Night of The Eye

Chapter Sixteen

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."

Justarius looked displeased as he helped himself to sliced pears. "These gating creations are not new. However, the practice of using test subjects, particularly nonanimals, has been banned by the Red and White Orders. I will have to report this," he mused.

"Are you're going to tell the conclave what he's doing there?" asked Guerrand.

"Yes, are you?" repeated Esme from the doorway. Guerrand looked up, shocked to see her leg expertly splinted. She stood easily with the support of one of Justarius's elaborate walking sticks.

"You're healed!" he cried.

"No, but I feel much better, thanks to Justarius's elixir and Denbigh's ministrations." Her eyes were on their master. "Will you, Justarius?" she pressed once more.

"I'll not address this to the entire conclave of twenty-one just yet. I must first consider how best to raise the issue of these gating experiments to Par-Salian and LaDonna, lest I give Belize the chance to destroy the evidence."

Justarius sighed heavily. "But it appears I'll be speaking to them about another issue first," he said, his grave tone commanding their attention. "Whether you realize it or not, your actions today were a serious breach of your vows to the order."

"What?" the apprentices cried.

"Breaking into Belize's home," explained Justarius, "violated the rule to never raise a hand in magic to one of the Red Robes. You also broke the laws of the city. Worse still, your tryst was just plain naive."

Justarius peered at them over steepled fingers. "Even the most lenient interpretation of the rules of our order demands that I report your transgressions to the respective heads of the robes."

Esme's face was pale as she stammered. "Wh-What will they do?"

Justarius rubbed his face wearily. "Considering that the transgression was against a member of the Council of Three, it's likely they will vote to suggest the other red representatives evict you both from the order."

Guerrand found his tongue at last, while Esme merely managed a gasp. "That's so unfair!" he shouted, fists clenched in rage. "I was just trying to defend myself. Belize is the criminal here, not Esme and me!"

"That is an issue I intend to take up," Justarius said. "However, it does not change the fact that you and Esme acted improperly, no matter how just your intentions."

The anger lines in Justarius's brow eased slightly. "You needn't look so crestfallen yet. It may be a minor disadvantage that everyone knows there is no love lost between Belize and myself. However, I will speak to the council on your behalf to prevent the Council of Three from voting to bring the issue to the Red Robes."

"Will that help?" Esme asked, choking back tears.

Justarius stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "I believe Par-Salian will weigh my support heavily. LaDonna's vote will be determined almost entirely by her mood at that moment." He frowned. "We know how Belize will vote."

The archmage tossed back the dregs of his lemon tonic. Dabbing his lips one last time, he dropped the napkin on the table and stood. "Enough said of these events. I'll be leaving for Wayreth immediately to address Par-Salian. I expect you're tired from the day's adventures and will want to retire to your rooms until I return." It was not a suggestion.

After Justarius left, Esme pulled Guerrand along toward her chamber. She pushed him through the antechamber into her sleeping quarters. He collapsed into the chair, pinning his pouch behind him.

"What are we going to do?" Esme demanded. She began to tidy the room compulsively, snatching a folded blanket from the cot, then refolding it.

Guerrand gave a listless shrug. "Wait for Justarius to summon us, I guess."

She threw the blanket on the cot. "You're not going to give up that easily, are you?"

Giving her a strange look, he removed the pouch from the small of his back and set it on the floor. "It's not a question of giving up, Esme. We're guilty. That's done."

She smashed a fist into her palm and began pacing with the aid of Justarius's staff. "I can't just sit here and wait for our execution!"

Guerrand frowned. "Don't be melodramatic. The council isn't going to kill us."

She crossed her arms and regarded him wryly. "You think Belize is going to let either of us live after we broke into his villa?"

Guerrand looked alarmed. "After what we told him about Belize, Justarius wouldn't let him kill us."

"That's just wishful thinking, Rand," she said, wagging a finger. "You're not that naive. Is Justarius going to follow us around and protect us after we're expelled from the order and no longer his apprentices?"

Guerrand flopped onto the cot, an arm over his eyes. Gods, I'm sorry I got you into this. I should have listened to Justarius and never told you about my problems."

"I'm not sorry," she said kindly. "You didn't kidnap me. I never do anything I don't want to do." Esme set her chin. "Which is why I'm not leaving the order without a fight."

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, sitting up.

She seized his hands in both of hers, eyes pleading. "Let's go back to Belize's lab right now. We could get those spellbooks before he realizes we're on to him and destroys the evidence. Justarius will be able to read the spell language and have the proof he needs to persuade Par-Salian and LaDonna of Belize's guilt. Then Belize will be the one expelled from the Order of Red Robes, not us."

Guerrand's brow creased. "I don't see how Belize's guilt or innocence will change the fact that we broke into his villa."

Esme dropped his hands. "Of course it will!" she snapped, her frustration mounting. "In the first place, we wouldn't have gone there if he weren't trying to kill you-"

"You sound awfully sure about his guilt in that."

"Aren't you?"

He gave a nod.

