A Shadow on the Glass (40 page)

Now his long hair was lank and flecked with gray, his eyes were dull, his fingers had worried his beard into ratty coils, and the wrinkles were almost obliterated by scowl marks that curved down from mouth to chin. And still Tallia sent no message. She was his only comfort now, the one that he could rely on. It seemed an age since she had left
for the east. Word had come that she went to Tullin, then nothing.

The door was thrust open without knocking and an orderly sauntered in. “A man below says he must see you, Magis,” he said, using the familiar mode. “He would not give his name, only said to show you this.” The servant passed Mendark a bracelet made of interwoven strands of black silver. It was remarkably heavy for such a fine thing.

“This man, is he big and dark, with black hair?”

The orderly nodded. “Then send him up. And when next you come, knock first, and wait until I bid you enter.”

The orderly withdrew, crashing the door behind.

“Tensor, my old friend,” said Mendark, when the huge frame filled the doorway. “It is overlong since we last saw you in Thurkad.”

They clasped hands and Mendark drew the Aachim over to the fire, calling the servant back. They took chairs facing each other, close to the warmth. Tensor sat in his heavy coat, oblivious to the heat. There was ice on his bushy black beard and his eyebrows, and snow in his thick black hair.

The characteristics that identified him as Aachim, a different human species, were carefully concealed: the small ears that were as round as a circle; the unusual way that his hair grew to a peak on his forehead; the ridge that crested his head; the extra sensory glands in his nose; the vestigial tail. There was only one characteristic that he could not conceal—his fingers were remarkably long, almost twice the length of his hand. But he used his hands in ways that minimized that. Not that the Aachim were persecuted—in these times they were almost forgotten, but it was better not to stand out.

Beside him, Mendark looked pale and ineffectual, and his
tangled beard scanty. Eventually the servant came with tepid drinks and congealed food.

“I had not expected to see you in Thurkad this winter,” said Mendark, smiling, delighted to meet his old friend again. “Were you not away in the east?”

Tensor did not smile. “I was on my way to Stassor and did not plan to return until the year after the coming one.” His voice was deep, so deep that it might have been a purr or a growl, but there was no mistaking his mood this time. “But events have brought me hurrying back. Events of some importance to the Aachim.”

He fell silent then, waiting for Mendark to respond, obviously hoping the rumors were not true, but Mendark did not reply. The fire crackled. A log fell apart, exposing the white coals inside. The flames leapt up briefly, the coals turning red, then black with a tracework of orange. Tensor stared at the fire, his big hands clasped together.

“What do you know of these things?” he asked at last “You have your spies in the east.”

Mendark seemed to find the term indelicate. “I have people there, but it is very difficult,” he hedged. “Orist’s boundaries are closed; Yggur has occupied the surrounding lands. It is hard to get people there, harder to get them out again.”

“That may be so,” said Tensor, “but you will have found a way.”

“My people have brought me some information, but it is obscure and contradictory.”

As are you, my friend, thought Tensor. You are failing and this chance is too much to pass up, as it is for me. But it sunders us. He approached the subject from a different angle.

“I have also heard that Yggur is marching, mat already his armies are camped in Quilsin and Galardil, that he is preparing to move on Iagador from the south. What has made him act so suddenly?”

At the mention of Yggur Mendark started, as though reminded of something he preferred not to think about. When he spoke his voice was curiously flat. “The roads are good in Galardil, he can move there in the winter.”

There was another long pause. Tensor stared at Mendark, but Mendark would not meet his eye. He got up and prodded the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney; filled their glasses; sat down again. Tensor changed the subject.

“How is it with you? I hear that there is trouble in the Council.”

Mendark was suddenly eager to talk. “Your information is good. My hold over them grows ever more tenuous. It is said openly that I have been Magister too long, that I am declining. Few care anymore for our great project, the final banishment of Rulke, or even the watch; but what other purpose have we ever had? Thyllan would be Magister. He is greedy for power, but he would turn the Council to a new design. How did you learn of this?”

