A Shadow on the Glass (60 page)

In the cold dawn they crept back down to the path. Their tracks of the previous day were still visible, where they had veered off the way. The tracks of the Whelm were also clear. They had not even stopped. When, a little while later, the two reached the crest, they saw the band high above, riding at a great pace.

“Whatever they seek must be more important than us.
Probably they go to stir up trouble in advance of Yggur’s army.”

“I have an evil feeling about them,” replied Maigraith.

They mounted again and traveled warily along steep mountain paths for another week, still half-expecting an ambush. At last they crossed the last pass and came down into the forest. There among the tall trees they made camp.

“Tomorrow evening we can be in Name, with luck,” said Maigraith, as they huddled close to the fire after eating. “There will be news of the war there.”

Maigraith lay on her back in her bedroll, head propped on a log, uneasy, unable to sleep. Once she got up quietly and walked into the forest until the light of the fire was no longer visible. There was a still, silent, brooding quality to the night. What was it that troubled her? She could not say, but the Whelm were at the heart of it. They were not going to the war-theirs was a more careful purpose.

It was past midnight, a cold clear night, the brittle stars gleaming through the treetops. Faelamor was sleeping a long way from the fire, just the top of her head extending from the sleeping sack. Maigraith came back and lay down in her cold blankets. The fire had died down to a bed of orange coals. She looked at the dark sky. A wisp of high cloud eclipsed the star she was staring at. Her eyes closed, and then she dreamed.

A shadow passed in front of the leaping flames, then another, then many shadows. She trembled but did not cry out. There was none to aid her. A cloaked figure appeared out side the tent, stooped and tore open the entrance. She held up the little dagger. The figure pushed inside, groping for her in the darkness. She slashed at it. It fell back with a wail. Then others came, and though she cut them, they overwhelmed her. “Maigraith!” she cried out, then the link
turned in on itself, a fist crashed into her temple and there was nothing more
.

Maigraith sat bolt upright, crying out, “Karan, where are you?” but there was nothing to be seen save the faint glow from the coals and the tall trees around.

Faelamor leapt up, instantly alert. “What is it? What did you see?”

“Karan! They came for her; the Whelm. For a moment the link was alive again, between us. So that was why they were hurrying so. She must be nearby.”

“Then get a move on, before they get away with it.”

Maigraith almost smacked her in the face. “Curse the Mirror, and curse you, too! I have been in their hands. I know what they will do to her.”

“Where was she? Did she tell you?”

“No!” Maigraith said angrily. “Perhaps she didn’t even know it was me, at first. I saw what she saw, then she cried out, then nothing.”

They packed up the camp in haste, put out the fire, and left.

“Then what did you see? What was the land like?”

Maigraith tried to think. “It was quite light there, with starlight, and the fire still burning, but I saw little; she was in a tent or shelter, until the end. A clearing; grass underfoot, the trees taller than here and the ground flat. There was no snow, but there must have been a creek nearby—I could hear it trickling past, right near the tent. That is all.”

“Not much there to guide us. Some little way from here though, down out of the mountains; nearer the river, perhaps. You know the country hereabouts; try to think. But how comes she here? You said you heard of her near Hetchet: that is a long way to the north.”

“And a long time ago. Maybe she doubled back and crossed the pass as we have done. One of Yggur’s spies saw
her and sent the Whelm a message, no doubt. How else would they have known where to find her? Ah! I remember this country now. There is a path leading toward Name, to the ferry of course. But that is a big area to search.”

“Let us assume that she camped near the path. A flat area, with a stream, near the path. Make haste.”

All night they searched, but it was not until dawn that they saw the prints of many people, along a stream that crossed the path. They came up into the clearing and there was the tent on the grassy mound, the little stream running cold beside, her few possessions broken and trampled, the blanket soaked with blood.

“She was here,” said Maigraith. “These are her boots, and here the cup and plate that she carried. Oh, Karan! My weakness, my
need
it was betrayed you to this end.”

“They have it then,” said Faelamor bitterly. “It’s all been for nothing.”

“Not yet. It cannot be more than six hours since they took her. But where would they go? To Name? Hardly, in daylight. They may be hiding somewhere in the forest, waiting for night. Let us follow them.”

They set off cautiously down the stream but soon lost the trail in the forest. It was too dense to ride, so they tied the horses on long leads by the water. After more than two hours of searching, during which time Faelamor became increasingly agitated, she said quietly: “This is wrong; some kind of trick. She no longer has the Mirror, and they haven’t found it either. She must have hidden it.”

“Then go and find the cursed thing,” said Maigraith in a sudden fury, filled with despair and horror and contempt for herself. “But I do not go with you.” So saying, she turned and faced Faelamor squarely. Faelamor came toward her, her hand outstretched.

“Stay!” said Maigraith.“
I have the will
, if you force me.”

They confronted each other for a long moment, then Faelamor turned on her heel and made off at once, leaving the water and heading directly up into the forest. Maigraith’s eyes followed her until she could no longer be seen. She felt as though she had put aside a great burden. She turned and continued down the stream.

F
aelamor went uphill through the forest and back to the clearing, drawn by the feeling that something still lay undiscovered there. So intent was she that she gave only passing thought to Maigraith and her peculiar show of wilfulness. She would come back in time—duty would drive her back. It was past midday when she finally reached the clearing again, but as she drew near she was warned by the sound of voices. She used illusion to disguise herself and took advantage of the concealment of the forest. Almost immediately a troop of the Aachim entered the clearing. She recognized the leader, whom she had known of old. It was Tensor.

He strode forward, examined the remnants of Karan’s tent and the items scattered and broken around the campsite, shaking his head. He took a few steps across to the stream, stepping carefully to avoid disturbing the footprints, and stood there for a moment, looking downstream. Then he
gestured to the Aachim, who were standing at the entrance to the clearing in a group, as though waiting for him. At once they fanned out across the open space, scanning the ground. The drizzle began to turn to heavy rain.