Esme looked smug. "In the second place," she continued, "if Belize is expelled before the Council of Three discusses our situation, then we have nothing to fear. Justarius will undoubtedly take his place on the council, and Par-Salian will vote with him. That's two votes out of three, which is all we need!" Warming quickly to the idea, Esme could scarcely contain her excitement.

"It would be like playing double or nothing in a game of bones," said Guerrand, shaking his head. "It's just too risky, and not at all like the level-headed Esme I know."

"What's so wrong about taking charge of your life?" she demanded.

"Until recently, I would have said 'nothing.' Now I'm not so sure." Guerrand's dark eyes were focused on a faraway place. "I've lived most of my life doing what others wanted, and the only one I hurt was myself. But since I left Castle DiThon to study magic, it seems I've done nothing but hurt people. I deserted Kirah and reneged on a promise so that I could follow magic, and now my family and castle are under siege. I allowed Lyim to go to Ergoth and fight my battles, so that I could continue as Justarius's apprentice."

Guerrand buried his head in his hands as the list of his transgressions mounted. "Last, but not least, it's my fault that we both stand to be expelled." He gave Esme a dark, bitter stare. "You tell me what good has come of indulging my selfish ambitions?"

Esme sat next to him and squeezed his hand. "I know it's difficult now to think of anything good, but not long ago you said you'd never been happier."

He snatched his hand back. "That was before everything went wrong!"

Esme moved away to stare out her small window. "I know what it's like to have everything go wrong." She said nothing more for many moments. Guerrand just waited.

"It pains me even now to think of those days, when I thought it important to prove that a mere girl could follow in the great Melar's footsteps." Esme gave a sad, humorless smile.

She looked away from the window, at Guerrand. "My father had magical ambitions only for my brothers. Each, in his turn, rejected magic, afraid to tell Father that he had caused them to hate, not love, it. My father disowned them, leaving them without money or connections or training. No one would even speak to them on the streets of Fangoth for fear of suffering a wizard's wrath."

Esme brushed the bangs from her eyes. "Left without sons, my father's eyes at last turned to me. I was thrilled by the attention and studied hard to satisfy him." She sighed deeply. "It wasn't long before I understood why my brothers had all fled. The great Melar was never satisfied."

Esme moved to stare silently out the window again. "The difference between my brothers and me was that I stayed with Father because I had grown to love magic. To impress him, or escape him-I don't know which-I suggested I was ready to declare an alignment to properly begin training for the Test. 'You're a girl!' he'd thundered. 'You'll be fortunate if you're ever ready to take the Test.' "

A tear rolled down Esme's cheek, and she dashed it away. "I knew that he was just afraid to lose control of me. What he didn't know was that he already had. I slipped away that night and traveled to Wayreth. I never sent word." Her thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He had ways of finding me if he cared to know where I went."

Esme fiercely wiped away the last of her tears. "So, you see, if I'm expelled, I've nowhere to go. I can't return to Fangoth. My father would know I've failed, as he'd predicted." She pounded a fist on the sill. "I couldn't abide that, Rand!"

"You wouldn't have to go home," Guerrand said, standing close behind her. His arms went about her shoulders, and she let him pull her back against his chest. "We could start again someplace else. Together."

"I would always know the truth," she whispered so softly he couldn't be sure he heard her. A huge, shuddering sigh racked her body, as if she were resigning herself to her fate. She turned suddenly in Guerrand's embrace, gave a trembling smile, and pressed tear-streaked lips to his cheek. "Thank you."

His eyes, so near her own, went wide. "For what?"

"For… saying that," Esme said simply. She stirred in the embrace, and Guerrand reluctantly let her go. Grimacing, she lowered herself gingerly onto her cot, dragging her left leg up to rest. "Justarius's elixir seems to be wearing off. I'd ask him for more, but he's likely left for Wayreth, and I hate to ask Denbigh. Do you have any more of those herbs that helped me in the lab?"

Guerrand knelt by her solicitously. "You took all I had, but there are more in my chamber." He jumped to his feet. "It'll take me a few moments to mix them."

Esme looked at him sweetly. "Would you mind?"

Guerrand hastened to the door, happy to help ease her suffering. "I'll be back before you know it," he said. She smiled her appreciation as he disappeared into the antechamber.

Guerrand dashed through the formal dining area that bridged their rooms. It took him ten minutes to collect and crush a sufficient amount of dried peppermint and meadowsweet and steep it in oil of cloves.

Vial in hand, Guerrand dashed toward the door. On impulse, he checked his appearance in his looking glass, then wished he hadn't. He looked like he'd been dragged through a knothole, but he hadn't time even to change. Esme was in pain and waiting for his herbs.

Slicking a moistened hand over his mop of dark hair, Guerrand hastened back through the dining room. He forced his steps and breathing to slow in the antechamber. A sense of propriety suggested he knock at the door to her sleeping chamber. There was no answer. He waited and knocked again. When still there was no response, he poked his head through the curtain that hung in the doorway.

"Esme?" he whispered, wondering if she had fallen asleep after the day's travails. What he found in the sleeping chamber nearly made him drop the vial he carried.

"Zagarus!"

