A Shadow on the Glass (74 page)

“Not so,” she said softly. She put her hands up but made no attempt to defend herself. Karan lowered the knife and a slow horror crept over her face, a self-loathing that so twisted her that it made Llian’s skin crawl.

“I killed him,” she said. “How easy it was, in the end. Help me, father.”

“Now will you come with me?” Mendark asked Karan gently.

“I don’t care anymore. Nothing matters.”

But before they could move there was a racket in the corridor and a troop of guardsmen rushed in, followed by a tall man in black robes, with receding hair, pale eyes and a nose like a club. It was Thyllan, die man who had overthrown Mendark as Magister of the High Council. Karan stared at the intruder, trying to see his purpose through the fog in her mind.
The guardsmen took in the situation at once, and though Karan struck at them she was no match for their pikes. Soon one cracked her on the side of the head and she fell to the floor.

Thyllan searched Karan and with a cry of triumph removed the Mirror from her secret pocket Mendark moved forward, but the pikes came instantly up against his chest, and the captain of the guards looked enquiringly at the Magister.

Thyllan shook his head. “I can afford to be merciful now,” he said, “but I warn you: look to your own security. Guards, bring her and everything that is hers.”

The guards bound Karan’s hands, hoisted her up and took her in the direction of the citadel.

The four stared at each other for a long minute, then Maigraith whirled and rushed out of the room. Llian picked up his amulet and chain and stumbled out the door.

It was morning now. Mendark and Llian sat by the fire in Mendark’s villa, waiting for Tallia to come back with whatever news she could glean. They had been up all night. Neither had spoken in hours. Llian’s agony had struck him dumb.

The door opened and Tallia came in. She looked exhausted.

“What have you found out?” cried Llian, leaping up.

“She is held in the citadel,” Tallia said. “And that is all I learned.”

“What about the other woman? Did you find out who she was?”

“No! Only Karan can say.”

Mendark stared into the fire with his head sunk on his hands. The events of the past days had further diminished him; he felt that he had lost control of his destiny.

Just then there was a movement outside and the door was thrust open. A woman stepped noiselessly in. There was mud
on her high boots and her blue cloak was dripping. She took her hat off and shook free the pale hair, her eyes coming straight to Mendark’s. Suddenly he felt weak in the stomach.

“Mendark!” she said. “I am Faelamor. I have come for the Mirror.”

Mendark slowly let out the breath that he had been holding. “I haven’t forgotten you. How long has it been? Six hundred years?”

Faelamor shrugged, indifferent.

“So,” he went on, “
You
were Faichand?”

“I was, but the secret is out”

“Then I need not ask how you came by the guards. You’re too late. Thyllan has it, and he is Magister. In time of war he is all-powerful. There is nothing I can do to get it back.”

Her face went cold. “Then what of the girl?”

“He has her too, but she’s no good to anyone now; her mind is completely gone.”

Faelamor’s mask cracked. It might have been worse. ‘Tell it.”

Mendark told her, briefly, of the events leading up to that scene in the room, and the dead man, Emmant. Faelamor’s face melted a little more. All had gone well, save this matter of Thyllan, and that could be remedied. Soon they would all be here.

Llian stared at the ageless face, hating and distrusting her, but fascinated too. To meet one of the Faellem was a rare experience these days, and no chronicler would have met Faelamor in many a hundred years. He noted her distinguishing features for his tale, especially the golden, feline eyes and the remarkable translucent skin.

“So this is the miserable Zain,” Faelamor said, staring back. “The line fails, it would appear.”

“What does Thyllan want the Mirror for?” Tallia interjected.

“He wants it for the making of gates, portals,” said Mendark, “as, no doubt, did Yggur. Imagine the power he would hold if he could instantly transport his armies, or his spies, anywhere on Santhenar. The Mirror is thought to contain the secret: how to make such devices.”

Llian, who had been sitting at the table listening to the conversation go back and forth, could no longer contain himself and burst out in fury, “Damn the Mirror! You must free Karan.”

“I don’t see how I can,” said Mendark.

“I heard that Thyllan has her in chains,” said Tallia. “That she needs be restrained.”

“Chains!” cried Llian in grief and fury. “Karan in
chains
! You must do something.”

“While she’s up there, I’m helpless.”

“The citadel is
barred
to Mendark,” Tallia explained. “He can enter neither openly nor secretly. Our position is precarious; doubly so now that the enemy is at our gates. Thyllan could have us taken, killed even, and there is nothing anyone could do, now that we are at war. As long as he keeps her in the citadel, we’re powerless.”

“There is a way,” said Faelamor, who had been sitting quietly by, “and Mendark alone has the means of it. You must call a Great Conclave. That will force them down from the citadel. Then there will be a chance to get the Mirror back, and her too if you wish it, though she is vicious and treacherous.”

“Of course,” said Mendark. “What cloud was over me that I did not recall that way?”

But why is Maigraith not here? said Faelamor to herself. She
must
attend the Conclave. And she turned and went as silently as she had come.

“We have just looked upon a very evil one,” said Llian. “Did you see the hate on her face? Do not trust her; do not call this Conclave.”

“Not evil,” said Mendark, “though she might do it. Desperate, driven. To lead the Faellem is to be the Faellem. Of course I do not trust her, but I will call the Conclave. He
must
come; he
must
bring the Mirror and submit it to the Just. At last I can see an advantage and I will take it…”

Llian frowned, puzzled.

“A Great Conclave is held only when Thurkad is in a dire extreme,” Mendark explained. “Sometimes it throws up a new way, or a new leader. Because I was Magister before him, even at such a dire time as this, Thyllan cannot refuse me. He must bring Karan and the Mirror to the Conclave, which will be held in the city, not in the citadel.”

