Night of the Eye (34 page)

His left foot landed on solid ground next to his right one. Cold, chilling mists roiled in semidarkness just past his waist, tickling at Esme’s nose near Guerrand’s chest. He settled her higher and began walking forward blindly, afraid the creatures might understand how to follow into the mirror, afraid to tell Esme of the fear.

“Zag?”

I’m here, Rand
, the bird said reassuringly.

“Where are we?” Esme whispered.

“I don’t know.”

The young woman stiffened in his arms. “The herbs are wearing off. My leg aches like it’s on fire.”

Guerrand shifted her again. “I’ll get you out of here soon,” he promised, not sure how he would keep the vow.

What do you suppose would happen if we leaped into the shard in your pack?
proposed Zagarus.

“Is this,” Guerrand asked, “what it looks like inside my mirror?” Zag’s beak bobbed. “Then I suspect we’d end up right back here. Belize’s magical looking glass seems to be a portal to a mirror world.”

So how do we get out?

“How do
you
get out?”

Zag cocked his head, as if in exasperation.
You know how—you call to me. I simply follow your voice through the mist to the wall where it sounds the loudest. Then I just step through, knowing I’ll come out of the shard
.

Guerrand sighed. “We don’t have anyone to call to us.”

Esme was getting only half the conversation, since she couldn’t hear Zagarus, so she was looking at Guerrand in frustration. He quickly told her what Zag had said.

Her brows knit. “You called this a ‘mirror world,’ which implies a vastness of scope. If your voice acts as a kind of map marker for Zag to follow, we’ll just have to make our own sign that marks the way out.”

An idea began to form in Guerrand’s mind. “You visualize the shard as you step out, knowing you’ll exit there?” he asked Zag for confirmation; the bird nodded. Hope fluttered in Guerrand’s chest. He mentally ran his theory through from beginning to end and could find no real flaws. The apprentice had the same
confident feeling as he did whenever he mastered a new spell.

“Esme, apply our lessons on visualization to the mirror in the peristyle of Villa Rosad. It’s one even Zag has seen.” She looked puzzled. “If the idea works, you’ll understand.”

“My leg hurts enough to try almost anything,” she said weakly, her cheek on his shoulder.

“Picture the mirror in your mind, every detail,” he continued. “You, too, Zag. Let your memory take you beyond the mirror to the walls around it. Keep it there. Think of nothing else.”

Man/woman, and bird stood in the mist with closed eyes, every thought, every nerve on the task. Within moments, a high droning sound, like the steady thrumming of gnomish machinery, rose nearby. Locating the exact spot on the mist-shrouded wall from which the noise rose, Guerrand held his breath and stepped forward.

His foot met with no wall. The grayness simply vanished, and Guerrand and Esme leaped into the peristyle of Villa Rosad. The cool marble walls and greenery surrounded them, reflected in the full-length mirror behind them. Guerrand nearly swooned with relief.

A heartbeat behind the apprentices, Zagarus emerged through the looking glass.
Well, I’ll be a pelican’s beak!

Justarius stood near the small reflecting pool in the peristyle,
plucking the dead heads from his prized hibiscus plants. He was having a little trouble with spots on the peach-colored flowers, but was hoping for a second blooming from the reds. He slipped the withered, trumpet-shaped blossoms into a burlap sack. They would be made into a bitter tea that he found greatly aided his digestion.

Tugging the sack’s strings to close it, he turned unconsciously toward the southeast doorway that led to the villa’s bakery, where he would dry the hibiscus flowers. To his mild surprise, his apprentices burst forth from the mirror near the doorway at the end of the row of columns that comprised the colonnade. Justarius had been master to enough apprentices to be unfazed by their unusual modes of travel. However, he was concerned to see that
the young woman in Guerrand’s arms was obviously injured. They both looked frightened and more than a little disheveled, standing in the midst of the potted palms on either side of the mirror. Guerrand’s sea gull familiar squawked a hasty arrival on their heels. Upon seeing Justarius, the bird took wing and flew into the blue sky above the peristyle.

