A Shadow on the Glass (78 page)

“So it is mine, the spoils of war. But I lay at the point of death for many years, and in that time the Mirror was hidden. When at last I regained my strength, I put it about that I was dead. I sought the Mirror, and learned that Yggur had found it.”

Her voice was cold and even and strong. She had no need of rhetoric. “The Mirror has no power, none at all. What it has, if you can read it, is knowledge, and many, many secrets, not least the one that you mention, the way that Yalkara made her gate. But none
here
can render it. Yalkara locked it, and there is only one key.
I have that key
.”

Tensor stood up. He raised his hand, and a still expectancy came over the room. He looked toward the Prime Just.

“Arbitrator, attend your office. There is no dispute that the Mirror is ours; we made it in Aachan in the depths of
time and brought it here to Santhenar. No dispute that it was stolen from us by Yalkara. No other has the right to it.”

“What do you say to this?” asked Nelissa, turning to Faelamor.

“Mad Karan was right! Tensor would use it against Rulke and drag the whole world into war. The Aachim have declined to nothing and will not see it. They have forfeited their right.”

“We care for this world and will do nothing to harm it,” Tensor said vehemently. “Faelamor would smash the Forbidding, break open the Way between the Worlds and bare Santhenar to the violence of the void. Give the Mirror back. Our enemy is your enemy. We have a weapon against him that cannot fail.”

Tensor drew himself up, his dark eyes flashing, and he was glorious—his pride in the renascence of the Aachim was unshakable. Then he looked to Faelamor. “
How came you here
?” he said, in a great voice. “How did you get out of Shazmak?”

“Did I not say to you that you could not hold me?” she replied. “That your folly would set in motion the doom of the Aachim? So it proved to be, for the Whelm have found the secret way into Shazmak and it lies in ruins.”

“Ruins!” cried Tensor, in a voice that curdled the breath of those that watched. “What of my people?”

“I know of none who lived.”

“All dead?” said Tensor. “
All dead!
” His voice sank to a whisper. He stood for a moment, his head bowed, then suddenly he snapped erect, letting out a cry of agony that tore at Llian’s heart. Even Faelamor swayed back from the railing. He struggled with himself, staring into the empty air until the whole room quivered with his grief.

At last he mastered himself, and his deep voice was soft, but pregnant with menace. “How came the Whelm to Shazmak?
Who showed them the way? Why would they do this?”

Faelamor’s voice was equally soft, and so low that the watchers could scarce hear it. “Why? Do you not know who the Whelm are, you who just boasted so loudly of the strength of the Aachim? They are Ghâshâd, your ancient enemies that Rulke twisted to his own purpose, long ago.”

“
Ghâshâd!
” Tensor looked as though he would burst with rage and terror. “Ghâshâd!” This cannot be borne.”

Karan cried out and squeezed her head between her hands.

“And who showed them the way?” Faelamor went on. “Who but the confessed betrayer of the Aachim? The one who was with the Whelm in Name before they went straight to Shazmak. The one who now pretends madness that she might escape punishment for her crimes. Never was one so young so treacherous.” She pointed an accusing finger.

“Karan! Karan of Bannador.
She
is the betrayer. See how she cries out in her guilt and shame.
She
showed them into Shazmak!”

“Never,” Karan said, weeping and trembling. “Never.”

Llian was on his feet, shouting, “No! No! It is not possible,” but Tallia gripped his shoulder tightly and pressed him back in his seat.

“That is not the way of the Conclave,” she said. “She will have her chance.”

Llian turned a bewildered face to her, terrified for Karan. “This is no Conclave, it is a trial, a farce, and she has no one to defend her.”

Karan faced her accuser, but it was clear to Llian that the madness was coming on her again. “Not I,” she wept, shaking and shivering. “I did not betray Shazmak, even under the torture of the Whelm.” The suppressed memory burst into her brain. “
She
” it was who showed them,” she said. “Faelamor
did it! She promised me to Emmant. She gave him a charm to bind me. In return he showed the Whelm the secret path into Shazmak, and taught them to disable the Sentinels. He told me so, before I killed him.” Her face showed her horror. “Killed him …” Her voice trailed away.