After a few minutes one called to the others in a low voice, holding something white in each hand. The man was standing on the far side of the clearing, and through the rain Faelamor could not make out what he held, or hear what was said. The Aachim gathered around, examining the objects carefully. After a minute the gathering broke up, the objects were tossed to the ground and the search resumed.

Tensor and one other, a smaller man, stood on the edge of the clearing, talking, then the man pointed to the forest and they walked that way, slowly, heads down, occasionally bending to examine some marking on the ground, and disappeared from view. That was what saved them.

Almost as soon as they were gone a band of Whelm began to assemble silently on the other two sides of the clearing. Without warning they attacked the Aachim with arrows. Three fell on the first volley without making a sound, then one on the next, and the Whelm rushed the clearing. One Aachim who still stood, a tall handsome woman, was cut down in seconds. The three that remained, seeing that the situation was hopeless, fought their way into the forest and vanished. Of the ten Whelm, two had fallen. Two stayed and six followed the fleeing Aachim. Faelamor looked on in horror. The battle was over in less than a minute and there was nothing she could have done.

Soon after that, another Whelm came running out of the forest, a tall woman, and all three ran back the way she had come. The others did not return.

Faelamor rose up on tiptoe, staring out over the bushes, her acute senses strained to the fullest. Yet the ones who crept up on her were more cunning still, and the attack came
completely by surprise. A heavy arm went around her throat and a sharp point pricked between her ribs. The arm tightened until she was unable to breathe.

She gave a little cry and allowed her legs to give slightly, hanging limply off the arm, awaiting an opportunity, but the knife dug into her and forced her up again. Then someone tied her hands swiftly, jerking the cord tight before each knot, and she was flung sprawling among the wet leaves. She lay there for a moment, her cloak over her face, then heaved herself awkwardly onto her back and stared up at her attackers. Tensor! At first she was not afraid, for they had been allies once.

Tensor stared at her for a minute, evidently wondering who she was, then he penetrated her disguise and it faded away.

“Fay-el-amor!” he said slowly. “You did not die then? What are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you,” she said, straggling to her feet. “Take off my bonds.”

But Tensor continued to stare at her through narrowed eyes, a slow realization coming. Not Mendark at all. Mendark had said that it was not he, but Tensor had not believed his friend. Faelamor had as much reason as any to want the Mirror, and had he known she lived he would have suspected her at once. Yes, this was much more plausible. And in his despair he allowed himself to believe that she would want the Aachim gone—the more of them dead, the better it would suit her. So she hid here while others did the deed, and gloated.

“
Your!
” he said at last, with a gathering fury, in his grief and his grandeur, inflamed by the nearness of the Mirror and the loss of it once more. “I understand now. All this comes down to you. You seduced Karan into betraying us, with your Faellem deceits. It was for you that Karan took the
Mirror. Because of you my people lie dead and the Whelm hunt us like dogs.”

He turned to one of his people. “Bind her securely and stop her mouth. Take her back to Shazmak; hold her until I return. Blase, you go with them across the river, then to Name and tell the others all mat has happened. I will follow the Whelm where Iennis and Thel have led them. Meet me by the Garr, two leagues upstream of Name. Wait there at dawn, and again at dusk.”

He turned to Faelamor. “You will be held in Shazmak as hostage for the Mirror. When it is returned you will be freed.”

When Faelamor spoke there was a chill in her voice to make even Tensor quail, for she saw in this accidental meeting the unraveling of all her plans. “The treachery of Karan is not of my doing. I ordered Maigraith to go alone. Karan betrayed my name to Yggur, just as she betrays you. Neither blame me for the deeds of the Whelm; it grieves me to see the precious blood of the Aachim spilt here.

Her voice dropped below freezing point. “But I warn you, the very survival of the Aachim rests on a blade. Now is your time of choice; and it is now, whether you know it or nay. We should pursue the Whelm, not each other. Hold me and you bring about the doom of Shazmak, for
nothing
will shake me from my path.”

“You must listen to her, Tensor,” said Blase, a lanky man with a bloody shoulder wound. “This is madness. We should look to making friends, not turning our friends into deadly foes.”

Tensor looked into Faelamor’s eyes and saw his fate writ there. For a moment he wavered, but such was his fury, despair and folly that every entreaty only further strengthened his resolve. He drew himself up, and even Faelamor was struck by the grandeur of him.

“
We are Aachim!
Your friendship would aid us, but we do not beg. You could have saved them,” he said coldly. ‘Take her. Treat her well but watch her always. Beware her talents. Never allow her to be free.”

The Aachim seized her, though she resisted them for a moment, bound as she already was. She glowered at Tensor and he stepped back a pace, suddenly disconcerted. Her will, her pride was no less than his own, and her strength, and only one of them could come out of it.

“Scatter this seed upon the wind and the storm will bring it back a hundredfold,” she said. “You will know again that fear that you have not felt for fifty generations of humankind. Already your enemies stir.”

She turned away, but a shiver went through the two Aachim. They tightened her bonds and stopped her mouth and eyes, and led her away without further words in the direction of the boat. Tensor stood there, alone in his agony of choice then, casting her out of his mind, set off in the tracks of the Whelm.

For Faelamor that march back to Shazmak was like a never-ending nightmare. She was dragged blindly through thickets and icy streams. Once they came to the shore of the river and her captors helped her into a small boat for a wild, rocking, rushing ride, all the more frightening because she could see nothing. Then they were across, the keel rattling on pebbles. On the other side of the river Blase left them and they went upstream in great haste. Not once did the Aachim stop, and he spoke only to offer food or drink.