“That was quite an entrance,” Justarius said calmly. “What, may I ask, have you two been at?”

Guerrand’s face burned as he kicked a path through the thick palms to set Esme gingerly in a chair near Justarius.

“I can explain—” began Guerrand.

“No, let me,” interrupted Esme.

Justarius silenced her with a look. “I would like to hear Guerrand’s explanation first, Esme.” He tapped his bearded chin, then glanced at her broken leg in the makeshift splint. “That needs immediate attention. You may go with Denbigh now.” Justarius snapped his fingers, and the enormous, shaggy owlbear shuffled into view as if by magic, which it very likely was.

“Denbigh,” Justarius said, “please take Esme to my study and apply a proper splint. Then give her three and a half pinches—no more, no less—of the elixir marked ‘restorative’ from the second shelf on the right. She may have as much to eat and drink as she desires. The potion will no doubt make her hungry, and eating will help the healing process.” Justarius returned his piercing gaze to Esme. “Elevate your leg and keep it as still as you can while the elixir is working. I think you’ll find it gives great relief.”

Esme, aware of Justarius’s veil of patience, nodded her acquiescence to his order. Her leg throbbed so much that she could scarcely keep from retching, so she was willing enough to let the owlbear carry her away. The young woman gave Guerrand a sympathetic look and pumped her fist once to symbolize courage as she passed through the colonnade and out the archway
to Justarius’s study.

Guerrand half turned away, then forced himself to face Justarius. He coughed nervously, noticing Justarius’s expectant stare. “Let me say first that this adventure to Belize’s villa was all my idea, all my fault.”

“You went to Villa Nova?” Justarius turned dark eyes on his remaining apprentice.

Guerrand felt as if he were back in Cormac’s study, facing down his brother’s disapproving scrutiny. He had a brief, childish impulse to concoct a story about visiting Lyim when the accident happened, but discarded the idea because it wasn’t in him to lie. Besides, there were simply too many ways he could get caught in the prevarication.

“It’s a complicated story,” Guerrand began, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

Jaw clenched, Justarius plucked off a healthy red bloom. “I’m in no hurry.” He black eyes were riveted on Guerrand’s as he crushed the petals to a pulp, a sign of his rising temper.

The apprentice could feel the muscles in his neck tighten into ropes. He pulled at the collar of his robe. “I went to Belize’s to learn if he’s trying to kill me.”

“You were going to come right out and ask him?”

Guerrand looked horrified. “No! You told me he was going to be away for a time, so it seemed like a good opportunity—”

“To break into his villa?”

“Well, yes,” Guerrand conceded.

Justarius set his burlap sack on the table and began to pace slowly, pondering. “I won’t ask why Esme was along,” he said, “even though we’d agreed to tell no one of our suspicions. I’m more interested in how she broke her leg and you came to travel through a mirror.”

Before Guerrand could answer, the master stopped and crossed his arms, his expression pensive as he continued. “I’m certain the break wasn’t inflicted by
Belize, because you’d both have suffered far more than a fractured limb if he caught you in his home. So it must have been someone else. Lyim, perhaps?”

“No,” Guerrand replied slowly. “Neither Lyim nor Belize were home.”

“Didn’t you find it a bit odd that you were able to so easily enter the home of the Master of the Red Order?”

Guerrand looked uneasy. “I’d hoped it was because we were careful.”

Justarius looked bemused. “It might interest you to know that Belize does not place wizard traps because he hates to be deprived of killing would-be thieves himself. He prefers to mark each and every possession with his own magical sigil, so that if he suspects anything is missing, he can track down and kill the thief directly.”

Justarius gave a bitter chuckle. “He despises coming home to a pile of dust that was once a man, when he could have had the pleasure of watching the thief die painfully.” He peered at Guerrand. “You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“Not from his home, no,” Guerrand said quickly, thinking of the mirror Belize had given him.

Justarius dismissed the subject. “It matters very little. There are myriad ways Belize could learn the identity of intruders, if he wished.” He waved Guerrand on impatiently. “Get on with telling me about Esme’s leg.”

