by Jack Massa
“It is you!” she cried in the local tongue. “It is you, Amlina—is it not?”
“Who are you?” the witch demanded.
“Zenodia. I was assistant to Toulluthan when you were here. Now I am high treasurer.”
“Yes, I remember you,” Amlina said. “But why are you here, wandering the empty streets?”
“I have been searching for you … for many hours.”
“Why?”
“I do not know. Except—if you have come to Tallyba to kill the tyrant, I would help you. In any way I can. Even at the cost of my life.”
“Who is she? What is she saying?” Lonn demanded.
“She appears to know Lady Amlina.” Wilhaven had understood parts of the exchange.
Amlina stared into Zenodia’s eyes. She read the effects of narcotics, of reckless sorcery. But also a sincerity born of desperation and agony.
“Can you lead us to the Bone Tower?”
“Yes, of course,” the priestess answered, confused. “But you must know the way.”
“We are ensorcelled,” Amlina replied. “But you perhaps are not. If you can lead us there, do so now—quickly!”
Zenodia’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes. Follow me.” She whirled and hurried off.
With an abrupt wave to her companions, the witch followed.
“We are trusting her?” Glyssa asked, rushing a step behind.
“We are,” Amlina replied. “We have very little to lose.”
Twenty-Nine
They raced up tree-lined avenues, past shops and wealthy manors. The Bone Tower and then the citadel walls came into view, consistently drawing nearer. As Amlina had suspected, Beryl’s ensorcellment was aimed at the Mirror and those who shared its power. Zenodia was immune.
In less than an hour they approached a grand square. Lamps winked atop the citadel wall, with sentries visible on the battlement. The bronze Gates of the Sun stood thirty-feet tall and closed.
“We’d better go in by one of the lesser gates,” Amlina said. “That will be easier for me to unlock.” She spoke now in Tathian, of which, it turned out, Zenodia had a limited command.
“The door to the temple garden” Zenodia said. “I have a key.”
They followed her to the left, along the base of the citadel hill, through narrow, high-walled alleys. Another quarter hour brought them near the temple complex. An enormous dome curled beyond the fortified wall, its gold surface borrowing a sheen from the brightening moon.
Finally, Zenodia stopped before a door set three steps down from the pavement, dark wood reinforced by black iron. She set down her lantern, found a key in her robe, turned it in the lock. She pushed, and the door creaked inward.
Amlina led the way inside, her companions close on her heels. They stood in a formal garden, pools and topiary shrubs arranged along pebble walkways. The rear of the huge temple lay to their right, the palace and the Bone Tower straight ahead up the hill.
The moment Zenodia shut the door, brightness like a meteor tumbled out of the sky. A flash erupted, and Beryl appeared, tall and menacing in blazing gold robes.
One of the Iruks flung a spear. It flew into the figure and vanished.
“Don’t bother,” Amlina said. “It is only a sending, an image.”
Beryl laughed mockingly. “Such delightful ignorance. But welcome, welcome Amlina, and to your crew. I have waited a long time for your arrival.” Her eyes sought out Zenodia, hunched behind the others. “And, Zenodia … It seems I underestimated both your hatred and your nerve. I will enjoy punishing you for this betrayal.”
“Come on,” Amlina shouted to her friends. “She can’t stop us in that form. We must hurry.”
“Yes. Come. Come!” the phantom voice called. “You are running out of time, aren’t you? Soon your defense will vanish.”
Amlina in the lead, they charged directly at the figure. It faded as they passed, leaving Beryl’s scornful laughter tolling in the air.
* O *
Rog and Grizna floated near the top of the sky. Glyssa knew the Mirror’s time was almost gone.
They had traversed the gardens, circled past annex buildings, crossed a huge paved area where, Amlina said, other temples had once stood. At one point a patrol of sentries had tried to stop them—only to be flung back by the Mirror. Now they dashed up the steps of a building Amlina identified as the palace.
Beyond a shadowed portico stood tall golden doors embossed with lions and emblems of the sun. Amlina walked up and touched one door with her palm.
“They are barred to us, but not by magic,” she said.
“How do we enter?” Glyssa asked.
