The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures) (10 page)

It was a long, low sound of gently rushing air. And then a pause. And then the same sound, but softer this time. It would have been easy to miss. But now that he was aware of the sound, it was all he could hear.

He turned his head to one side, and then the other, listening keenly. He was afraid it would stop before he discovered the source. But it went on repeating like a pair of sighs: low, and lower. Low, and lower.

Inward and outward.

Can it be?
The hairs on the back of his neck stood like quills. He stepped out of the chair and put his ear to the cold surface of the mirror. Yes, that was where the sound came from. And he recognized it for what it was.

Breathing.

It wasn’t like the rapid, excited breaths that he was taking now. It was more like the relaxed inhalations and exhalations of someone in a deep, deep sleep. The sound was soothing. He kept his ear to the glass for a long time, closed his eyes, and just listened.

This was not merely a priceless object. There was something extraordinary about it, a wondrous enchantment. And nobody knew but him. The secret knowledge made him smile.

Early the next morning, as Parley prepared to depart, Bert ran downstairs with his letter tucked in the sleeve of his shirt. He waited around the corner of the keep until Parley was on his horse and his uncle had stepped back inside The Crags. Then he ran up to say good-bye.

Parley’s eyebrows went up as he saw Bert coming. “Well, at least somebody looks like they slept well. You look ready to take on a host of Dwergh all by yourself!”

“Good morning, trusted courier,” Bert said with a broad smile. He slipped the letter into Parley’s bag, shielding it as best he could with his body. “Remember, this goes straight to Will. Not to my father or mother. And don’t you read it, either. I sealed it, you know!”

Parley put his hand over his heart and grinned impishly. “I will deliver it only unto your brother’s hands, my liege. And woe to anyone who stands in my way.”

“You’re such a fool, Parley. That’s what we like about you”

“Stay out of trouble, now—if that’s possible for you!” That was the last thing Parley said to him. Bert watched the courier ride off, and when he turned around he was not terribly surprised to see his uncle in the doorway.

Bert crafted his most angelic expression: mouth pursed
in a tiny smile, bright eyes blinking. “Good morning, Uncle!”

Hugh Charmaigne stepped out to block his path. “I told you to give your letters to me and that I would give them to the courier.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you, Uncle.”

“That is a lie. You disobeyed me, because you do not trust me. I suppose you thought that I would read them first.”

“It’s not that—”

“Don’t contradict me, whelp,” Uncle Hugh snapped. “Your father doesn’t rule here. I do. That means you don’t question my orders, you just follow them. And when you disobey, I will punish you. You can depend on that. Now get to your room and stay there. I forbid you to come out until tomorrow.”

“Yes, Uncle” Bert lowered his head and frowned. But what he really wanted to do was smile.

CHAPTER 14

P
arley allowed his horse to slow its pace, because he was near a spot he’d always liked, just before the Cliff Road, when the valley began to fall away. A brook came down from the forest slope on the right, disappeared under heavy wooden planks on the road, and then spilled over a ledge and vanished into a mist. The watery sound was better than music to his ears. He wondered how anyone could just trot by a scene like this without pausing to appreciate it. Too many people spent their lives rushing about, worrying about things that didn’t matter. That was their problem.

It was funny how people who saw Parley’s missing eye, withered arm, and awkward gait always pitied him. If only you’d had better luck in battle, they’d say, you might even be a knight by now. No, Parley would say, don’t feel sorry for me. What could be better than traveling around the barony, bringing news to lords and ladies, and making friends in every village? And who was to scold him if he took a little extra time along the way? If a lame arm, a limp, and a useless hole in his head were the price to pay for such a life, he considered
it a bargain. Why, he was the baron’s messenger, and everyone was glad to see him coming.

Among those glad to see Parley was a certain widow in a town that he’d pass through tomorrow. She had a face like a stale dumpling, but good heavens, the woman could cook. He was thinking of her and enjoying the fine mist that settled on his upturned face when a movement by the side of the road caught his eye. It was a young doe.

The widow would appreciate a share of that meal. Parley’s mouth watered as he considered the stew she might produce from the tender meat. With all the stealth he could muster, he slipped off his horse and tethered it to the nearest tree. The doe took a few steps toward the brook and pawed the ground with a delicate hoof. So far she was not alarmed.

Parley slipped his quiver over his shoulder and notched an arrow in his bow. He wasn’t as close as he’d prefer—with only one good arm and a missing eye, he was hardly the most adroit of archers—so he crept slowly toward the doe. She raised her head, and her tail flicked up. Parley froze and held his breath. The doe bounded across the brook and disappeared into the brush. He sighed. Was it worth it? His stomach insisted it was.

The valley below was forbidden to anyone but Lord Charmaigne’s hunters—a typical edict from that brute—but Parley decided the doe wasn’t technically
in
the valley,
Not yet, anyway.
He followed her across the stream, picking his way carefully, and stepping on stones where he could to keep from making noise. Below him, the doe descended a slope. Farther below was a rocky pool where the brook splashed down after rushing over the ledge.

The mist was thicker here. The sound from the brook concealed his steps. And the wind was in his face as he followed.
Three good signs for hunting,
Parley thought.