“How will that help to free her?”

“I don’t know,” Mendark responded brusquely, “but at least she’ll be within our reach if we find a way.”

“He might refuse.”

“He cannot: he’s not
that
secure in his strength.”

Days went by. The armies of Yggur were drawn up on the plain south of Thurkad. Embassies were sent, returned. The walls of Thurkad were not suited for defense, so the army prepared to do battle outside the southern gate. Then news came of another army advancing swiftly on Thurkad from the north-west, spreading out, encircling the city. There was uproar, panic; the only way out was by sea. The harbor was jammed; every craft capable of floating was packed to the waterline. Attackers and defenders faced each other, and the waiting began.

S
ome days later Mendark called Llian in. “Shut the door,” he said. “Go through that business about the Forbidding again. The ending to your tale, and what you learned from Tensor. I’m really worried now, what with Yggur marching to war, Faelamor turning up, Karan’s dreams of Rulke—it’s too much of a coincidence.”

Llian told the story again. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said at the end.

“I don’t know either.” Mendark rubbed a hairy cheek. “Well, Rulke’s archives are here in the Magister’s scriptoria.”

“And you never looked at them?”

“Remember who you are speaking to,” Mendark growled. “His records fill many rooms, but most are undecipherable. I’ve looked at everything that could be read. But then, not having your new evidence, no one was looking for this. Better take a fresh look.”

“You said the citadel was
barred
.

“It is, to me and those in my employ. A barrier that we cannot cross. But he cannot bar everyone in Thurkad. Do you dare attempt it?”

So!
thought Llian, there
is
a way inside, and still Karan lies in chains. “How would you get me in?”

“I have ways.”

“Then why can’t you get Karan out?”

Mendark sighed. “Leave me to do my business. She will be well guarded, by human guards and by wards like the Sentinels in Shazmak. Besides, Thyllan must bring her to the Conclave in three days. And don’t get any clever ideas- you’re going in for one reason only.”

He
doesn’t
care, thought Llian. Well, if I get the chance…

“I will do it,” he said.

“Good. Come back in a couple of hours, and I’ll have the maps and catalogs for you to study.”

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Tallia asked after Llian had gone. “Breaking the truce of the Conclave? If he’s found out, Thyllan can refuse to come.”

“It’s a risk, but nowhere near the risk of not finding out. I’ve
go
it to know!”

It was three in the morning. Carrying food and water for two days and a night, a map and catalog, a lantern and two skins of oil under his cloak, for as usual it was raining, Llian set out with Tallia through the back streets to a nondescript building. He wore anonymous servant’s garb: dark-blue pantaloons, blouse and cap, a short cape, sandals.

At the back Tallia raised a trapdoor, climbed down into a cellar, did something that Llian didn’t see, bits of earth-stained plaster fell and part of the wall swung out with a groan.

“This hasn’t been used for a very long time,” Tallia said,
holding the lantern out before her and stepping through into an earthy passage.

Llian followed her through the darkness, feeling claustrophic. There was nothing to see save earth and rock or, in places, stonework weeping damp. The tunnel undulated, but more up than down, which made sense, since the citadel was near the top of a hill. A few curves, sharp and shallow, a right-angle bend, a long up-sloping straight, then Tallia stopped suddenly.

“What’s the matter?”

“I thought I felt something. No, it’s nothing.” She went on more slowly, then stopped as though she had run into an invisible barrier. “Aah!”

“Are you all right?”

“I ran right into the ward. It hurt. This is as far as I can go, but it’s probably safe for you. See if you feel anything.”

He crept forward a pace, then another. “Nothing!”

“Good luck, chronicler.” She held out her hand, drew it back smartly as though stung, then saluted him.

Llian waved an arm at her; then, feeling most uneasy, he made his way up the passage. When he looked back a minute later Tallia’s lantern was lost to sight. He was utterly alone, under the ground.

A few minutes later he came, after a series of right-angle bends and a steep up-slope, to a blank wall. Tallia had told him what to do—find three separate depressions in the wall, and press a finger into each at the same time. That took a lot of trial and error for the walls were quite uneven. After twenty or thirty tries he got it right and a slab rotated without a sound, leaving a space large enough to wriggle through. As soon as he had done so it closed again, just as silently. He was in the cellars of the citadel!

It was all rather easier than he had hoped. The tunnel
brought him out close to his destination. Llian was outside the door in less than ten minutes, without seeing a soul.

He had been given a key, a flat strip of metal. He simply pushed it in the slit in the door and waited. After a full minute the door clicked. Llian slipped inside, shut the door and shot the bolt.

He had expected a low-roofed, moldy crypt, a wider version of the tunnel, but the room Llian found himself in was more like a library—huge, high-ceilinged and dry. Obviously designed to protect important documents. There were rows and rows of bookshelves and scroll racks, and, down the far end, cupboards from floor to ceiling. The place was vast—thousands of files and volumes that no chronicler had ever seen.

Llian consulted the catalog that Mendark had annotated for him. He walked up and down the shelves, seeing how they were organised, taking down a book here, a scroll there, dipping into each then putting it back, trying to catch the flavor of the archives. Where to start? To read the contents of the room would take months.

He began on the most interesting category, documents from the time of the Forbidding. Hours later he realized what a hopeless task it was. The heading actually covered hundreds of years, thousands of documents, but none was relevant. He had his lunch, topped up the lantern and tried to work out a better approach. The whole business now seemed pointless. What fool had made the catalog? An apprentice chronicler would have done better.

He searched files on Shuthdar, on the flute—these were the earliest of all; on the Clysm; the Faellem and the Aachim. By the end of it he could have filled in many missing gaps in the Histories, but had found nothing that helped him with his quest.