“Quiet. I must visualize and move the locks.”
Shutting her eyes, the witch raised both arms, her long fingers extended. Her hands circled slowly in the air. Glyssa and her mates glanced around, wary and impatient. Zenodia shrank back near a pillar.
Behind the doors, a noise sounded, a dull groan of metal. Pure shaping, Glyssa thought, remembering her lessons with the spinner. Amlina dragged her hand three times through the air, and Glyssa heard three bolts moving. The witch swept her hands back toward herself, and the heavy doors slipped open.
“Hurry!” Amlina cried.
They squeezed through the gap. Inside they found a vast circular chamber, silent and empty. Amlina led them across to a distant throne on a high platform. They mounted the steps and rushed to a pointed arch sealed by iron doors. This time when they approached, the air shimmered and the doors shrieked and rolled open.
They ran down a long, high corridor with black floor and light gray walls. Passing through another arch, they emerged in a courtyard under the night sky. A glance told Glyssa that the moons had wheeled past zenith. The Bone Tower they had struggled all day to reach lay across the courtyard. At its base stood soldiers armed with long pikes or halberds. Without pausing, Amlina ran toward them and the gate they guarded. Glyssa and her mates charged after.
Before they had crossed halfway, the world shuddered and the air sizzled. Glyssa stumbled, touched a hand to the ground to regain her balance. Something burned the skin on her chest. Instinctively, she grabbed the Mirror talisman and pulled it from her tunic.
The surface was leaden, no longer a mirror, all of its power gone.
*O*
The klarnmates climbed to their feet, tense and wary. Amlina stood at the front, shoulders slumped and head bowed. At the base of the tower, the dozen guards widened their stances and leveled their weapons. Glyssa could see now they were not human, but creatures with men’s bodies and lions’ heads.
From above came the sound of Beryl’s mocking laughter. Her face appeared on the stones of the tower, like an enormous reflection in a pool.
The lion-headed guards stalked forward.
“Let’s make a fight of it.” Lonn growled, hand flying to his hilt.
“Yes. At last!” Karrol gave a fierce cry.
The Iruks drew their blades and lifted spears to cast.
“No!” Beryl’s voice rolled like thunder. “You cannot move. Your limbs are stone. Your blood is ice.”
The power of the voice shuddered inside Glyssa’s body. She strained, growling with the effort, but could no longer move. Fear welled in her, the remembered sensation of the fishhook, the terror of being enthralled. Sword and spear slipped from her fingers.
“On your knees, my slaves.”
Trembling, Glyssa obeyed, chin sinking to her chest.
* O *
Amlina saw her companions drop to their knees, heard their weapons clatter on the ground. In helpless rage, she lifted her eyes to the top of the tower.
“Come in, Amlina. Up the stairs.” Beryl’s voice purred in her mind. “I have something special to show you.”
Amlina weighed the Iruk spear in her hand, then tossed it away. She walked forward calmly, past the thrall sentries—who stood frozen now that the intruders were subdued. She entered the tower, made her way along the curved wall to the base of the stairs. As she climbed
, Beryl’s voice taunted her.
“My dear Amlina, you are finally here. I saw all along it must end this way, you and I meeting one last time, in my tower, where we spent so many interesting hours together ...”
Amlina tucked her arms in her sleeves. She still had her dagger, the blinding bead, the vial containing her blood and the Mirror fragments. If she could distract Beryl for a just moment, she might yet have a chance. She tightened her lips, pushed the hopeful thought from her mind. She must hide the existence of her weapons from Beryl’s probing …
She reached the top at last and entered the Archimage’s lair. Beryl awaited her, tall and erect, dressed in gold robes and jeweled turban. Candles in glass globes cast trembling islands of light and shadow across the chamber. Behind Beryl, on an ivory perch, the treeman bounced and jabbered, tail curling. Nearby, draped casually over the back of a chair, lay the black and silver cloak.
“Oh, yes.” Beryl read the direction of Amlina’s gaze. “The Cloak of the Two Winds. I used it, you know, to cast the darkness that befuddled you.”
“I thought you might have.”
“Kneel,” Beryl commanded. “I want to relish this moment.”