Tensor looked at Faelamor.

“The girl is confessed to be a liar, a betrayer, a murderer,” said Faelamor. “To escape her crimes she pretends madness. Nothing she says can be believed.”

“It cannot be denied,” said Tensor heavily.

Karan’s eyes went wildly around the room. Mendark she saw, and Tallia, Tensor, Thyllan, others that she knew; but none would meet her eye. None believed her. Then she looked on Llian, through a mist, and there were tears running down his cheeks. Her only friend now.

There came a commotion outside. Nelissa had been speaking quietly with the other Just. Now she used her thin arms to push herself to her feet and stood at the end of the table, leaning on her stick, swaying.

She is weak and confused, thought Llian in horror. She will condemn Karan unheard. He looked up at Faelamor. She too was on her feet, gripping the railing.

Outside, even through the closed doors, they heard the pounding feet, the shouts, the cries, the hammering at the door. A guard drew it open and a tall man in the garb of a messenger crashed into the room. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His uniform was splattered with blood. He forced himself to his feet, staring around the room until his eyes lit on Thyllan.

“The war …” he croaked.

Thyllan clambered over the benches in his haste. “How goes the war, messenger? There is a setback?”

“The war is over,” the messenger said limply. “The army
is utterly destroyed. Yggur is at the southern gate. There are too few to defend it. Thurkad is done.”

The shouting died away. The rain, which had been falling heavily all day, eased suddenly. Faelamor had come down from the balcony and stood near the Prime Just, but she seemed anxious and kept looking up. Tensor watched her with narrowed eyes. Now every eye turned to Nelissa, who still stood.

She spoke with effort, her voice rasping. “This is our Arbitration.

‘Tensor, your claim is valid. The Mirror is yours by right, but how can we give it back? The Aachim are destroyed and our need is dire. Your warnings and the warnings of Faelamor are heeded, yet we know our enemy, and he is Yggur. We will keep the Mirror until the war is over and the enemy defeated. Thyllan, you acted improperly and we reprimand you. Yet we know you acted only for Thurkad. There is no penalty.”

The silence was absolute. No one moved or spoke. All eyes were on Tensor. The despair on his face drained away, replaced by an absent, lost look, but his jaw was set and his lips moved.

Mendark started, then leapt up onto the dais.

“There is power enough in this room,” he cried out, “to told back even the might of Yggur. Our weakness is his strength. Let us put aside our differences and unite against him. When he is defeated will be time to consider the Mirror.”

A murmur of assent went round the room. All eyes were on Tensor now. Faelamor edged closer; a tremor shook her small frame. Tensor’s shoulders slumped; he strained his lips into a broken smile, at last dipping his head in acquiescence. A little sigh came from Tallia. The tension eased.

“Karan of Bannador,” Nelissa said, without a trace of pity, “at another time you would be put away. But we are at war now, in great peril, and treachery breeds treachery. We can show no humanity to traitors. Take her outside,” she said, making a slashing motion to the guards. “Do it quickly.”

Mendark leapt up again. “This is not the will of the Conclave!” he shouted. “The charges have not been proven. She cannot be touched.”

“The Arbitration will not be challenged,
citizen
Mendark,” said Nelissa coldly. “And you are charged with contumely against the Great Conclave. Take him as well; hold
him
below. The Conclave is ended. Go now, salvage what you can.”

Faelamor stared at Karan, knowing she had won but taking no joy in it.

Karan looked up at Llian and a chaos of images flooded him: falling down the steps at her feet in the ruins; her frozen face as she sailed the Garr after the death of Rael; sharing food and wine in Shazmak, that night when she had been happy as a child; teasing him in the boat as they fled from Name… The images slowly blended into one another, became her now. “Do not be sad,” she seemed to be saying. “They were good times we had together, but now it is time to go.” She gave him such a tender, loving smile that it broke his heart.

