The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures)

by P. W. Catanese

  Will’s mouth opened seconds before a reply finally emerged like a wary mouse. “He’s all right.”

  “Oh, you can be honest. I know you two have hit it off. And you should hear the way he talks about you.” The baron smiled, but it was a sad grin. His shoulders slumped, and he looked ten years older. Will felt a warm itch in the corner of his eye, and when he touched it his finger came away damp. What on Earth was his father trying to tell him?

  “The courier arrived with a pair of letters today,” the baron said.

  Will’s eyes widened. “Parley?”

  The baron closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “One of my brother’s men. No sign of Parley yet, Will. He was another one of your favorites, wasn’t he?”

  Will shrank back, wondering if he should feel stung by the words. A look of frustration flashed on the barons face as if he’d regretted saying them. He reached out to pat Will’s shoulder, “Dont lose hope, Son. Parleys a rascal, you know. He’ll turn up with an amusing story to explain his delay.” Will didn’t mean for it to happen, but his shoulder twitched under his father’s touch. The baron drew back his hand.

  “But about the letters,” the baron said. “One was from your uncle Hugh, telling me what a fine young man your brother has been. Obedient and respectful. It was such a happy letter, it’s hard to believe your uncle wrote it.” Will smiled wanly at the joke.

  “The other letter,” the baron said, “was from your brother.” Will drew in a sharp breath and held it. Finally!

  He’d waited so long for his brother to write back—the silence was baffling. But why had he written to Father and not him?

  “It was a fine letter, written with great care and humility. Your brother asked your mother and me to forgive the two of you for the trouble you caused. And he wondered if we would allow you to visit him at The Crags for a while this summer.”

  Will blinked up at his father. “Visit?” His voice came out tight and high.

  “Yes. Andreas tells me that you and he have been venturing out. He says your fear is weakening. But you have not conquered it entirely.”

  Will felt a shiver coming over him and fought to control it. “Not entirely, Father. But mostly. I believe.”

  “Hm,” the baron said. “Let me tell you something else. Your mother and I have been talking things over. Many things. We think the lesson has been learned. There’s no need for you and Bert to be parted any longer. I decided to send the carriage to bring him back.”

  Will felt a wave of joy surge through his body. “Really?”

  The baron nodded. “Really. But why not have it both ways? Go with the party that’s fetching your brother. That way you can accept the invitation and see him all the sooner. And you can travel back together”

  Will seized his father around the waist and hugged him. “Thank you, Father!” He felt strong hands pat him on the back and heard his father sniff.

  “Of course, it all depends on you being able to make the journey to The Crags» It’s a long way Can you do it?”

  Will had his face turned sideways against his father’s chest. He hesitated to say the next thing, but he had to. It was the only way he could go. “Do you think Andreas could go with me?”

  The hands on his back fell still “Of course,” his father said finally. “I wish I could go myself. But there’s an envoy coming from the king. And other business that keeps me here. Certainly, Andreas can go with you, if you think it will help.”

  “I wish you could come, too,” Will said. And he realized he might even have meant it.

  His father’s hands moved to Will’s shoulders and pushed him back to arm’s length. “That’s the trouble with being a baron, Son. Sometimes all the responsibility gets in the way of the things you’d really like to do. And it distracts you from the things that you ought to be paying more attention to. But when the two of you get back, Will, it will be different here. In a good way, I mean. Your mother and I think we could handle some things better”

  “Bert and I can be better, too,” Will said. “We won’t cause so much trouble.”

  “Let’s call it a bargain, then,” the baron said. “We’ll do better all around.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Harth came into Parley’s alcove. As soon as the molton saw the bucket that he carried, it opened its mouth wide like a baby bird, Harth used the black tongs to drop glowing coals down its throat. Then the Dwergh turned to Parley; Parley frowned; the friendly twinkle seemed to be gone from Harth’s eye.

  “What’s the matter, friend?” Parley said. He grunted as he rose to his feet.

  “Our task is over,” said Harth. “We did not find what we were looking for.”

  Parley gulped. “I hope this setback hasn’t put anybody in a bad mood,” he said with a forced chuckle.

  Harth’s head sagged, and his beard rustled against his chest. “Of course it has. But I’ve come to tell you that the matter of your fate has been settled.”

  Parley’s brains turned to slush, and his bad leg wobbled. “Hold on—you promised I could have my say before you decided!”

  From the corner of his one eye Parley saw dark, stocky shapes fill the entrance to the alcove. The Dwergh were there, all of them. Kholl stepped out from the group.

  “Harth says you talk so much there can’t be anything left to say,” Kholl said.

  Parley opened his mouth, but only a feeble chirp came out. Kholl held up one hand.

  “Do not fear. You will be spared,” the old Dwergh said to Parley’s infinite relief. “And freed. But only because Harth has vouched for you. And taken the oath in your name.” The Dwergh leader slipped his arms behind his beard and folded them across his chest. Behind him, the others stared—some at the courier, some at Harth. “Do you understand what this means, Par Lee?”