“By chance I met Hennia across the sea, at Larnat. We spoke briefly. She told me of the doings of the Council since our last meeting, and of your troubles.”

“They will soon be
our
troubles. I have tried to call a meeting, but time and distance are against us. Nadiril refuses to come—I fear he will never leave Zile or his Great Library again.”

“He is very old now, for a human,” said Tensor softly.

“Yes, so there is only you, myself, Nelissa (though we have never agreed on anything), Thyllan of course, he won’t miss the opportunity to take me down,” Mendark said bitterly, “and Hennia the Zain. And she will stand aloof, as always. I doubt if Wistan can get here, over the mountains. Orstand is over the sea, and the others so far off that they are no use to us. We have fallen back into our old folly, of warring cities and petty states, and once more comes a tyrant to crush us.”

“Yggur is more than just another warlord. Do not underestimate him, for your own sake. That was one reason for going east. I needed the counsel of my brother Aachim, even their aid, though they had little to give, so far away as they are. But I dallied when I should have hastened and the opportunity is gone. Even across the sea a messenger found me, bearing the news that you,
old friend
, are so reluctant to tell. You would first learn what I knew, so you could decide what to tell me.”

Mendark looked uncomfortable, and at such times was inclined to take refuge in pomposity. “In this matter our interests may not fully coincide,” he said at last, “but at such an hour we should look to strengthening the bonds of our friendship, not fall upon each other like dogs over some trifle.”

“Do not speak to me in the language of embassies, Mendark! The Mirror of Aachan is no trifle. It is ours, stolen from us long ages ago. Well you know how hard we searched for it, and how long. We have never given up our right to it. The Mirror will free us. The thought of the Great Betrayer is what saps us of will. Only when Rulke is utterly extinguished can we flourish, as we did before the Clysm.”

Oh, Tensor, what a fool you are, Mendark thought. I may be waning, but at least I know it. Your pride leads the Aachim to the abyss, and you draw all Santhenar with you. Give up your hopeless dreams. The Twisted Mirror it was called, a deceitful, perilous thing. But he said nothing, and Tensor took his silence for assent.

“We Aachim will not compromise. If you thwart me in this you are my enemy.” Then he paused, deep in thought. When he resumed his tone was more personal. “Why do you want it anyway? How can you hope to use it?”

“Yalkara did. And did what none thought possible-found a way through the Forbidding.”

“Surely you don’t compare yourself to her? That evil is gone forever.”

“Yggur marches,” said Mendark, “and who does he march against? He is a tyrant, a warlord, but he has a greater purpose. It is me he wants, and revenge for the Council’s ancient blunder that crippled him for so long. He is strong, but my tide is running out I’m afraid, Tensor. Does that not shock you? Do you not wonder that I seize upon any weapon? I,
Mendark
, am afraid. A great upheaval approaches, and Santhenar will be reshaped. But who will do the shaping?”

Tensor smiled, a dreaming look in his eyes. “Yes, a conjuncture, a climacteric, and it will be ours.”

Then he came to himself. “What do you know of the thieves?”

“What have you heard?”

“That someone broke into Fiz Gorgo and stole something of great value to Yggur. That it is thought to be the Mirror of Aachan. That the one who took it was pursued across half of Meldorin, but had come into the care of one of your people.”

“That is mostly correct There were two of them. One was taken. The other escaped
after they were discovered by Yggur
.”

“Incredible. What more?”

“I have a name for the one who escaped. Perhaps you may know of her, for she comes from Bannador—Karan is her name. A small young woman with red hair.”

Tensor was shocked. “Are you absolutely sure? It cannot be!”

“Tallia said it, therefore it is so. You know her?”

“If it is indeed her, I know her well. Her grandmother—beloved, tragic Mantille—was Aachim. It is exceedingly rare for us to marry outside our own, as you know. The blending usually has unhappy consequences, as it has had in her family, though it has given her a talent Her family has bonds with us that go back a thousand years, and for a time she lived in Shazmak. No! It is impossible! In any case, the task is beyond her.
Karan is not one to match power with Yggur, within his stronghold or out of it. Her strength is not of that kind.”