Offering no resistance, Amlina sank to her knees.
“You have caused me a surprising amount of trouble,” the Archimage said. “The fight in Kadavel, your impressive journey to Valgool, even today with your little candles—clever, if not very effective. And the Mirror Against All Mishap. I don’t know where you acquired the knowledge. And I never would have guessed you had the nerve.”
“Seems you underestimated me,” Amlina murmured.
“Yes, but never again!” From the table behind her, Beryl picked up a glass sphere, roughly the size of a human head. Inside Amlina glimpsed scissors, a razor, needles—all floating in a viscous solution with drops of blood.
“Something I made just for you, Amlina. Something that will let me enjoy my revenge indefinitely.”
Thoughts of what that design might do loomed in Amlina’s mind. In desperation, she fought to move her arms, to defend herself. But Beryl’s will had locked onto her body, holding her paralyzed.
* O *
On hands and knees, Glyssa had watched Amlina walk through the ranks of the lion men and into the tower. Glyssa’s breathing came in ragged gasps as she struggled with fear and impotent rage.
At first the fear was stronger. For the first time in many days, Glyssa experienced the wrenching pain of that thing she called the fishhook, felt the wound in her heart torn open again, remembered the icy dread and despair of being a thrall, a slave to another mind. Now that fate was upon her again—and not only on her, but her mates.
That thought fueled the rage. She had weapons to fight back now, the cold fire, all the control of mind and soul she had learned from Amlina. Slowing her breath, Glyssa brought those weapons to bear. She envisioned the cold fire pulsing along her nerves, lightening her leaden muscles, freeing her.
The Archimage’s sorcery fought back, dragging Glyssa down into hopelessness and fear. But the enthrallment seemed weaker. Beryl believed the Iruks were conquered; her attention now must be fixed on Amlina …
Slowly, with calm determination, Glyssa focused her mind, seeing herself rising, straining to hold on to that vision. After long moments, her limbs began to shake. Heat like a fever burned behind her eyes.
Suddenly, she tore free, arms flying up.
Glyssa scrambled to her feet. Behind her, her mates stirred and started to rise. She had broken the Archimage’s hold over all of them.
But as they gathered themselves, the lion men growled. Awakened by the prisoners’ movements, the creatures stepped forward.
Glyssa crouched to pick up her weapons. Spears flew over her head, striking two of the guards, sending them stumbling backward. Roaring, the Iruks rushed to the attack. Glyssa parried the blade of a halberd, stabbed at a thrall’s neck. Her mates leaped around her, wheeling and thrusting.
Then a thought screamed in her mind: Amlina needed her.
Throwing herself under a swiping blade, Glyssa rolled on the ground, then jumped to her feet behind her attacker.
“Can you take them, mates?” she shouted. “I must help Amlina.”
“Of course,” Karrol laughed, smashing aside a halberd shaft. “I’ve been itching for this!”
“Go!” Lonn told her.
From the corner of her eye, Glyssa spied Zenodia. The priestess must have hidden back in the corridor when the rest of them were immobilized. Now she moved furtively, darting around the edge of the fighting.
Glyssa spun and dashed for the tower. Passing the gate, she entered a cavernous chamber. Light shone from a hole in the distant ceiling. Along the wall, stone steps curved up.
Glyssa was racing for the steps when Zenodia cried out to her in Tathian. “No, this way. Faster!”
She was making for the center of the floor, pointing at the ceiling. Amlina had trusted her, Glyssa recalled. She rushed over to join the priestess. The woman’s hood was back, revealing a shaven head, red-dyed skin. Her eyes shone round and pleading.
“You kill the queen, yes?”
Glyssa lifted her spear. “I will certainly try.”
Zenodia held a black bead in her fingers. “Take hold of my hand.”
Glyssa shoved her sword into its scabbard and grasped the woman’s hand. Zenodia uttered some words and smashed the bead to the floor. A gush of silver light appeared, spiraling, lifting them off their feet. Glyssa’s stomach lurched as they rose, twisting into the air. The floor rushed away below their feet; the light in the ceiling drew closer.
They ascended through the hole and into the chamber above. Some distance away stood the Archimage, her back to them. In front of her, Amlina knelt on the floor.
