A Shadow on the Glass (68 page)

They followed Pender across the wharves to the Customs House. As they reached it a man hurrying out the door bumped into him. The two stepped back, then the man’s face creased in a delighted grin.

“Pender, my old friend,” he shouted, his arms out stretched. “How good it is to see you. It must have been two years!” He stepped back and looked at his friend. “But what a time to be on the river.” Then he caught sight of Hassien and the children standing quietly to one side and his face registered shock and dismay.

“Hassien,” he cried. “What brings you here in these foul times?”

Hassien had smiled and stepped forward when he began to speak, but now she stopped uncertainly, her eyes searching his face.

“Dirhan,” she said. “What is wrong? We have abandoned Name and come to live in Sith. There is something the matter?”

“How is it that you have not heard? A great army has come out of the south, out of Orist. The whole of Iagador south of the Garr has fallen, Vilikshathûr is besieged, and already Yggur marches on Sith. The vanguard will reach the canal bridge in a few days. You have chosen an unhappy hour to come here. You did not know?”

“We are in trouble. We fled Name two and a half days ago, neither stopping nor speaking with anyone. We brought these two. They are hunted by the terror-guard of Yggur, who pursue us as well. We must have a hiding place.”

She introduced Karan and Llian to Dirhan, a small, dark-skinned man with a thin face and a beak of a nose. “It’s lucky that you came when you did,” said Dirhan. “By night fall the port will be closed and not even I would be able to get you in. In the morning no one may enter, certainly not Yggur’s spies from Orist, though if their need is great they might come across the water at night and climb the cliffs. Come with me; I’ll have your boat attended to.”

“Their need is great,” said Karan, as they picked up their packs.

Dirhan looked at her curiously for a moment, then shouted and gestured with an arm. Two laborers came running. He gave them instructions and they rowed the boat out of sight. Pender stood looking after it for a moment, as though an inward struggle was taking place, then his face
went blank. He picked up the small chest that remained and followed Dirhan.

“You’ll find Sith at war a very different place,” said Dirhan to Hassien as he took them into the Customs House, a long low building of yellow stone on the very edge of the quay. “You must have a pass now to enter and to stay in the city. I’ll make the arrangements for you.”

On the way out, behind the Customs House they passed by a four-sided basalt obelisk carved with small writing from top to base. Dirhan noted Llian’s interest.

“The laws of Sith,” he said. “You will have ample opportunity to study them while you are here. Indeed for your pass you must sign a paper that you will observe them to the smallest degree. We put great importance on the rule of law here in Sith.”

“It’ll take hours just to read them,” Llian grumbled.

“They are on every street corner,” said Karan. “Sign and we can go.”

“That is correct,” said Dirhan courteously, “but to have your pass validated you must go to the Wall of Records and make your own personal rubbing, and carry it with you at all times. Come.”

Half an hour later, clutching their passes and their copies of the laws, they took farewell of Dirhan and turned toward the city.

“There is a hut near Dirhan’s quarters that we will use for the time,” said Hassien, in response to Karan’s question.

They said their goodbyes there, and as soon as they had departed Karan led them away at a great pace by the meanest of alleys and back streets, so that by the time they reached their destination—a nondescript doorway running off a blind alley—Llian was thoroughly lost.

Karan knocked sharply at the door. Eventually it opened a crack and a wrinkled face looked out at them.

“I am Karan; I must see Maigraith at once. Is she here?”

“Not seen in months,” said the occupant in gravelly tones.

Karan’s shoulders slumped and there was a high edge to her voice when she went on. “I would speak with Faichand then.”

“I don’t know of such a one.”

“Then is any friend of Maigraith’s here?”

“Gistel is away too. You say your name is Karan? I haven’t heard of you.”

“I am Maigraith’s friend. Please let us in.”

The crack widened a little. The face became that of an old woman with downy cheeks, a pointed chin and a straggle of gray hair. Bright blue eyes surveyed them. “Who is he?”