His hope rose until he slipped on wet leaves. He lost his balance in an instant and tumbled down, flinging the bow and arrow aside to keep from impaling himself. As the world pinwheeled by, he saw the doe bound away. He rolled to a stop at the bottom of the slope and ended up in a seated position with his legs splayed.

The brook was directly in front of him. And on the sandy bank, he beheld the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

It was a sculpture of stone, a little taller than kneehigh. In the shape of a man, more or less … or a cross between a man and a frog—wide mouth, without a nose, and with two bulging white gems for eyes. But most remarkable of all, it was
moving.
Parley shook his head and wondered if the fall had left him woozy. Yes, it was moving, all right. Its head turned to look at him—if those diamond eyes could see, anyway. The broad mouth opened a crack, and a thin stream of smoke came out.

It was so odd that it took a moment for something
else to capture Parley’s attention. A pair of sturdy, leather boots stood unoccupied on the sandy bank. His gaze kept moving across a trail of clues. A little farther to the right, slung over a branch, there was a wide belt with an enormous silver buckle, studded with gemstones that glittered green, red, and blue. A little farther, there were large rocks near the water, and draped across them to dry were many layers of clothes. Undergarments. Drawers. A leather shirt. A hooded cloak. All of these were the colors of moss, bark, and stone, so that they practically blended into the wilderness.

Parley’s aching head finally deduced that the owner of these garments must be bathing nearby. After another uneasy glance back at the stone creature, he looked toward the brook. And, in fact, there the owner was, looking as startled as Parley. He was stark naked, which would have been more embarrassing if not for the long, thick beard that fell nearly to his knees.

What a curious little man,
Parley thought. But no—if the man was little, it was only in height. This fellow, standing in the brook with a wet cloth in one hand, was as wide and brawny as any of the baron’s men. Parley was amused for a moment. And then he was afraid, because he saw how pale the man was. Pale as ash. Pale as a man who rarely saw the light of day … because he spent most of his life under the ground …

“You—you’re
Dwergh!
” he sputtered.

The Dwergh put up one hand. “Do not move. You cannot leave.” The voice was low and gruff, as if a bear had learned to speak, and the accent was strange.

Parley disregarded the command and scrambled to his feet. He took just two awkward steps before an ax with an enormous blade whooshed past his face. It splintered with astonishing violence into the bark of the tree next to him. The handle stuck out horizontally in his path, bringing the courier to a sudden stop.

Parley knew the Dwergh in the brook had no place to conceal an ax, unless he had it tucked away in that great beard of his. So there was at least one more of the accursed beings here. And hadn’t he heard that they always travel in bands? He looked back up the slope that he’d tumbled down, and through the mist he saw the dim outlines of more of those short, heavily built folk, blocking his way.

The gruff voice burst out again, calling strange words, “Mokh!
Gonchukh!
” Parley turned and ran, but he felt something heavy seize his leg with terrible strength, and he hit the ground with a thud. Whatever grabbed him felt
hot—
almost painfully so, even through the fabric of his pants. He looked down and saw the stone creature with its arms clamped around his leg below the knee. It squeezed until Parley cried out in pain.

You’re done for, Parley,
he told himself. He heard footsteps coming nearer. The Dwergh called to one another in more harsh words that made no sense.

So it was more than a rumor. After so many years the Dwergh, the enemies of the baron and the king, had returned.
And what will become of the baron’s messenger now?
Parley thought.
All because of a doe …

CHAPTER 15

B
ert stared at his reflection.
It must be almost dawn,
he thought. But he didn’t feel tired Somehow, sitting before the mirror and listening to its mysterious, tranquil breathing was better than sleep.

Besides, he had so much to think about. His father’s last words to him were still on his mind. Even his brother’s note troubled him. His brother, training under the great knight who was supposed to teach
him
to fight.

“It isn’t fair,” he said aloud.

The words came back in an echo.
Isn’t fair.

It isn’t right,
he thought.

And he heard another echo.
Isn’t right.

Bert seized the arms of the Witch-Queen’s throne. A strange thing just happened: There was an echo to words he never said aloud. And he was suddenly, acutely aware that something was different. Something was
missing.

He stared at the mirror. “You’re not breathing anymore,” he said.

And he heard the words again, like a whisper down a long corridor.
Isn’t fair.

Bert leaped out of his seat. He stood frozen until his
hands began to shake. Then he bolted—out of the cavern, into the Tunnel of Stars, and up the forty-nine steps. He pushed the secret door shut, leaped into his bed, and lay quivering with the blankets pulled over his head.

A few hours later, Aunt Elaine knocked on his door and invited him to ride with her into the valley. Bert agreed. But while he rode he thought only about the mirror and wondered if what he’d heard—that disembodied whisper—was only a dream.

“Are you sure it’s all right for us to be out here?” he called ahead to his aunt.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” said Aunt Elaine, turning around on her horse with a quizzical look.

“In case there are any … enemies or something.”

“I have combed this valley for plants for many years, Bert. There are no enemies here.”

Bert sighed. He’d hoped for some kind of clash at The Crags while he was there. He wondered if he’d ever see a true battle.

A sudden chill coursed through his body. His hands twitched on his reins. He was filled with an urge to turn the horse around and spur it to a frothing gallop all the way back to The Crags, so he could sit before the mirror again. The fright had worn off, and his curiosity returned, stronger than ever.