The Mirror's Tale

by P. W. Catanese

  All he could see was the gray face of the cliff. He cautiously edged his head out of the hole, though he doubted the beast was still with him. When he saw what was below, he gasped.

  The carriage was suspended high over the ground, forty feet or more, as if frozen in midfall. But how? He looked out the other side of the carriage, and saw the broad trunk of a tree, almost within reach. He poked his hand through the window and quickly drew it in, still worried that a paw might slash down. But it didn’t. He eased his head back out and saw that a thick branch had pierced the spokes of the front wheel of the carriage. That was the only thing holding it up. It would be a lethal fall if the carriage broke loose. He took a closer look at the ground and saw the crumpled, still body of a beast.

  Will heard an ominous creak, and the carriage started to tilt. The branch sagged under its weight, and he saw the limb begin to crack, exposing the tender white wood under its gray bark. He didn’t wait to see how long the carriage might stay aloft. He pushed the door open—the carriage was sideways, so it flopped straight down—and searched desperately for another branch to cling to. There was a snapping sound, and the carriage fell free. Will leaped away as it plummeted. He threw himself at a thick cluster of leaves.

  He gripped the branches with all the strength he could muster. They were thin and supple, and they bent from his weight, easing his fall Below, he heard the carriage shatter on the ground. He looked beneath his dangling feet and saw one of the wheels bounce away from the wreckage, past the fallen beast.

  The branches he clung to bent as far as they would go, but he was still dangerously far from the ground. He’d come to a stop near a slender birch tree. Will wrapped his legs around the birch and seized it with both arms, letting the branches that saved him spring back toward the sky. He stayed there a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits while the supple tree swayed back and forth under his weight. Then he relaxed his hug on the trunk and slid toward the ground. The bark rubbed his skin raw through his sleeves and pants, but it was a safe way to descend. Before long he felt his feet touch the earth. He dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands, unsure which would overcome him first: laughter or tears.

  It occurred to him that he might still be in a fix. He looked at the cliff above and saw a pair of the beasts, nosing around the edge, looking for a way down. One of them turned its head to face him. Its ugly mouth opened, and Will heard the unnatural bark again: “Death! Death!”

  “What do you want from me?” he screamed. “Leave me alone!” He picked up a stone and flung it at the beasts, but it clattered off the sheer wall, woefully short of its target. The creatures turned as one, and they ran back down the road the way that Will’s party had come, toward the lower terrain where they could enter the valley, double back, and track him down.

  Will wondered where he should go next. He couldn’t see Andreas and the others. He wondered how far the carriage had rolled before it went off the cliff.

  He put his hands on either side of his mouth and shouted, “Andreas! Can you hear me? Matthias? Can anybody hear me?” There was no answer. Maybe I should stay here, he thought. They’ll come and look for me eventually. If any of them are still alive. The thought sent a shiver through him. No, they can’t be dead. Andreas can fight, he’ll make it. He pondered the wisdom of staying put. It would be a footrace between the men and the beasts.

  He made up his mind to put his faith in Andreas and wait by the wreck of the carriage. It seemed like the smartest thing to do. But then his heart jolted as he heard a deep, rumbling growl behind him. He whirled, expecting to see another one of those monsters standing there. But it was the fallen beast, lying on its side next to the wreck.

  How can you not be dead? Will wondered. The beast’s eyes were still closed. One of its clawed feet twitched, and the ugly, knobbed head wobbled off the ground.

  Will froze, trying to avoid its attention. He hoped the thing would fall unconscious again. The beast shook its head, sneezed, and spat out a bloody fang the size of a dinner knife. It pawed at the ground with one foot and tried to sit up. Will’s hand moved to his side and touched an empty sheath where his sword should have been. Lost it when I was rolling around in the carriage, he figured. He thought of trying to retrieve it from the wreck, but that would take him closer to the monster.

  The beast opened its eyes and saw Will. Thick, bubbly drool spilled out between its teeth. It hacked and snorted and redoubled its effort to stand.

