation. Beryl was fully capable of piercing the veils of distance, to materialize lethal forces here in Valgool. Amlina would have to be on guard against that possibility.
In the hours between now and sundown, she had much work to do: weaving extra protections, fashioning trinkets, raising the eidolon of the queen.
But first, she must see Draven.
After putting away the lamps, Amlina walked out to the hall. The morning air was crisp, the sky a pale lavender here on the high plateau. The Iruks sat around a smoldering fire, sharing a meager breakfast. Wilhaven leaned on a column, somberly plucking his harp.
Amlina took some porridge and tea. She chatted with Lonn and the others, advising them of her plan to march to the pyramid at dusk, and warning them to be alert in the meantime. After finishing her meal, she took Draven aside, leading him by the hand to a portico at the rear of the hall.
She placed her palm gently on his bandaged neck. “You are still recovering, my dear friend?”
Draven grinned, took her hand away and hugged her in a crushing embrace. “Oh, yes. Better all the time.”