“Yes, sir. Zagarus activated a trap, and the floor dropped out from underneath us. Esme broke her leg when we fell into Belize’s laboratory.”

Remembering the gruesome things they’d seen there, Guerrand shuddered. “Belize has a despicable hobby, if you can call it that.” He proceeded to tell Justarius about the creatures that had chased them in the underground lab, leading to their leap through the mirror.

“How did you know of the mirror’s abilities?”

Guerrand’s jaw tightened. The telling was probably long overdue. He reached into his pack and withdrew
his palm-sized shard. “Belize gave this magical fragment to me as encouragement to leave for the Tower of High Sorcery. It was Zagarus who discovered he could slip inside, and I’ve been carrying him in it ever since.

Guerrand lowered himself wearily into a chair. “The mirror from which Belize took my shard is in his laboratory. Zag gave me the idea to jump inside when those monstrosities closed us in.” He massaged his forehead. “We were just lucky it worked.”

“You have no idea how fortunate you were,” Justarius said sternly. “I’ve heard of mirrors such as the one you describe, but they’re as rare now as crystal balls. They employ the same principle as teleportation, only the user needn’t memorize an incantation. If I remember correctly, the bearer can pass through the magical mirror and reenter our world through any nonmagical mirror he can remember. To reenter the mirror world, he must carry a portion of the magical mirror.”

Guerrand looked alarmed. “What keeps Belize from stepping through his mirror and exiting here, as we did?”

“You needn’t worry,” said Justarius with a shake of his head. “There are wards and protections on Villa Rosad that prevent
unauthorized
visitors.”

Just then, Denbigh strode out of the bakery bearing a tray full of steaming food. The enormous monster lowered the tray to the table before the men. Wheezing and grunting in the manner of owlbears, he began to set the table for a meal.

Justarius took the plates from the owlbear’s paws and sat by Guerrand. “That will be all, Denbigh, thank you,” he said by way of dismissal. Nodding his enormous head once, Denbigh shuffled out of the lush peristyle.

“I haven’t eaten for days, and you look in need of sustenance as well.” Justarius looked pensive as he spread gooseberry preserves upon a piece of crusty bread. “Where were we? Oh, yes. You were describing what you saw in the lab.”

Guerrand eyed the steaming food and realized he was starving. Taking a few bites of cracker, he summoned the memory of the groping limbs and soundless mouths. The cracker suddenly felt as dry as dust in his mouth, and he choked it down with great effort before answering. “Most seemed to be a mixture of transplanted human and animal body parts. Fleshless skeletons, exposed brains, human limbs replaced with an animal’s—”

“That will do.” Justarius wiped a bit of preserves from the dark triangular beard on his chin. He squinted thoughtfully at Guerrand. “Perchance did you see any works by Fistandantilus? Spellbooks, that sort of thing?”

Guerrand’s eyes widened in surprise. “As a matter of fact, I did. There were two books. One was a very old spellbook by some wizard named—” Guerrand searched for the vague memory “—Harz-Takta, I think. The language of the spells was way beyond my ability, though I recognized a diagram of the Night of the Eye.

“The other book was by Fistandantilus, though all I saw was the title:
Observations on the Structure of Reality
.” Guerrand snapped his fingers, remembering something else. “Above the lab, in the rotunda, was a bust of Fistandantilus, too. Does it mean something?”

“The name Harz-Takta is vaguely familiar, though I remember nothing specific.” Justarius swallowed a mouthful of food, chasing it with lemon water before continuing. “But Fistandantilus’s book leads me to believe that our friend Belize is pursuing an interest in gating, for which Fistandantilus was notorious.”

Noting Guerrand’s puzzled look, Justarius explained, “Gating is a means of traveling from one place to another by passing instantaneously through an extradimensional place. He must be using creatures to test the gates he creates. The creatures, unfortunately, are gating partially, or imperfectly, or combining with other things as they transport. The Night of
the Eye diagram means he’s anticipating the additional boost tomorrow’s triple eclipse will bring to his magical experiments.”