  Will decided that staying put might not be the best decision after all. He needed a new plan, and fast. He looked to the lower end of the valley. If I go that way, who will I meet first? He had the awful feeling that it might be more of the beasts. He glanced at the cliff, but dismissed the idea of climbing it; too steep, too dangerous. And he’d had enough of falling, thank you.

  He heard a scraping sound and saw the beast crawl toward him. One of its back legs was broken.

  What do I do? he wondered, backing away from the creeping monster. He remembered something from those decaying translations at Ambercrest: Exploit any advantage over the enemy. There was one he knew of: People could understand signs, and animals could not. He dug his heel into the soft earth and carved a straight line, then capped it with an inverted V. It made an arrow that pointed in the direction he’d decided to go.

  Toward The Crags.

  It was closer than Ambercrest. His uncle’s castle was only a few hours away, he figured. All he had to do was follow the road.

  He started to run. Before he left the wreck of the carriage behind for good, he turned to see if the beast was still dragging itself after him. The creature had paused in its pursuit. It clawed at the earth where he’d dug his arrow. Erasing the message. Will’s mouth fell open, and his hand came up and covered it. This is crazy.

  When the beast was done, it came after him again. Not crawling this time—it hobbled on three legs. It was healing.

  With a whimper Will turned and ran again. To The Crags. Bert was there, waiting for him. He’d be safe at The Crags if he could only make it there.

  CHAPTER 31

  Will stopped to rest his aching legs and wipe the sweat off his forehead. From the way the cliff was descending, he thought he might be able to climb onto the road soon. He turned to see if the beast was catching up. The blasted thing was relentless. Thankfully it still wasn’t moving too fast, and Will was far enough ahead that he could no longer see it through the sparse trees and tall grass of the valley.

  But it still barked at him. “Death! Death!” And then, much farther away, Will heard an answering cry from more of the creatures: “Death! Death! Death!”

  Leave me alone, Will thought grimly. He ran through the tall grass, wondering how much farther he could go before he was worn out. Then he heard a familiar sound ahead: the whinny of a horse. He found a surge of energy and sprinted, calling out, “Hello! Is someone there? Hello!”

  “Who’s that?” a stranger replied. Will ran toward the voice and saw a thin, young man standing near his horse, which was tethered to a tree. The man held a dead hare by the ears. He had a sparse beard, long neck, and prominent Adam’s apple. As Will ran toward him, the man scowled and shouted, shaking the hare with his fist.

  “Hey—you’re not supposed to be here! You could get strung up for poaching, you know. This valley is for Hugh Charmaigne’s hunters only. Lord Hugh Charmaigne.”

  Will eyed the horse gratefully. He bent over with his chest heaving and his hands on his knees, and squeezed words out between gulps of air. “I’m … Lord Charmaigne’s nephew … son of the baron … how far to… The Crags?”

  The man’s forehead wrinkled. “The baron’s son? But what are you doing here?”

  “Attacked … by beasts … like the Beast of The Crags …”

  “Beast of The Crags? There ain’t been one of those for a hundred years, if there was ever one at all! Are you pulling my leg, Master Son-of-the-Baron?”

  Will lost all patience.“I am the baron’s so
n, and there was a beast! If you want to see one, all you have to do is wait!”

  The hunter had his mouth open to retort, but then the beast barked again: “Death! Death!” And the following barks came, almost as close. The hunter turned his face toward the sound, and stared with his mouth stuck in that open position.

  “What’s your name, sir?” Will asked.

  “Gunther,” came the reply, weak and distracted. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously.

  Will remembered the tone his father took when he wanted something done right away. He puffed his chest and did his best impersonation. “Gunther, I am Will Charmaigne, son of Baron Charmaigne and nephew of Lord Charmaigne. You must take me to The Crags, on that horse. For your safety as well as mine as Now!”

  A hundred yards away, a cluster of bushes shook and the raging beast clawed out into the open, snarling and limping toward them. “I’ve decided to take your word for it,” Gunther said. He was halfway between a daze and a panic as he held the hare out toward Will. “Hold this, will you?”

