The Window and the Mirror

by Henry Thomas

  Rhael reached down into the leather sack and removed another orb, tossing the ruined orb at the slowly crawling leader on the ground below. It thudded into the ground an ell shy of its mark. “You were fools to refuse my overtures. Do you see where it has left you now?” He screamed it out so that all could hear. “Trilk! Assemble my warriors!” Rhael turned from the wall and sped down the stairs of the tower, past the cowering slaves huddled in his bedchamber sobbing to each other, past the ornate parlor, and out the gate to the scorched killing ground before the tower. Rhael drew the sword from the scabbard he wore at his belt and held it lazily at his side as the gate closed on its whispering hinges and he heard the mechanism slide and lock behind him as he started forward. He could see down the hill that the Kuilbolts were creeping forward now, warily watching the outcome of the battle. Perhaps Trilk had assembled them, he knew not.

  Or perhaps he would have to kill all of them for their lack of passion. Not one of them had come to his aid, and he would punish them. He would inspire loyalty in them after this day, of that he was certain. The soldiers had been farther from the walls than they had seemed as he encountered the body of the first one lying face down before him. He stabbed the lifeless body with his sword just to be certain and heard the satisfying sound of the bronze-bladed sword making contact with the back of the breastplate that the dead soldier was wearing as he drove his thrust through. He continued along his path, going from soldier to soldier, making certain any remaining life was expunged from their fraternity. As he plunged his sword into the neck of the third one he felt the body jerk and spasm and he was forced to place a booted foot on the body to remove his sword. And when he did so, he dislodged the soldier’s helmet and gazed at the face of his enemy for the first time.

  What a strange face it was that stared back with its fixed grimace. The features were sharp and fine and vaguely feline in their shape, the hair long and glossy black, a pale greenish tint to its skin and a bluish color to its lips and eyelids, and its blood was dark, almost purple in its deep shade of red, and its ears ended in points. They were approximately the size of men, but more slight and willowy it seemed. Rhael’s eyes rested on the bronze wand and its crystal mount that lay near the fallen soldier’s hand. He picked it up and shoved it into his belt before continuing on down the row of dead or dying and plunging his sword into every one of the bodies to make certain none had survived, all the while calling out to the desperately crawling wounded creature that was fleeing back toward the resting airship as Rhael made his grim and patient progress toward him.

  “Who are you? What land do you hail from?”

  The leader continued crawling hurriedly, but he could never hope to outpace Rhael, who was collecting the bronze wands as he picked his way leisurely between the last of the bodies. “There is no point in dying without relaying your message to me. Who was it that sent you here?”

  He wiped the blade of his sword on the last soldier’s smoldering crimson coat and paused to regard the retreating commander as he scurried toward the hovering airship. Rhael seemed to be weighing the odds of him making it to the gangway, adjusting his gait slightly so that he timed it to intercept him perfectly.

  He hailed the wounded Commander again as he closed upon him. “Pity that you underestimated my power. You were sorely outmatched, and I had the upper hand from the start. Had you been imaginative and taken me unawares, perhaps you would have had more success. At least it may have seemed more hopeful to you in the beginning.”

  The creature continued to crawl, but now he turned his head and snarled back at Rhael as he fled. “Ape-monkey!” he spat. “You will die soon enough, wielding energy from a raw orb!” He laughed thinly, coughing and grimacing in pain. Rhael narrowed his eyes.

  “What lands do you hail from?” he repeated as he drew closer with every stride.

  “We are the Guatha Avlin, fool!” he hissed, still crawling frantically.

  “Gowapflyn? Goblin? You are Goblinkind?” Rhael was confused. He had been to Kuilgarthen as a boy and he had seen the Goblinkind, but they had looked nothing like this. They had looked strange, but they had looked akin to men. “I was in Kuilgarthen as a boy and I saw none of your green-skinned kind there.”