A friend. His name is Llian. He has done me great ser vice. Let us in. Maigraith would not like us to discuss her affairs on the step.”

Karan looked anxiously up and down the alley. It was empty at the moment, though a stream of people was passing along the street beyond. A chain rattled and the door swung open. They entered. The old woman refastened the door behind them, then led the way along a dimly lit corridor and up a flight of stairs to a cold, smoky and window-less chamber. In the far corner of the room a fire glowed in a tiny grate, but gave out little heat.

“Wait here,” said the old woman. “I’ll bring food.” She went out quickly.

Llian dropped his pack on the floor and sat down with his back to the wall. There was a threadbare carpet on the floor, with a swirling pattern of reds and blues that he could barely make out in the gloom. The carpet was pitted with black spots around the fireplace. The walls were paneled in dark
timber, with a small tapestry on the wall above the fire, greatly begrimed with soot, and an oil lamp on a bracket beside the door.

Karan stood beside the fire, looking down at the coals. She stirred them idly with the toe of her boot and a small cluster of sparks leapt up.

“Now I’m worried. Where is Maigraith? And she said she knows nothing of Faichand. She must be lying. Why is no one here?” She kicked the fire again, angrily.

“We’ve come very quickly from Name. A normal boat trip takes four or five days,” said Llian reasonably. “No one knew you were coming today, or any day.”

“I’m exhausted, Llian. I can’t drive myself any further. The thought that sustained me all the way was that I could give up the Mirror here. To have to take it further is more than I can bear, and where is there to go?” And without the support of my talent, she added to herself. She had closed it off after Name.

The old woman came back with food, plain fare, apologizing for it, blaming the war. Though she was courteous, she watched them warily, and when she went out she locked the door after her.

“She doesn’t know what to do with us,” said Llian. “Something has gone wrong. She is beyond her instructions, and afraid. Oh, and who is Faichand?”

“She is the one to whom I must give the Mirror. She is Maigraith’s liege. I cannot speak of her.”

“I’m afraid,” said Karan, after they had eaten. “Sith is strong, but how can it resist such an army? The river will hold them only a few days. Even if Sith does resist, the lands around will fall and we’ll be trapped here.”

“How long will you wait for her?”

“Not long. Oh, why did I come? This place is as bad as
Shazmak. Worse, for there at least I knew they loved me. My heart tells me that there is something terribly wrong, but where can I go? The burden of this thing has grown too heavy for me.”

Then at last there is no conflict, thought Llian. There is only one safe place left. Mendark will help and I can rid my self of this debt at the same time. “Come north to Thurkad. Mendark will take you in.”

“Ah, yes. Mendark! I knew you’d come back to your plan when I had no one else to turn to. What conditions will he put upon his protection, I wonder? No, I’ll take the chance that Faichand will come back. Thurkad shall be my last re sort.”

Days went by; miserable, cramped days in that little room. Karan was moody, capricious and fearful. On the fifth day after their arrival Yggur’s armies drew up on the southern shore and Sith was besieged. The old woman came twice a day with food and drink, but the rations were much reduced. Llian spent most of his time writing his Histories. He carried his journal with him everywhere in a small satchel tied to his belt, for fear of losing his notes for his
Tale of the Mirror
.

Now it was late at night. Llian was sitting on the floor wrapped in a blanket, trying to read a book he had found in the cupboard, by the dim light of the fire. Karan lay asleep on the other side of the room. Heavy footsteps came down the hall, boards squeaked and there was a muffled exchange outside the door.

The door opened and a man entered. He wore a long hide coat with the wool on the inside. Snow lay thickly on his shoulders and brown hair and beard; he was Llian’s height but far heavier, and though young, already thickening around the middle. The man looked at Llian, began to speak,
then caught sight of the blanket-wrapped bundle on the other side of the room and went across to her.

He bent down and shook Karan roughly by the shoulder. She woke with a start and sat up, knocking his hand away. She pushed her hair from her face and stood up.

