Night of the Eye (33 page)

Beneath him, Guerrand and Esme plummeted like rocks, without even time to think of a saving spell. In a tangle of limbs, they crashed onto a hard flagstone floor. Wincing, Guerrand rolled off his right side and away from Esme. He did a quick check and felt badly bruised but otherwise unhurt.

Guerrand looked over his shoulder at Esme. She was on her side in a motionless heap, her face turned away. Then he saw her left leg and gasped. It was twisted at an impossible angle, obviously broken. She’s lucky she’s unconscious, he thought. That leg’s going to hurt like the Abyss when she comes to. Biting his lip, he
forced himself to very gently realign the leg. Unconscious, Esme groaned.

What should I do now? Splint it? With what? Guerrand looked about anxiously. Though it was dark, he could see that they were on the edge of a raised stone platform in some vast, cavernous room. Behind him was a wall of fieldstone and mortar.

Just then he heard his familiar plop to a landing nearby. “Zag!” Guerrand cried in relief, then remembered how they’d got here. He glowered. “Thanks to you, Esme’s leg is broken.”

Really?
The sea gull waddled over to look closely.
Oh, my
. For once, the gull was speechless.

“You can make up for it by flying back out of here and getting a strong, straight limb to use as a splint.”

The bird’s feathered head shook from side to side.
I’m afraid I can’t do that. The floor closed right after we fell
. Zagarus looked up.
Worse still, we fell down a shaft. The ceiling in here looks normal, but the shaft is about three times your height, I’d guess. You’d have to stack up a lot of crates to get back up that way. I’ve looked for another opening, but I haven’t found one yet. You’re a mage. Can’t you just blip us out of here, or at least fix her leg?”

Guerrand frowned his frustration. “Teleporting is far beyond my skill. And wizards aren’t healers. Come to think of it, though,” he said, reaching into his pack, “I’ve got some herbs, that, when combined are supposed to be a great analgesic.” He pulled out several small burlap sacks. “I only hope we won’t be needing the spell for which the peppermint was intended.”

Guerrand lifted Esme’s head. “This would be better in tea, but she’ll just have to choke down the leaves.” He parted her lips with a finger. On her tongue he placed a pinch of the crushed, dried peppermint and cream-colored meadowsweet flowers soaked in oil of clove.

The taste of the acrid leaves must have penetrated
her foggy slumber, because at that moment Esme’s eyes popped open. Struggling to sit up, she let out a strangled scream at the stab of pain in her leg. Guerrand quickly pinched her lips shut to keep the herbs inside. Her honey eyes puddled, then rivers of tears flowed down her cheeks, splashing Guerrand’s hand.

“You’ve broken your leg,” Guerrand explained hastily, releasing her lips. “The herbs are bitter, but you must swallow them. They’ll ease the pain.” She gulped down the bitter concoction.

“We need to splint the break,” he explained gently, then came upon an idea. Once again, he fished around in his pack and retrieved two items. Closing his eyes intently for several moments, he opened them and sprinkled powdered iron onto a small wood shim.
“Silas sular.”

With a slight snapping sound, the shim thickened and lengthened until it was nearly the size of a cane. Guerrand then used some strong cord from his pack to lash it securely to the outside of Esme’s leg. The lines of pain in her brow eased noticeably once the limb was immobilized.

Esme brushed the tears from her cheeks. “That’s much better. Help me sit up, please.” Guerrand complied, sliding her gently from the platform to prop her back against the fieldstone wall.

“Do you know where we are?” she asked weakly. She could see only the suggestion of a table ahead and below in a dark, wide expanse.

“Zag says we fell down a shaft and the floor closed back up,” supplied Guerrand, still kneeling at her side. He lifted his head to gaze about, then wrinkled his nose. “Something smells awful, though.”

A single dim torch provided the only light in the cavernous room, though Guerrand could see that other unlit torches were spaced all along the walls. He stood and reached up to pluck the torch from its sconce,
noticing the flame emitted no smoke. Curious, he held his hand nearer and felt no heat. He brashly passed his fingers through the fire. Flames danced about his flesh, but the sensation was mild, like water flowing over his hand.

Esme, who had been watching, said, “It must light magically. Perhaps the others will, too, when you get close to them.”

Guerrand glanced at her. “Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes?”

Esme looked half exasperated, half touched by his concern. “Of course,” she said, the piqued side winning out.