  He was panting, or was he laughing? “Kuilgarthen. A market place of degenerative products for your degenerate race. Why would any of the highborn serve slaves at a common shop, you wretch?”

  He was trying to goad Rhael into finishing him, more than likely seeking an end to his suffering through this false bravado and insulting language. The Goblin had almost made it up the gangway, but Rhael could catch him in two strides whenever he wished. He fished one of the wands from his belt and tried to use it but could not make it function. Perhaps it needed a new crystal.

  “I cannot say that I admire your attitude toward me in the least, Goblin. I am the new lord of this place.”

  “Ape-monkey!” he spat as he crawled his way up the gangway, trailing blood in a long smear. “You have sealed your own tomb today.” He was getting weak and slowing as he climbed and as he neared the top his rod slipped from his grasp and clattered down the gangplanks to bounce against Rhael’s feet.

  Rhael picked it up and hefted it. It was slim and elegant, but it had a weight and balance to it that felt somehow dangerous. The stone at the top of the rod was a flanged chunk of quartz that slotted into the mount and locked into place with a half-turn and a push to engage the mechanism, he could recognize the function of the mechanics by looking at its construction. He sheathed his sword and held the rod out before him as he remembered the Goblin commander doing, but he could not make it function in the same way he made the orbs function. “How does this work, your bronzen rod?” he asked as he started up the gangway.

  “Fool!” the Goblin commander hissed. He had almost pulled himself over onto the ship when Rhael interposed him-self between the Goblin and the deck and stared down at him.

  “The fool is you. You will tell me everything I want to know one way or another. You understand, do you not?”

  The Goblin stared up at him, seething.

  “You nearly made it.” Rhael swung the bronze rod as hard as he could and brought it down and around into an upstroke that smashed into the helm of the Goblin commander and lifted him up off of the gangplanks and sent him crashing to the ground over the side. Rhael laughed and peered over the side. He was breathing but unconscious. Excellent, thought Rhael. He shall make a fine source of information while he survives.

  “Trilk!” he screamed again, standing on the deck of the airship. It was the finest airship he had ever seen, and the most immense. Its decks were wide and it looked as though it would hold plenty below within the walls of its hull. Its striped tubular mainsail was streamlined and elegant and rose like a dorsal fin above the ship. He wondered if the captain’s quarters and the lord’s quarters were as finely appointed as his newly acquired tower? All in due time, he knew, he would have a chance to explore, but for now Mage Imperator Rhael Lord Uhlmet, Lord of Soulspire, had to bring the Kuilbolts’ loyalty to bear. Without them his goals could not be met as easily nor as subtly.

  Trilk had assembled the Kuilbolts near the gangway and they had formed up in two loose squares, five ranks deep and five to a file. He approached the gangway bowing and gesticulating grandly.

  “Excellency, your servants have assembled.”

  “My servants? Where were you when I was being attacked?”

  “Excellency, your—”

  “Select one warrior from every two ranks and have them brought forth.”

  Trilk bowed and turned to the ranks and did as he was ordered. He returned with five bronze armored Kuilbolts trailing warily behind him.

  “Very good,” said Rhael. “For your cowardice and disloyalty, I destroy a tenth of you.” He then lifted the orb he held and sent a chain of lightning energy coursing through the five blue skinned warriors that left them writ
hing on the ground in smoking agony. Trilk leapt between Rhael and the warriors and prostrated himself on the ground.

  “Excellency, mercy! I beg of you, mercy! We serve you and we forsake the old masters!”

  “I could burn you all to ash now if I wished it. Worse shall befall you if you ever fail me again. I will have your unwavering loyalty or I shall feed the rats with your useless husks!”

  The Kuilbolts hissed and prostrated themselves before him, a moaning sound emanating from their huddled mass. “Mercy! Mercy!” they moaned.

  He called Trilk forward. “You are the commander of these others now. I shall hold you responsible for any short-comings. You are to report to me on all matters and to me alone. Am I clearly understood?”