“So,” breathed Mendark. “She is a
blending
! That explains much. She could be useful to me here. You are sure that she is the lesser of the two thieves?”

“As though she were my own.” Tensor’s stern face softened and a wistful tone crept into his voice. “She is clever, and if you set her a task she will find a way to do it. She has a talent of seeing, sending, perhaps even linking. It is very strong, though she is poorly educated in its use. Deliberately so, for she can never be one of us. No one can predict how the talents of a blending will develop. Dangerous for us, but more so for her, should the world learn what she is. But why would she do this? Why would she act against us?”

“Perhaps she was just a helper, taken along for her talent. She may not know that it is the Mirror. They who seek it would want the secret kept.”

“Possibly, though I do not believe it. Even so, it is a dark day for the Aachim, for we love her dearly; she is so like Mantille. Where is she now? Do you truly have her?”

“Alas not, and we do not know where she is. More than two months have passed since she fled Fiz Gorgo. Yggur’s Whelm hunted her north, at least as far as Hetchet, but were unable to take her. Learning that she was near Hetchet and fleeing east into the mountains, I sent a skeet to Wistan at Chanthed. I asked him to send someone to Tullin, find her and bring her here.”

“This was done?”

“Unfortunately Wistan chose to settle an old score with me; the one he sent has neither skill-at-arms nor knowledge of the mountains. Wistan would be rid of him, I believe, for he is Zain. His name is Llian, a young chronicler.”

“I have heard of him,” said Tensor slowly. “He is your protégé, is he not?”

“I sponsored him at the college.”

“Why so? You’re not usually altruistic.”

“Am I not? He’s not the first. I’ve always thought it important to encourage talent that would not develop by itself. But now that he has fulfilled his promise, I will certainly use it. Chroniclers hear everything and understand what they hear. They make excellent spies. Being a Zain though, Llian would never have got into the college without me, so he is greatly in my debt.”

“Did he not do a great telling at the Festival of Chanthed four years ago?”

“Yes, and an even greater one last summer, I hear, though I haven’t seen it written. Wistan promised, but I haven’t got it. Anyway, I was in despair to hear that Wistan had sent Llian, but he did better than anyone expected. He found her near Tullin and they fled into the mountains, pursued by the Whelm. That was a couple of weeks ago. One of my people brought the news yesterday.”

“Karan knows the mountains. There was an old path that led to Shazmak once, though we’ve not used it for many years.”

“I believe I have a map showing it,” said Mendark.

“Perhaps she has taken the Mirror to Shazmak, to us.”

“Perhaps,” conceded Mendark, though he did not think it likely. “If she is still alive; if the Whelm don’t find her first.”

‘I will send people out for her,” said Tensor, talking half to himself. “But who would watch her carefully enough, if she is brought to Shazmak?” His handsome face twisted, as though he had thought of something loathsome. “Yes, there is one, though it dishonors me to use him. But the Mirror! I never thought that such a chance would come. What is my honor beside this chance.” Then to Mendark, “You have a skeet?”

Mendark shook his head, not meeting Tensor’s eye. “There are but three remaining, and none here. The past
weeks have taken a toll of them. I expect one from Tallia at any time. It is a strong beast, but still it would need to rest a day; and then be schooled to the new destination. You may have it when it comes. Will you stay?”

“I cannot. It is a hard road to Shazmak at this time of year. Even for me it will take seven days and nights, perhaps longer, and time is precious. I will write a note and you must send it when you can.”

Mendark got paper, pen and ink and Tensor wrote a careful note. He sealed it with wax from a candle, and wrote one word on the outside:
Emmant
. Then he wrote another note, sealed die first inside it and reached out to hand the package to Mendark—but hesitated, drawing back his hand. “No, there are other skeets in Thurkad,” and he put it in his pocket.