Guerrand took three steps down to a slate floor. The other torches throughout the room sparked to life. Guerrand looked back, and Esme shot him a knowing smile.

Returning his gaze to the room, Guerrand gasped. They’d found Belize’s laboratory. The room was large and overfilled, yet seemed somehow neat and organized. Near the stairs stood a trestle table. A padded stool appeared to be the only item of comfort. Guerrand scanned the table and saw two books. The closed one was thin, and on the spine in faded gold lettering was the title,
Observations on the Structure of Reality
by Fistandantilus.

The other book, face open, was very thick and old; ancient scratchings at the top suggested it was the spellbook of one Harz-Takta. Beyond that, Guerrand couldn’t read the language of the text, but he recognized an illustration of the triple lunar eclipse known as the Night of the Eye, when all three moons, white Solinari, red Lunitari, and black Nuitari were lined up in descending order and resembled a huge eye in the night sky.

Surrounding the spellbook were papers and parchments—none of which mentioned him—quills, pots of
colored inks, compasses and protractors, and other writing and drawing implements. The rug beneath the table was spotted with stains and small burn holes.

Shelves lined the walls and stood freely throughout the room, just like in Cormac’s wine cellar back in Castle DiThon. But instead of wine casks, these were filled with books and scroll cases and loose or bundled papers. Around and between these were a bewildering array of magical and mundane items: boxes and bits of bones and stones and minerals and ores, toad skins, nautilus shells, turtles’ claws, a quartz-filled lobster carapace, funguses and plants, crystals and coins, paper polygons of pyramids, spheres and cubes, candles, bells, glass and wood rods, beakers, decanters, distilling equipment, evaporators, purifiers, rarifiers, and crucibles. The scope made Guerrand’s head spin, and he knew he could never remember every detail.

Then his eye caught a flash of reflected light through one of the shelves. He stepped around the end of the rack and saw a cleared space before the back wall. Leaning against the massive, square-cut stones was a mirror, nearly as tall as Guerrand. It was framed in stiffened leather dyed a very dark hue. Several pieces had been broken from the edges of the mirror. But what drew the apprentice’s attention was the upper right corner, or what should have been the upper right corner. A section was missing that looked identical to the mirror Belize had given Guerrand. Very interesting, he thought. I’ve found the original mirror. He reached out to touch its dusty surface, and his hand slipped inside as Zagarus did in Guerrand’s own mirror.

“Guerrand,” he heard Esme call. “What have you found?”

He withdrew his hand. “We’re in Belize’s laboratory,” he answered without turning. “If you’re all right, I’d like to look around a bit more, see if I can’t find what we came for, or even a way out.”

“Go ahead.”

Some distance to the left of the mirror, Guerrand noticed a doorway to another chamber, still dark. Guerrand cautiously approached the opening, where he noticed a strong smell of alcohol and formaldehyde. As he stepped through, torches flickered to life.

Guerrand reeled backward in horror and disgust. His back slammed against the wall, and he stood there silently for several moments, too overcome to move. His eyes darted across the room, glancing from one ghastly sight to another, never staying on any single thing too long. Now he knew the source of the awful stench.

The room was filled with corpses, bodies of things Guerrand had never imagined in his worst nightmares. They floated in gigantic jars of pale blue liquid with their hair and limbs drifting eerily around them. Others were stuffed and mounted or strapped upright to boards. Two were laid out on tables, while a third—Guerrand could barely stand to glance at it—was flayed open on a table with its organs pulled out and spread around it like the petals of a hideous flower.

None of the creatures was recognizable, though all had familiar features: one was clearly part dog, another had the face and paws of a cat, a third seemed vaguely goatlike. Birds, snakes, even humans and elves, appeared in these monstrous shapes. Their bodies were twisted and misshapen, with distended limbs, exposed craniums, bloated eyes. But even these were not the worst. Others had tongues protruding directly from their stomachs, ears and mouths where they didn’t belong, eyes horribly combined with other organs.

Guerrand’s mouth was as dry as dust. He blathered under his breath. He turned to run and tripped over a heavy, cast-iron rod that looked like a bootjack near the door, pressing it to the ground in his fall. Scrambling back onto his feet, he heard a noise, like gears turning, at
the far end of the chamber. Guerrand jumped back and hid behind the doorframe. Peering around it, he looked toward the sound and waited, heart hammering.