  “Yesss, Excellency. I am honored to serve.”

  “Quit calling me that. I am a lord and you shall address me as such. I want all these bodies stripped and thrown to the rats.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He pointed to the body of the Goblin commander. “Confine this one in the cells and see to his wounds. I want him kept alive for questioning.”

  “As you command, my lord.” Trilk saluted and started away.

  “Trilk? Assemble the female human slaves before my tower. I wish to have a woman tonight.”

  “My lord, it shall be done.” The Kuilbolt ambled away with its strange gait. He watched as they stripped the Goblin commander of his armor and weapons and dragged him away. As the crowd of Kuilbolts dispersed Rhael wandered down the gangway and retrieved the commander’s gleaming helm with its transverse crest and studied it in his hands. There was a small dent in the side where he had struck the helm with the rod, but otherwise it was pristine. He walked back onto the deck of the airship and eased the helm down over his head, testing the fit. Surprisingly the helm was comfortable and rested on his head almost perfectly. He was reminded of his youth, of training at the lance on horseback, of his first tournament, of his first jousting harness. His vision was unobstructed, perhaps only a touch of his peripheral vision was gone, but he was impressed by the style of the helm, and besides that, it was his war trophy. Things were falling into place quite well, and now he had a prisoner to interrogate for valuable information, a prize airship, and a plan to consolidate his power.

  Twenty-Six

  Ryla handed the merchant the trade invoice once Elmund had counted his coin and given her a nod. The man thanked her and went to fetch his carters to haul his goods away. She had been fortunate to have off-loaded all of her surplus cargo in Torlucksford, but these sprawling river towns were always dependable for buying up goods brought in from the east. She still did not know where Mage Norden planned on having her deliver his precious cargo. She scowled up at the sky. It had been a harrowing flight here from Grannock, and the skies showed no signs of letting up. Though there was no rain at the moment, thunder pealed and the clouds had drawn in together so tightly that they had blocked out the sun and loomed gray and menacing overhead.

  Torlucksford was too small to have need of a skyharbor, so Ryla did what she had customarily done in smaller towns in the past and set the Skyward down in the market square. Most towns had a broad green square that they used for market days, and most market squares were adequately sized to set an airship down in. Keeping her steady enough in these winds had proven difficult, and they had made several passes before the inexperienced townspeople below were bold enough to grab hold of the draglines and walk her down to anchor. Norden had proven progressively more impatient at every setback they had encountered. When they had finally landed the little mage had demanded the ship’s key from her and then stormed off of the deck with his clerk, leaving his foreign soldiers to guard the airship and keep an eye on Ryla and her crew. He was too thorough to make such a mistake, but she had harbored a hope that he might.

  They could have slipped away in a heartbeat had he not taken the key, but now Ryla Dierns was confined to waiting. She knew he was going to the head magistrate’s office, the head of government for such places, generally appointed by the Magistry to officiate over towns and regions, and she knew he was looking for answers as to the whereabouts of Joth and Eilyth. She still did not understand why the mage was so preoccupied with obstructing them, however. All that she had gathered from what Galt had overheard was that they had escaped detection along the road and slipped around the Norandishmen in the night and then disappeared without a trace at Torlucksford, and that had maddened the mage beyond all reckoning. She also gleaned that Norden had plans for the girl; of course he had, the lecherous wretch, but Joth was to be done away with. “It’s imperative that the three of them are silenced, do you understand me? Tell your men to find them and see to the soldier and the boy, and bring the girl to me. Scout every road.” That is exactly how Galt had quoted Norden as he passed an order to the Norandian captain through his rail thin clerk. Galt had been in a fine position to overhear Norden clearly, there were no doubts. So now the mage had extended his death sentence to include poor Bellan, the Ostler of Grannock.

