Night of The Eye

Chapter Fifteen

Peering through wooden louvers in the vestibule, Guerrand watched Esme speak to Harlin and Mitild, the guardian statues, then depart the formal garden for the road that led into the city. Guerrand crept through the atrium like a hapless thief with a guilty secret. Thank the gods Justarius was proxy for Belize at tonight's meeting of the Council of Three. With Esme having just left for the Library of Palanthas, he would have all the time he needed to search her small room.

Lyim had been gone for nearly three weeks. Guerrand thought it likely the apprentice had made it to Northern Ergoth by now, if he hadn't been thrown overboard for casting spells. Had he spoken with Kirah yet? Had he been able to stop the siege on the castle? Guerrand wondered about these things often, envying the other apprentice's freedom. He would give anything, except his apprenticeship, to see his little sister for even a moment.

At the far right corner of the peristyle was the formal dining room that separated Guerrand's room from Esme's. Justarius's two apprentices kept different hours-Esme rose early, Guerrand stayed up late-so their paths didn't cross often. He had never been in her room, but he always paused outside his own to glance through the ornate archway into her antechamber. He liked to picture her at work inside, bent over a spell-book, chewing at the end of her braid in concentration.

After looking over both shoulders for Denbigh, Guerrand slipped through the arch. The antechamber was dark, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw that its curved walls were elaborately painted with bright reds, yellows, and blues, outlined in gold. A smaller archway, curtained off with heavy velvet, lay before him.

Guerrand moved quickly toward the curtain and pulled it back, hoping that Esme was more trusting than she ought to be. So far, so good, Guerrand thought when no spell-sprung thing leaped out or pinned him down. A light blinked on. Guerrand froze.

He spotted the source and slowly released his breath. A small glass globe, much like those in Justarius's lab, rested on a three-legged vallenwood table polished to a high gloss. Esme must have enchanted it to light the room whenever she passed through the curtain. It was a clever trick, which Guerrand resolved to remember.

Esme's sleeping room was very like his own, though the decorations bore a woman's touch. All about were bowls of sweet-smelling rose and lavender petals. Ever the mage, she, too, had shelves of pickled creatures, but she had far more dried herbs arranged in eye-pleasing wreaths and swags woven with strands of pearls and semiprecious gems. Skeins of ribbon and woolen yarn hung from a peg on the wall, waiting to tie up more drying bundles of herbs.

Guerrand was impressed. Where his room looked dim, stuffed, and cluttered, Esme's was well lit, neat, and inviting. There was something interesting to look at on every surface and in every corner.

Tucked into the harp-shaped back of her desk was a small cameo, black-inked on golden parchment. The subject's profile looked so familiar that Guerrand was drawn in for a closer glimpse. Strong patrician nose and chin-it could have been Esme, save for the long, curling mustache above the full lips. Her father, Guerrand concluded.

The realization touched off new feelings of guilt. He was violating her privacy, and to what end? He honestly didn't believe she had anything to do with the threats on his life. Guerrand was forced to admit that curiosity about the young woman had driven him here, kept him here now.

Guerrand turned and scrambled through the soft, heavy curtain into the antechamber. The glow from the globe flowed under the curtain and splashed his feet with light. He waited a few moments to see if it would turn off of its own accord. It didn't.

"Damnation!" he grumbled under his breath. If Esme came back and the light was glowing, she'd know someone had been in her room. Swearing again, Guerrand swept back the curtain and approached the globe. He peered at it closer, not really expecting to find a switch or directions.

Not knowing what else to do, Guerrand reached out and wrapped his fingers over its surface, as if he could blot out the annoying glow. Beams leaked in thin strips between his fingers. Perhaps covering it briefly with a thick piece of cloth would trip some lever and turn off the light. Guerrand dropped the top of his robe to his waist and began to pull the cotton tunic beneath it over his head.