The guards stepped forward. Tensor bowed his head in grief. “Goodbye, little one. I am truly sorry.”

They took her, one gripping each arm, and began to lead her away, and Mendark too.

A berserk rage grew in Llian. The man beside him, a high official of the city, wore a ceremonial sword, and though Llian had never used such a weapon in his life, he reached
out for it, preparing to violate the Conclave and die beside Karan.

Tallia gripped his arm, saying “No!” in an urgent whisper, but he thrust her away so hard that she went backwards over the bench.

“I spit upon the ancient traditions of Thurkad,” Llian said between his teeth. The sword came easily to his hand and he tensed, preparing to spring out among the guards to certain death.

Then there was a noise on the balcony above, and Faelamor called out in a high voice, “Maigraith! At last! Come forth.”

Every face in the room looked up. Maigraith came to the rail and threw back her hood. The glossy dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like bundles of chestnut silk. She was not wearing her glasses. She leaned out over the railing and the lights, suddenly bright, caught her wine-dark eyes so that they gleamed like rubies.

She was looking directly at Faelamor, and there was an expression of fearful resolve on her face. She made as though to speak, but she never spoke.

Tensor stared at her with shocked intensity and sudden recognition. “Do the Charon spring up again from the earth?” he cried. “
Never more!
” He raised his hand toward Maigraith; then, as if his courage had failed him, lowered it again. Faelamor was even closer to Nelissa now. Tensor bowed his head, shaking it slowly, then jerked up at a furtive movement by Nelissa.

Karan gave a low moan that made Llian’s blood congeal. The guards let go her arms, staring at her. Llian stared too, and the sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Her thick red hair was standing up, making a halo around her head, and her eyes had rolled back until only the
whites could be seen. She shook her head and beat slowly at the air with her open palms. A sick horror gripped Llian.

He heard Maigraith’s voice clear from above, “No, you cannot. You must not.
No!
”

Tensor put out his hand, quite gently, toward Nelissa. There came a flash, the color of old blood, and a dull boom that echoed in Llian’s ears long after the sound had died away.

Pain flared in his temples, as though his head was being ground between two boulders. His eyes seemed to boil, he was blind, then a gate closed in his brain, another opened, the pain eased and he could see again. He saw Nelissa, who still held the Mirror in her left hand. The dark cave of her mouth gaped in a scream that had no sound. Her stringy muscles spasmed violently and flung her backwards against the wall with a crack like an egg being broken. The Just were scattered like grain. The whole room went black.

Llian picked himself up from the floor. People lay prostrate everywhere. Thyllan was frozen on his knees, unable to rise, a trickle of blood running from the wound on his cheek. Tallia sat on the floor, her hands folded in her lap, her lips moving though she made no sound. Mendark lay twitching next to the dais. Faelamor was crawling slowly down the room, away from the dais, blindly bumping into fallen chairs and table legs. Maigraith could not be seen, though a slim hand hung through the iron of the balcony.

Tensor stepped forward and plucked the Mirror from Nelissa’s lifeless fingers. Llian looked frantically around the room. Why had he been spared? His courage wavered. What could he do when the powerful had failed?

Then his gaze fell on Karan, crumpled on the floor between her guards, blood pooling on the floor beside her, her hair gone limp, the bruise livid on her pale face. A great
anger grew in him, a fury at Tensor, at Mendark, at Thyllan and Faelamor and Nelissa; no, no longer at Nelissa, she was gone. At Tensor, especially at Tensor. Then he was on his toes and running silently across the room, picking up the stick that Nelissa had used to support herself, there where it lay beside the table, lifting it high and bringing it down with a crack on the back of Tensor’s head.

Tensor stopped, then slowly turned around. The potency had hurt even him. His face and hands were ghastly white. He swayed. There was red on his lip and chin. His bloody eyes transfixed Llian and held him.

“You alone are unaffected,” he breathed. “I have need of one such as you. Come to your reckoning, chronicler.”