  Will tossed the dead hare over his shoulder. He looked at the beast again—it was putting weight on the broken leg now, getting healthier with every step. Gunther fumbled with the leather strap that tethered his horse to a tree. Finally it came undone. The hunter scrambled into the saddle and extended a hand. Will clasped Gunther’s wrist and swung up behind him. A moment later the horse thumped down the valley, carrying the two of them away.

  When the beast realized its prey had escaped, it threw its head back and roared.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Mirror,” said Bert, “Tell me: What has become of my brother, who would steal everything I desire?”

  Once again, light flashed from the depths of the glass, and a crystal hum filled the room. Ripples spread across the cold surface and disappeared under the edges. The mirror spoke. Your brother lives. He was not slain by the beasts.

  “What!” Bert screamed, hammering both arms of the throne with his fists. “They should have gotten him! How could he escape?”

  He was fortunate, said the mirror. But now the fortune is yours, because one of your uncle’s hunters has found the boy and brings him here. To you.

  “Here? Will is coming here?” Bert said. He felt something in his chest as if a dart had struck his heart. And he thought he heard an inner voice, too far and faint to understand. He shook his head to clear it. “I must find Uncle Hugh and tell him what to do…. I’ll have Will seized as soon as he arrives. Yes, I’ll bring him down here, chain him up … He’ll be sorry he ever wanted what was mine! Mirror, tell me, where is my uncle now?”

  Another ripple, another hum. He walks the walls of The Crags. Waiting for your next instruction.

  Bert raced for the Tunnel of Stars.

  CHAPTER 33

  Parley’s feet ached. He couldn’t believe they’d walked this far without encountering someone who could speed their journey.

  “Are you still there, Harth?” he called into the trees at his side.

  “I am,” Harth replied.

  “You know, if you folk hadn’t cooked my horse, we’d be miles away by now”

  A low chuckle came from the trees.“We keep no stables in our mines, sadly. And we couldn’t risk your horse being found”

  “Well, it’s a shame, that’s all I’m—hold on, someone’s coming!” Parley stepped into the middle of the road. This was promising—there were certainly horses heading their way. More than a few, by the sound of it. Parley exhaled on the fat ring on his finger and rubbed it on his shirt to shine it. The ring bore the baron’s mark, proof that the courier was on the baron’s business. He wasn’t sure if it carried enough authority for him to commandeer someone’s horse and cart, but he was determined to find out.

  The hoof beats came closer. “They’re in a hurry, whoever they are,” Parley said toward the trees where Harth stayed hidden. He didn’t hear the squeak of wheels that he’d hoped for. His plan—a shaky plan, he admitted with a grimace—was to keep Harth hidden until he got close to Ambercrest. A wagon or cart where the Dwergh could hide would be best. Harth was an enemy of the kingdom, after all, and things could get sticky if he was spotted. Frankly they’d probably both be killed on the spot. But if he could get Harth near the castle, he could send word to the baron, begging him to meet with a stranger who had information about a threat to his son. And not just information: also a plan to save the boy.

  Parley was wondering what he might say to the baron at that moment, when a group of men came into view. His jaw slackened when he realized who the riders were.

  “It’s some of the baron’s soldiers—and a knight!” he called to Harth, shooting the words out of the side of his mouth. Looks like a knight anyway. I would have preferred a farmer on a cart, he thought. This bunch will ask too many questions. And they’ll have Harth’s head if they see him. But time was wasting, and he didn’t dare pass up the chance for transportation. I’ll talk to them, at least. He waved his hands over his head.

  The men came at a reckless pace with the knight ahead of the other three. The knight slowed his horse, but didn’t stop. He was a tall, long-legged fellow with a crooked nose and brown hair down to his shoulders. “Trust me, sir, you don’t want to get in my way right now,” he said to Parley. And Parley could tell he meant it. Their eyes met as the knight rode past. There was a terrible expression on the man’s face—a duet of anguish and anger.

  Parley suddenly remembered the ring. He thrust his fist toward the soldiers that followed and called up, “Stop, all of you! This is the baron’s mark! I’m on the baron’s business, and I insist that you stop!”