Contorted thus, he could neither see nor hear the loops of ribbon and yam lifting from the wall, straining toward him. They wrapped whisper-light in layers around his upraised arms and robe-covered legs, then stretched tight. Startled, Guerrand struggled against the unseen bonds, but only succeeded in tightening them further. He wiggled his face through the opening of the tunic and spied the ribbons. Exasperated, he wrestled against them and lost his balance. Unable to grasp the edge of the table, Guerrand crashed to the ground, dropping and smashing the globe. The light abruptly winked out.

"Now it goes out," Guerrand groaned, lying on his side in the midst of the shards of broken glass. He would have rubbed his face in his usual gesture of frustration, if only he could have reached it. He had no components, no hands with which to gesture an incantation that would get him out of this mess. He couldn't even reach his limbs to bite them off like a coyote in a trap.

Yes, Guerrand thought, Esme is very clever.

"It worked! My spell worked!"

Guerrand started awake at the sound of Esme's excited cry. He could hear her fumbling to light a candle.

A flame grew. "Guerrand! What are you doing in here?" Esme's delight turned to confusion. "You picked an odd time for your first visit. I told you I was going to the library." Her eyes narrowed abruptly as her confusion turned at last to angry understanding.

The apprentice on the floor looked sheepish. "Would you please let me loose so I can explain?"

"No," she snapped, turning her back on him. "I'm quite certain I don't want to do that."

"I'm bleeding."

"I hope you bleed to death. You broke my globe."

"I know. I–I'm sorry." Guerrand's apology sounded lame even to his own ears. "Please, Esme," he pleaded, "I know this looks bad. It is bad, but I can explain."

"Let me guess," she said, running a strand of pearls through her fingers. "You needed to wear these with a very special outfit."

Guerrand sighed heavily. "You're not making this any easier for me."

Her beautiful honey-colored eyes narrowed in the candlelight. "You made it hard for yourself when you broke into my room. You know Justarius's rule about privacy." She flung the pearls back onto the table. "I've a mind to tell him about this and demand he expel you from the order!"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," Guerrand said softly.

Esme jammed her hands on her hips. "I won't go easier on you, just because you sound contrite now." Her softening tone belied her harsh words. "Were you here to steal my components? Scrolls? My spellbook?" She shook her head sadly. "You were coming along quickly enough in your studies, Guerrand, without resorting to this."

"Gods, Esme!" he cried. "I may be an unprincipled snoop, but I'm no thief!"

"Interesting distinction."

Guerrand laid his head down and closed his eyes in frustration. "This is coming out all wrong."

She eyed his arms tangled in the sleeves of the tunic that was half over his head. "If I weren't so angry, I might laugh. You look ridiculous."

"I feel ridiculous. Will you please untie me so that I can at least pull my tunic down? I promise I'll explain then."

Esme looked at him briefly, then bent down and slipped a stiletto next to Guerrand's skin, slicing through the yarn and ribbons that held his limbs. Sitting up, he rearranged his tunic and settled his robes back onto his shoulders.

"I'm waiting."

Rubbing his wrists, Guerrand looked her square in the eyes. "Justarius and I believe someone is trying to kill me."

Shock registered on Esme's beautiful face. "But why?"

Guerrand sighed. "I don't know. I thought for a time it was my family, but we've ruled them out." He told her of the first attacks against him. "It's obvious whoever it is has magical abilities. This mage used magic on Lyim, which is why he tried to kill me at the Jest."

"But how can you rule out Lyim?" asked Esme. "He's the only person who's been present when these things occurred."

"Justarius is certain that the spell cast during the Jest was beyond Lyim's skill. Besides, Lyim was the one who saved me during the ambush north of Palanthas."

Esme nodded thoughtfully. "Could be a clever cover."

"Too clever."

Esme shook her golden head. "I still don't understand what any of this has to do with you searching my room." Her eyes snapped up suddenly, and a hand flew to her throat. "You suspect me!"

Guerrand winced at her anguish. "I suspect no one, and I suspect everyone, Esme. Palanthas is filled with mages, many of whom were at the Jest. Anyone could have learned I was traveling here from Wayreth, or even seen me leave that stall in the marketplace with Lyim."