Pushing its way through the darkness beyond the torchlight was a living monstrosity. The bloody, one-eyed, six-limbed creature groped its way into the light. Countless more of the creatures followed behind. Within seconds, the far half of the room had filled with the living creatures. They slithered over the floor and flowed over the rotted corpses on the tables.

Beyond horrified, Guerrand could taste bile. Wanting only to get away before these things he’d unwittingly released saw him, he turned again to flee. His foot met squarely with Zagarus’s feathered breast.

“Squawk!”

Both bird and man went sprawling. Stunned, Guerrand scrambled to his feet once more and looked hastily over his shoulder.

“Damn it, Zag,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were there? Now they’ve seen us.” Dozens of gore-covered eyes were rivetted on Guerrand’s pale face. The apprentice turned yet again and ran, Zagarus flying after him.

I thought you would sense me. Besides, I was too stunned to speak. What
are
they?

Guerrand dashed through the laboratory. “I’m not sure, Zag,” he said, still looking over his shoulder, “but I know I don’t want them to catch me.” He took the steps to the platform in one leap. Esme still lay against the wall, dozing fitfully, in shock from her broken leg. He shook her gently, then desperately, until her eyes finally rolled open.

They snapped wide at his frightened expression. “What’s wrong? Did you find something?”

Guerrand looked over his shoulder and directed her gaze to the laboratory below the platform. The first hideous creature was just passing into the torchlight.
The thing stretched a fingerless limb toward them, then heaved itself forward again on oozing stumps. Its circular mouth opened and shut, revealing a pulsating gullet lined with teeth. Another shape appeared behind it, and tentacles reached around the first one to grip the doorway.

Esme pulled back instinctively, though her back was already against the wall. “What are they?” she gasped, repeating Zagarus’s question.

“Failed experiments, maybe? They were trapped inside another room, and I literally tripped a lever that released them.” Two of them had now advanced into the room, their mouths working soundlessly as they dragged themselves across the floor, eyes focused on the humans crouched in the corner. They circled around Belize’s table, more joining them every moment. One crawled upon the table, snatched up an ink pot, and stuffed it into its horrid maw, crushing it. Another, a half-headed human with the hind legs of a dog, took up a quill and scratched at Belize’s spellbook. Not one made a move toward Guerrand and Esme.

“I don’t get it.” Guerrand’s brow was furrowed as he watched the creatures swarming over magical equipment, sending beakers and books crashing. “They don’t seem to be interested in us, only in destroying Belize’s laboratory.”

“Are we just going to wait for them to remember us?” asked Esme. “Maybe we should make a move to get around them now, since I can’t run with this stupid leg.” She tested it anyway, sending bolts of pain to the break beneath her knee.

Guerrand’s lips pursed. “We’d have to wade through them.”

Excuse me, Rand
, said Zagarus at his shoulder.
I think I’d like to get back into my mirror now, where it’s safe
.

“Yeah, sure,” Guerrand said distractedly, reaching into his pouch. His fingers froze around the mirror’s
cool surface, and he let it drop back into the bag. Leaping to his feet, he leaned over the steps at the edge of the platform, eyes searching for the large mirror from which Belize had broken his shard. They would be safe in there.

Guerrand moved back to where Esme and his familiar waited. “Zag,” he said softly, “what do you think about when you enter my shard?”

The sea gull was startled by the question.
I just dip my head and push my way in
.

Esme grabbed at Guerrand’s trouser leg. “What are you thinking, Rand?”

Guerrand swept the young woman up, arms under her legs, mindful of her broken one. His heart skipped a beat at her cry of pain. “We’re all going into the mirror,” he said. “Please, Esme, just close your eyes and trust me.”

She searched Guerrand’s face for only a moment before she hugged his neck and did as he asked.

Pulling Esme tight to his chest, Zagarus at his feet, Guerrand rushed down the steps. He followed the right wall, behind the shelves, until he came to the dusty, leather-edged looking glass. Mumbling a prayer to Lunitari, he instructed his reflected image to lift his right leg toward the mirror. His limb slipped through more easily than through water, and his foot found the ground within the mirror world. Straddling the glass, a foot on each side, Guerrand could see the milling monstrosities reflected behind him. Nestling Esme more tightly, he held his breath and stepped into the mirror without further hesitation.