  The knight turned to glare at Parley. “And I am on the baron’s business as well But my business is graver than yours, I’ll wagen Because I must inform the baron that his son is dead.”

  Parley’s bad leg buckled, and he dropped to his knees. The earth tilted beneath him, and the sun dimmed. He clapped his hands over his mouth.

  “Parley?” one of the soldiers cried. “Look, boys, it’s Parley!”

  Parley’s good eye was squeezed shut. He heard the clip-clop of hooves as the knight’s horse turned and trotted, and then the grim fellow’s voice. “This is Parley? The courier that’s been missing all these weeks?” The knight’s boots thumped on the road next to him.

  Parley opened his eye and clutched the knight’s leg. “What do you mean the baron’s son is dead? Which son?”

  “We were bringing Will to The Crags,” the knight said in a hoarse voice. “We were attacked by … a pack of creatures. Things I’ve never seen before.”

  “Monsters,” one of the soldiers muttered.

  “Beasts of The Crags,” said another.

  Parley rubbed a sleeve across his cheeks. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry. Too late … I came too late,” he said, sniffing.

  “Parley, my name is Andreas,” the knight said, dropping to one knee. He put a hand on the courier’s shoulder. “Will always spoke well of you. If you want to blame someone, blame me. When the beasts came, I ordered Will into the carriage. But the carriage went out of control … the driver fell and the horses broke away. The carriage went off the cliff a few miles back. We found it smashed to pieces in the valley. And… blood inside. But no sign of the boy.”

  “Oh, Bert, what have you done?” Parley moaned.

  “Bert? What are you talking about, Parley?” Andreas squeezed the courier’s shoulder.

  Parley blinked and focused. He looked Andreas in the eye. “Bert’s in … danger. We have to save him—we can’t lose both of them! You have to get me to Ambercrest.”

  Andreas had Parley by both shoulders now. “What did you mean? You made it sound like that attack was Bert’s doing!”

  “No … well, yes. Yes and no!” Parley said, somehow shaking his head and nodding at the same time. “Listen to me, Andreas. I have to tell you something. You won’t believe me at first, but I swear its true.”

  Andreas stared back up the road. “After wh
at we just saw, I’ll believe anything. Tell me.”

  And Parley told him what had happened since he left Ambercrest with Bert’s letter. The other soldiers dismounted and gathered close to listen. When Parley reached the part about encountering the Dwergh, the soldiers whispered to one another in alarm.

  “Dwergh!”

  “It’s true, the Dwergh are here!”

  “Yes, they’re here,” Parley said. “But not to steal the gold and gems from our land. They came to help.” He told them the true reason the Dwergh had returned, how Bert’s letter had finally revealed where the wicked object they sought was hidden, and how Bert was now almost certainly under its spell. All the while Andreas fixed a piercing stare on Parley. The courier began to feel unnerved.

  When Parley was done, Andreas spoke. “That’s quite a tale, Parley. Now will you tell me why your eyes—er, eye—keeps turning to the forest behind me?”

  Parley gulped. You’d never be much of a spy, he chided himself. Your face is an open book. An open, ugly book.

  “Well,” he said, “remember I mentioned that the Dwergh are here to help? As a matter of fact …” He paused, afraid for his hidden friend. But Harth had no such fear. He stepped out from the shadows of the trees and into the sunlight, planted his feet wide, and stood with his hands clasped behind his broad back.

  There were shouts of surprise and anger and a chorus of scraping metal as swords were drawn and raised. The soldiers were about to rush the Dwergh, but Andreas sprang to his feet and called out: “Hold! All of you! Stay where you are!”

  Andreas stepped toward the Dwergh with his sword still in its sheath. Harth didn’t move except to crane his neck to look at the tall knight. Parley was reminded again of how short but wide the Dwergh were, practically square. Harth’s head barely came to Andreas’s chest, but he was even broader across the shoulders.

  “Andreas, this is Harth,” Parley said. “He’s a Dwergh. But I suppose you worked that out for yourself. He wants to help. It’s too late for Will, but maybe Bert can still be saved. Talk to him, Andreas. He has a plan.”