"But what possible reason could I have for wanting you dead-" she scowled "-until now, that is?"

"None," he said honestly. "I told myself I was coming here to eliminate you as a suspect." Guerrand lowered his eyes, and his heart raced along with his words. "I know now that was just an excuse to justify my curiosity about you. You're so aloof and mysterious. Ever since you gave me your scarf at the Jest, I've tried to envision you sitting in here, studying at night, while I'm across the dining room doing the same thing."

"You have?"

"I think I'd better go now," he muttered thickly. Guerrand picked himself up from the floor and turned to leave.

"If I've been aloof," she said to hold him, "it's because I'm reluctant to trust. I withheld nothing from my father, and he disowned me for my honesty. So perhaps you can understand why I don't warm up to many people."

An awkward silence fell as neither apprentice knew what to say. Esme stooped to sweep up the shards of her globe. Guerrand reached down to help, then noticed the blood on his fingers. He wiped the digits self-consciously on his red robe.

"Here, let me see that," said Esme, taking his bloody hand in both of hers. Locating the cut on his thumb, she applied pressure at the base until the bleeding stopped.

"Thanks." Embarrassed, Guerrand yanked his arm back more forcefully than he'd meant. The mirror he kept in the folds of a wide sleeve cuff tumbled forth. His hand raked out, and he caught the magical shard in midair.

"What's that?" demanded Esme, clutching it before Guerrand could slip the shard back into his cuff. She held its jagged edges gingerly in her fingers. "This isn't part of my globe. It's a looking glass. Vanity, Rand?" She looked at him in amusement.

"Belize gifted me with it to inspire my trip to the Tower of High Sorcery."

Esme looked truly shocked. "I got the impression that the only thing the Master of the Red Order felt for you was contempt. But why a mirror? Does it do anything interesting?"

"It can scry, though I don't know how to activate that ability." Guerrand thought he could see Zagarus's misty image in the glass. "I accidently-or rather, my familiar-discovered that you can slip inside it. That's where Zagarus is now." He extended a hand. "May I have it back, please?"

"A familiar? How impressive." Esme gently handed the mirror to him. Her eyes snapped open wide with an idea. "Say, what about Belize? He was at the Jest. He was particularly angry at you for defeating Lyim, if I remember correctly."

Guerrand frowned. "I suggested that to Justarius, but he thinks it's highly unlikely. Belize has far bigger fish to fry than me."

"Does Justarius know that you knew Belize before, or that he gave you this mirror?"

"He knows that I'd met Belize, but he's unaware of the mirror. I can't see that either matters. Why would Belize want to kill me, when he was the one who gave me the resolve to pursue magic?"

"Then why does he hate you so now?"

Guerrand's shoulders raised.

"It's no coincidence Belize's name keeps cropping up, Rand," Esme said firmly. "Our master said the red mage was an unlikely, not impossible, suspect, and Justarius didn't even know about the mirror. I have a hunch that you've overlooked the real villain."

"So what do I do," snapped Guerrand, "march up to Belize and ask if he's trying to kill me?"

Esme gave a dry, brittle little laugh. "That would be one solution. Not the best one, however. No, as I see it, you have two options. You can voice your suspicions to Justarius again and have him represent you before the Council of Mages. They may, or may not, believe an apprentice over one of their own. Or you can seek some real evidence against Belize."

Guerrand frowned his disapproval. "You mean break into his villa and search it."

Esme looked at the mess around her and said archly, "You didn't seem to mind breaking into my room. Nevertheless, I was also going to suggest you explore the world inside his mirror."

"Which would you do?"

Esme's thin shoulders raised. "Considering that Belize is the most powerful mage of our order, it would be safer to take your chances with the Council of Mages."

"Then I'll search Villa Nova," said Guerrand. Esme looked surprised but pleased. "I'll no longer seek the easy road, and I won't have someone else fight my battles," he added resolutely. "The mirror is a second option, but I prefer to face what I understand first."