“Who are you?”

“I am Gistel. What is your business here?”

“My business?” she shouted. “Where is Faichand? I must see her urgently, on Maigraith’s business.”

“She has not been here for many weeks,” said Gistel angrily. “Explain yourself! Who are you? You say you bring a message from Maigraith, yet we know that Maigraith is held in Fiz Gorgo, and that she went alone.”

“I accompanied her there. I escaped, and she has since freed herself. I promised to come to Faichand here, and I have done so at great cost.”

“Faichand left here a long time ago,” said Gistel grudgingly. “She grew anxious about the mission. Perhaps she went to free Maigraith. I don’t know, for she didn’t confide in me, and there has been no news since. And who is this disgusting Zain? How dare you bring him here!”

Karan sprang to her feet and brought her knee up toward his groin. Gistel jumped backwards, stumbled and fell against the mantelpiece, discharging a clot of soot down on his head. Llian guffawed.

“Never say that again.” Karan’s voice was deadly quiet. “He has helped me greatly; so has he also done her service.”

Gistel wiped the soot off his face and got up. His eyes glittered with malice, but he saw that Karan’s hand was on her knife.

“And where is she?” she repeated. “If the cursed Mirror is so important why is she not here to take it? I never wanted it!” Abruptly she pulled the Mirror from her pocket and
flung it at Gistel’s feet. “There! Take it wherever you like; guard it until she comes for it. My duty is done.”

The Mirror chimed, rolled across the floor, then slowly uncoiled and snapped into a shimmering sheet. Gistel’s face was a study in lust for the precious thing. A very long time passed. Slowly he bent down to pick it up. Karan’s hand crept back to her knife handle. His fingers touched the Mirror, then drew back. He looked up, saw the expression on her face, then slowly rose to his feet, stepped cautiously around it and went out, closing the door behind him quietly.

Karan came over to Llian, her eyes bright with tears, and sank her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around the middle of her back.

“I’m not cut out for this work either,” he said to the top of her head. “What would I not give to be back in Chanthed now, sitting quietly in a tavern with a drink at my elbow, or telling by the fire this rainy night, while the wind howled harmlessly outside. Mendark has much to answer for as well.”

N
ext morning Karan woke feeling abandoned in a malign and yet indifferent world. It was raining, windy and cold. Strong winds during the night had blown some of the tiles off the roof and water had been pouring in for hours, running down the walls and pooling on the floor, so that when they woke the threadbare carpet was saturated and the room smelled like an old wet dog. Karan roused suddenly at dawn, jerked awake by one persistent aspect of her current nightmare.

“Something terrible has happened in Shazmak,” she said in a dreary voice. “I dreamed it.”

Llian, who was curled up in his blankets beside the fire, groaned and pulled the covers over his head. He wanted another two hours of sleep. Then, realizing that he’d had all he was going to get, he levered himself upright and tried to focus on what she was saying.

“I dreamed of the Whelm last night. They seemed to
come in a great destroying swarm, but they were different from the Whelm I knew, and the Aachim were powerless against them; just as I was powerless that night.” And I am helpless now, she thought: I have no will left, and there is nowhere to go, and I dread to use my talent. Without it, it is as though I am going blind as well as mad.

While she was speaking the ceiling had begun to sag in the middle, under the weight of water. Now it cracked and a filthy flood poured down on Karan’s bed. This was too much! The world seemed to have turned upside down in the night. She began to cry, then jumped out of bed and squelched across the carpet in her singlet and crept under Llian’s blankets. Llian held her to him, noticing how thin she had become. But with the touch a fragment of her dream came across and he cried out, realizing who the Whelm really were.

“Ghâshâd! They are Ghâshâd!”

Karan whimpered and clung more tightly. Naming them set off an explosion in Llian’s brain. The Histories listed the Ghâshâd. In ancient times Rulke had quickened them with knowledge after the Zain had failed him. They had been merciless enemies of the Aachim.