  Obviously, he was not beyond murder if it helped him get what he desired. The one thing she still did not fully comprehend was the reasoning behind it. Why, she asked herself over and over again? Why did the mage insist on their capture and their deaths? Perhaps she would never know. I’ll never find out if the weather doesn’t let up, that’s for certain, she thought. She had been on deck the entire time, stuck behind the helm post, and the opportunity never arose for her to spring the trap behind her measured looks and for her to see if she might dig a bit more information out of Norden. He had gone green in the gills at the first lurch the Skyward took and had gone below decks and only reemerged moments before they touched down in the market square, and his ire had not dissipated in the scant few hours that it had taken them to get from Grannock to Torlucksford. In fact, he had seemed even more incensed as he had stepped down from the gangway, as though the rage had built in him somehow along his journey. It was valuable information, the news of this cargo, this mission of Mage Norden’s.

  She would still be able to meet the mage’s demands and achieve her goal, it was just that deep inside of her heart she hated having Norden lord his authority over her; she hated giving up the control over her own life that she had fought so hard for so many years to establish. Had she the opportunity to do so now, she would simply clear these Norandian soldiers from her decks and make away for Kingsbridge, but Norden had the key and the soldiers had been very vigilant in their guard duty and had not even allowed them the slightest of respites from their vigilance, nothing near enough to allow them to smuggle the young Bellan out from below decks and get him clear of danger. That worried her most of all. If Bellan were to be discovered, she would have to act, she would have to intervene. He was an innocent and she would not allow him to be killed simply because this man of power wished to keep his hands clean and his hair tidy. She had seen the dirt beneath his nails and the oil in his thinning hair, enough to know how unclean he was; and she had recognized it from the very beginning. She would stop him if she could, she certainly would not allow him to kill the youth and take advantage of the Dawn Tribe girl. Shiny wasn’t too bad either, she reminded herself.

  She watched as the carters finished loading up the goods she had sold the merchant and roll away with it through the busy square. There were many people here today, thought Ryla, and not a one of them appears to have ever laid eyes upon an airship nor a female airship captain. They gawked and craned their necks as they passed her, but she was used to that.

  “Elmund?” she called.

  “Aye, lady?”

  “Fetch us a few fresh pies and a bit of ale, would you?”

  She saw Galt perk up, the man had a good set of ears.

  “Any preference?” Elmund asked as he began to stride away.

  “Whatever is fresh, and get enough for our friends.” She meant Bellan—the Norandishmen could all be hanged.

 
; Elmund nodded and a slight altercation erupted between the Norandian guard and the airship crew, but it was finally resolved when it was understood that Elmund was simply traversing the square to visit a street vendor selling fresh pies and then purchasing some ale before bringing it back to the resting airship. At last they agreed to let him go with an armed escort of two guardsmen. Elmund was angry, Ryla knew, but to his credit he laughed it off and went to get the victuals as he had been asked to do.

  Somewhat later, as they sat finishing their pies, sipping ale, and critiquing the skills of a rather poor juggler performing in the market, Mage Norden and his clerk arrived back. Far from looking pleased about the outcome of his interview, Norden seemed absolutely livid with rage as he addressed his soldiers through his clerk.

  “Half of you shall come with me. The rest of you shall divide to scout the eastern road and the northern road to Kingsbridge. How long until the horses arrive from Grannock?” he asked the Norandian captain through his clerk. Ryla could not hear the thin man’s reply.

  “Very well then. Those of you without them shall go and hire mounts.” He seemed less than pleased with the Norandish captain’s answer and he snapped at the man exasperatedly. “Set off at once. Give them the silver, you dullard!” he spat at his clerk. As the clerk moved off with the Norandian captain, Norden turned to Ryla and her crew. “Captain Dierns,” he began, “We shall need to get into the air at once.” He produced a leather pouch from beneath his coat and placed it onto the bar of the market stall they had been using to eat their pies and drink their ale. It jingled with the sound of silver coins. “I appreciate your hardships, and I am giving you this as an installment for your services thus far.”