"We can leave whenever you say," said Esme, her tone eager. "Just let me change into more practical clothing first."

"We?" he asked in disbelief.

"I can't let you go stumbling alone into someone else's traps, can I?"

Guerrand smirked. "Well, when you put it so nicely…" He dashed through the curtain and into the antechamber. "I'll meet you outside in two shakes."

"You're certain both of them are gone?"

The two apprentices passed under the first arch into Belize's villa.

"Lyim told me Belize was going to be away, penning his next work, for more than a fortnight," Guerrand whispered back. "I know for sure that Lyim is, uh, doing field work."

They stepped inside a vast rotunda that was so large they felt like ants. Both apprentices gasped in wonder.

The circular, domed room looked more like a guild hall or temple than a home. Square recesses adorned the inside of the dome, leading to a large, perfectly circular opening at the peak. The floor was cold gray marble, except in the very center of the room. There, sunlight streamed in a narrow column from the hole above and splashed across an elaborate parquet of red and black marble triangles, squares, and circles. The majority of the room was empty, except along the walls; Guerrand thought there was not enough furniture in all of Palanthas to fill it, anyway.

Four arched doorways at equidistant points around the rotunda led to unseen rooms beyond. Between these portals were elaborately mantled alcoves that contained gilded mirrors, chairs and small tables, or marble statues on pedestals. Guerrand recognized one of the busts, of the great wizard Fistandantilus, from a book he'd read frequently in his father's library.

The two apprentices walked a third of the way in, slowly turning to survey the surroundings. Esme watched her reflection in six mirrors.

"This place looks like a maze at a festival fun house, with all these mirrors," the young woman whispered. Even so, her voice echoed in the rotunda. "They make me feel as if we're being watched."

"I wouldn't rule it out," muttered Guerrand with a shiver. "Let's just find his laboratory and some evidence so we can get out of here."

Esme nodded. "It's a sure bet he didn't leave a checklist lying around that says: 'Ways to Kill Guerrand.' " Her gaze traveled to each of the four large doorways. "Should we just start turning knobs?"

"I have a less risky idea," said Guerrand, rummaging around in the pouch that hung over his shoulder. He withdrew the mirror, brushing away flecks of lint, and mentally summoned his familiar. Zagarus tumbled out, startling both bird and woman.

She knows about me? asked Zag. Guerrand nodded his head.

"A sea gull!" cried Esme. "And such a magnificent one. I love the black-and-white markings on its head."

"Zagarus is a he. Uh," Guerrand continued hastily as Esme reached out a hand, "Zag doesn't like to be pet-" To Guerrand's surprise, Zag preened happily under the hand on his feathered head.

Such an observant judge of avian superiority can pet me anytime, the sea gull nearly purred.

"If you two are finished admiring each other," Guerrand said aloud so both could hear him, "I have a job for Zag." The bird was instantly alert. "First, get back into the mirror."

Hey!

Frowning, Guerrand clamped a hand around his familiar's beak. "Just do as I say, Zag. We don't have time for petulance."

Zagarus blinked at the hand on his beak. Guerrand quickly withdrew it and held out the mirror. Zagarus dipped his head, as if trolling for fish, and disappeared inside the shard's glassy surface.

"Good," said Guerrand. He strode to within two paces before the door to his left, knelt down, and set the mirror on the cold marble floor. Esme had trailed him. She watched, curious but silent as he took a wad of gum arabic from his pouch. Closing his eyes, Guerrand conjured a mental picture of the bones and muscles of his right arm stretching like hot taffy. "Voli-gar et," he said firmly. Instantly, even before he opened his eyes, came the gentle tearing in his limb that told him his spell had worked.

He reached out with the elongated limb and pushed the mirror three-quarters under the door, keeping his fingers on the jagged edge. "I've sent the mirror across the threshold, Zag. Pop your head up on the other side and tell me what you see."

I'm in a wide, empty hallway, said the bird. It looks like it leads to the kitchen.