The familiar was strutting back and forth on Esme's cot. Guerrand saw his own pack at the bird's feet, the flap open. The young woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Esme?" the apprentice demanded, his fingers growing cold about the vial of herbs when he saw the fragment of mirror on the chest by the cot.

She's gone! She stepped into the mirror! Zag pointed his beak at the glistening glass.

I flew to her window, looking for you so that I could slip into my nest in the mirror. Esme saw me but was busy stuffing her pack with components. Suddenly, she slung the pack over her shoulder and said, "I don't know if you can understand me, but tell Rand I'll be back in the time it takes to leap from the mirror, grab the spellbooks, and jump back here." Those were her exact words. Zagarus heaved a sigh of relief at having got through it all. What did she mean, Rand?

"It means she went back to Belize's," Guerrand said numbly. He snatched up the mirror and felt the jagged edges press his flesh.

What are we going to do?

Guerrand sank down next to the bird and considered the question. He wasn't so much angry at Esme as anxious. "Wait for her to return," he said at last. "If everything goes well, she should be able to return in under ten minutes. She could be back any moment, then." He remembered her splinted limb with a frustrated sigh. "I'll give her a little more time for her leg."

Guerrand let twenty minutes pass before he allowed the fear to pound at his temples. Where was she? He looked futilely at the mirror and closed his eyes. Something was wrong. He would not let his mind conjure possibilities. Only one thing was clear: he had to go and find her.

"Come on, Zag," he said, mirror in hand as he raced back to his room. Guerrand snatched up herbs and other items he used for his best spells and added them to the spellbook he placed in his pack.

The apprentice glanced once more around his chamber and spied his swordbelt with sword and dagger, long unused, hanging from a wall peg. Whether due to a premonition or the memory of Belize's monstrosities, Guerrand pulled it down and buckled it around his waist.

Guerrand set the mirror on his desk, then waved Zagarus into the glass first. Stretching his arms above his head as if swan-diving into the Strait of Ergoth, Guerrand slipped into the shiny surface of the magical mirror.

A heartbeat later in the foggy mirror world, Guerrand envisioned the looking glass in Belize's laboratory and stepped through it. Instantly he sensed an unnatural stillness, like the calm after a violent thunderstorm. Holding

his breath, Guerrand walked around the shelves. His booted feet crunched over glass. The floor was covered with shattered beakers, colored preserving liquids, and assorted organ components. The shelves that had so recently been neatly stacked were now bare, swept clean. The stench was worse than he'd remembered.

Guerrand kicked a hen heart out of his path. "Esme?" he called softly.

She's not here, Rand, Zagarus said. I'm by Belize's table. You've got to see this.

Blood hammering at his temples, Guerrand raced past the steps to the platform. Only one torch lit the area containing the table that Guerrand knew had held Belize's spellbooks. That lone light revealed enough to raise Guerrand's gorge. The entire floor and much of the walls were covered with spattered gore. The nauseating blotches were broken by scorch marks Guerrand knew came only from the intense heat of magical fireballs. Severed limbs and heads, obliterated torsos, and oozing organs were everywhere. Much of the carnage had been blasted beyond recognition.

Guerrand pinched his nose shut and began breathing through his mouth before wading toward Zagarus. The bird was perched upon the table, trying desperately to put space between himself and the grisly remains of a dead male dwarf who had the head of a large house cat. Between the bird and the dwarf on the table there were only dusty outlines where once spell-books had been.

Esme took the books and left the lab before Belize returned, Guerrand told himself. Seeing them gone, the archmage flew into a fury and destroyed everything he saw.

If that's true, why hasn't Esme emerged from the mirror? demanded Zagarus, reading Guerrand's thoughts.

"I don't know!" snapped Guerrand, his mind racing out of control. Had Belize caught her stealing his books and… Closing his eyes, the apprentice said with agonizing surety, "He's taken Esme somewhere."

Well, where do we look-"Kyeow!" Zagarus sprang from the table as the head of the dead dwarf-cat began to stir. Though the right side of its furry face was gone, the one remaining green cat's eye struggled to open. Guerrand was at once riveted and repulsed. His hand went impulsively to his dagger and stayed there while he waited, watching.

The creature seemed to give up trying to raise its head, though the eye remained open, focused on Guerrand. The blood-matted fur beneath the orb began to move up and down, and Guerrand realized that it was trying to speak with what was left of its mouth. A high-pitched keening erupted from the cat's face. Though modulated, the sounds made no sense to Guerrand.

"I can't understand you," growled Guerrand in frustration. "Are you asking me to end your suffering?"

The gruesome creature seemed to understand Guerrand, for it stopped wailing and unmistakably shook what remained of its head. A mangled dwarven hand came up with agonizing slowness. It trembled above the tabletop briefly Then one stubby digit, the only one left, began to push around the dwarf's own blood and ichor until an outline emerged of tall, etched pillars that Guerrand could not mistake: Stonecliff.

"You're telling me this is where Belize has taken my friend?"

The pathetic creature began to nod, then gave one short, violent shudder before falling still in the blessed peace of death.

Guerrand reached out a trembling hand and closed its eye.