With a clear line of sight, Glyssa did not hesitate. Still floating in the air, she cast her spear. Even as it flew across the chamber, Beryl whirled.
“No!” she screamed and swept out a hand. The spear swerved in mid-air, dropped, and skidded uselessly across the floor.
Glyssa still held Zenodia’s hand. The action of throwing the spear had flung them both backward, out of the shaft of silver light. They fell sprawling on their backs, beyond the rim of the hole. Glyssa rolled over and scrambled partway to her feet. But then Beryl’s gaze bored into her mind.
“Kneel!’ she commanded. “You cannot move.”
Glyssa sank down, powerless once more. Beside her, Zenodia whimpered.
* O *
The moment Beryl turned, distracted by the darting spear, Amlina moved. Still on her knees, she reached into her robe. Her left hand found the vial containing the Mirror fragments and drops of blood. Her right hand clutched the hilt of her dagger. Her hands slid back to her sides as Beryl faced her.
“Oh no, Amlina.” Beryl flung out a hand, the sharp gesture causing the dagger to fly from Amlina’s grasp.
Amlina locked eyes with the Archimage, keeping her left hand motionless, the vial hidden.
“Now, no more interruptions.” Beryl raised the globe containing the blood and sharp instruments and smashed it on the floor.
At the same instant, Amlina squeezed the glass with her fingers and thumb, breaking the vial open.
A cloud of crimson erupted and roiled toward Amlina. Before it touched her, the power of the Mirror burst into life. Space tore open with a thrum like harp strings. The red cloud reversed and rushed at Beryl.
Her face contorted with shock just before the cloud reached her. Swirling and churning, it swallowed her body.
From within the red shroud came Beryl’s screams, mixed with the sounds of ripping flesh. The chaos lasted for nine or ten beats of Amlina’s pounding heart. Then the shroud folded in on itself and vanished.
On the floor lay a pink, naked thing, like a withered human torso. It had no arms or legs, just useless, wiggling flippers. But the face on the shrunken head was unmistakably Beryl’s. The lips flapped soundlessly. The eyes gaped with horror and impotent fury.
>
Amlina had gotten to her feet and inched closer. Now she sank to her knees again, averting her face, unable to look at the loathsome thing.
Presently, Glyssa and Zenodia walked up beside her. They gazed down at the monstrosity, neither speaking. Glyssa gripped Amlina’s elbow and helped her to rise.
“It must be destroyed,” Amlina whispered at last. “Beryl’s mind is still in there. We cannot risk that she ever find a way out.”
Zenodia shuddered. “All my life … all my life I have longed to kill her. But now … this … I have not the stomach for it.”
Glyssa looked at them both, surprised. “Well, I have.”
She drew her sword. With the toe of her boot, she kicked the torso over onto its belly. Gripping the hilt with both hands, she took careful aim, lifted the blade back behind her head, and swung it down with all her strength.
The blade severed the neck cleanly and rang on the stone floor. A thunderous force exploded. Glyssa was tossed back off her feet and landed on her side, bruising a shoulder. Amlina and Zenodia cringed, shielding their eyes. The Bone Tower rumbled, and the floor beneath them shifted with a groan.
Regaining her feet, Glyssa looked wonderingly at the witch.
Amlina’s voice was soft and solemn. “All her designs are overthrown.”
Thirty
Moments later, Lonn and the rest of klarn came charging up the stairs. They looked around wildly, holding weapons splashed with blood.
“It is over,” Glyssa told them. “Our enemy is slain.”
The Iruks roared with jubilation and shook spears and swords in the air. The energy of the klarn-soul surged into Amlina, lifting her weary spirit.
Laughing, Glyssa ran over to embrace her mates. “Are all of you all right?” she cried. “Any wounded?”
“Oh, a few bumps and scratches,” Lonn said.
“The lion men were strong, but slow,” Karrol boasted. “Hardly fit to challenge Iruk warriors.”
“I guessed Beryl might have been slain,” Eben observed, “when the tower started shaking.”
“Aye, I do believe the foundation split,” Wilhaven said. “I fear the whole structure will need to be rebuilt.”