"All right, get back in the mirror," he said, sensing Zag's desire to explore. "I'll pull you over."

I'm inside. Zag's disappointment was obvious.

Guerrand reeled back his three-foot-long arm, bringing with it the mirror. He turned to Esme, who looked impressed with his tactics. "Zag says this one goes to the kitchen. We'll have to keep trying."

She nodded. "While you're doing that, I'll look around, see if I can find something odd," she suggested.

"Don't touch anything," he warned, watching her take tentative steps toward the center of the room.

Guerrand turned back to his own task. Scooping up the mirror, he followed the curve of the rotunda to the right, stopping a safe distance before the next door, where he repeated the process.

"What do you see?" he prompted Zag.

I'm not sure, he mumbled. It's another hallway, darker than the last, but I think I can make out a staircase.

Guerrand felt hope flutter in his chest. "Back in you go," he commanded, then waited a few moments before drawing the mirror back, taking it up in his long fingers.

Suddenly he heard a scream behind him. Esme! He whirled about and spied her on a shield-sized platform that was rapidly rising skyward from a shaft in the center of the rotunda's floor. She clamped off a second terrified scream with one hand. Dropping into a crouch, the young woman used the other hand to grip the side of the circle of marble as it brought her ever closer to the sunlit opening in the peak of the rotunda.

Guerrand ran to the base of the shaft. "Hang on!" he called up. Stuffing the mirror in his pack, he looked desperately for some lever on the thick metal column that rose several stories above on the platform of marble. He found none. Guerrand began to fear she'd be shot out of the opening like a stone from a catapult.

Near the top, the shaft ground to a stop. "I'll think of some way to get you down!" he called lamely.

"Do you think this thing will lower itself? Oh, bother," he heard her mutter. "I won't wait for that. Stand back," she called, kneeling at the edge of the platform to address him directly.

"Esme, no!" Guerrand yelled, but he was too late.

Esme threw herself from the platform. Horrified, Guerrand ran beneath her, expecting to catch her, or at least break her fall. The young mage plunged for a heartbeat, but then her decent slowed until she was floating gently like a feather to the floor. Smiling, Esme did a dramatic one-foot landing.

"Feather fall spell," she explained calmly, considering the mixture of horror and relief on Guerrand's face.

"Next time tell someone what you're about to do," her companion growled.

"I'm fine, if you're wondering," Esme said lightly, ignoring his anger.

Abruptly both apprentices jumped away from the parqueted marble as the shaft began to move again, sinking soundlessly back into the floor. The platform looked once more to be a seamless circle of inlaid black marble.

Hey, that looked like fun, said Zagarus, who'd left the confines of the mirror.

"Everyone, stay away from the parqueted shapes," commanded Guerrand, scowling at Zag's response. "Standing on that inner circle must have activated a trap."

As traps go, it seemed harmless enough, said Zagarus. Aren't you the least bit curious to learn what the other shapes do?

"What if they release an army of bugbears or wraiths, or kill intruders instantly?" Guerrand asked aloud, snorting. "I think I can live without knowing any of that."

If Belize was concerned about anyone getting in, posed Zagarus, why didn't he trap the. doors? We've encountered nothing the least bit threatening.

"That's what worries me," said Guerrand, scratching his head. "I just don't understand why he's made it so easy for strangers to get in."

"Maybe," suggested Esme, "he assumes everyone is cowed by his position and wouldn't dare break in."

Guerrand gave a humorless smile and a shake of his head. "All the guessing in the world won't give us those answers. The second door seems like it might lead to Belize's laboratory. Let's get back to the task, while luck is still on our side. Zag? Hey, where are you?"

Guerrand turned around just as the curious sea gull stretched out a webbed foot, placing it on a red triangle in the parquet pattern.

"Zagarus!"

The cry came too late. The marble floor abruptly opened beneath them all. Man, woman, and bird tumbled through dark, fetid air. Squawking his startlement, Zagarus took to wing. The sea gull floated up, looking for a way out, or at least a crack of light.

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 bum 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.

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!