  Parley passed a hand over the top of his head and grinned crookedly. “The ‘spare Parley’ bit is clear enough—and believe me, I’m plenty grateful for that. But the vouch and the oath … ?”

  “It means that Harth bears responsibility for anything you do that brings us harm. If you speak of what you’ve seen here and reveal our presence, it will be as if Harth himself has betrayed us. Your transgressions become his. And the punishments that go with it.”

  Parley’s eyebrows threatened to retreat right over the top of his head. “So, for example, if I tell my baron that you’re here, and he sends men after you …”

  “Harth will die,” Kholl said calmly.

  Parley’s head swiveled toward Harth, who stood with his chest thrust forward.

  “Harth, I don’t know what to say. You did this for me? Your sworn enemy?”

  “I never swore such a thing,” Harth said. He put a hand into the pocket of his leather shirt, produced a key, and tossed it on the ground where Mokh squatted. “Mokh, gup-chik,” Harth said to the molton.

  The molton picked up the key in its three-fingered hand and slid it into the keyhole on the shackle. The lock popped open, and Parley shook the chain off his ankle. He bent at the waist and held an open hand toward Mokh, “You’ve treated me well enough, little fellow. Can I shake your hand?” Mokh stared at the palm for a moment, then shrugged and strutted away to stand by Harth’s side.

  Parley shook his head and chuckled. He lifted his courier’s pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Never fear, Harth. You can trust me.”

  Harth smiled from the depths of his beard. “That is why I took the oath, Par Lee. But before you leave, we want to show you something. So you know that we were not here to take gems or gold from under your nose, but for a greater purpose—one that you must never reveal.”

  “By all means,” Parley said. “I enjoy our little strolls And it will give me time to come up with a reason why I’ve been missing all these days.”

  The journey started the same as when they’d led Parley to the chamber of the seven coffins. But this time they turned into the left-hand passage instead of the right

  Before, even the ancient Kholl had walked with p
urpose and vigor. Now all the Dwergh’s heads sagged as they proceeded, and Parley knew their disappointment was bitten He wanted to tell Harth and Kholl that he was sorry, that he wished their efforts had not been unrewarded. But neither of them was talking. And he didn’t want to risk offending them. Who knew? They might change their minds about letting him go.

  The corridor ended in a strange sight: a square door made of glossy, black stone, tall enough to suit a Dwergh. Parley could see the lantern’s light reflected in its surface. The door was engraved with strange writing that ran along the top, sides, and bottom, like a frame.

  Oddly, the door was undamaged—not a scratch that Parley could see—while a narrow tunnel had been clawed into the solid rock a few strides to the right. There was a pile of shattered stone and dust by the entrance.

  “I presume nobody had the key?” Parley said, breaking the silence at last.

  Kholl peered up sternly at the courier. “No key can open that door. Nor can any hammer knock it down The magic that protects it is too great.”

  “Magic, you say?” said Parley.

  Kholl nodded. There was a heavy pick leaning against the wall. He lifted it and swung it at the door in a wide, sweeping arc. It struck the black stone and bounced back with nearly as much force as Kholl had delivered. Kholl let the pick drop to the ground and rubbed his hands together. “Look,” the old Dwergh said, pointing at the spot where the pick had struck.

  Parley brought his one eye close to the door, “I see that you’ve made a little …” he started to say, and then the words faded. There was a tiny gash in the door—just a nick, really. But as he watched, the wound healed as if black oil welled up from the inside and hardened in an instant.

  “That is why we had to tunnel in through the side,” Harth said. “But even the rock itself seemed enchanted, and resisted our efforts for many months. We only pierced through into his lair a few hours ago.”

  “His lair? Whose lair?” Parley asked, stepping back from the door.

  “Never fear, Par Lee,” Kholl said. “He is long dead. Only his possessions lay inside.”

  Parley looked at Harth, questioning.

  “Come inside with us, Par Lee,” Harth said, and he crawled into the tunnel, holding the lamp before him with one hand.

  Parley looked uneasily at the narrow passageway. The unpleasant thought occurred to him that this might be a ruse—that he’d been sentenced to die after all, and was being lured to his execution. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Go on, Par Lee,” Kholl said. “I will follow.”

  Parley gulped and nodded. He crawled into the hole. The light of Harth’s lantern was ahead, like a rising moon at the end of the rough, black tunnel It was wide enough for a Dwergh’s brawny shoulders, but so low that Parley couldn’t get up on his knees—he had to put his belly to the ground and inch along like a caterpillar. Would have been easier if you’d taken your pack off, he chided himself. Some dust went up his nose, and a sneezing fit slowed him halfway through. But he finally emerged at the other end, holding his breath as he stuck his head out. Harth was there, offering a hand to help him up. Parley stepped away from the opening, so Kholl could follow. As the eldest Dwergh squeezed out of the hole like a great shaggy mouse, the courier looked around

  It wasn’t a large room, maybe ten steps across. At first Parley thought it was round. But a second glance showed him it was a series of flat, smoothly polished walls coming together. He counted them. Seven. Of course.

  He saw the inner face of the impervious door, as glossy and black as the outer side, untouched even by dust. And around the chamber, he saw things both commonplace and strange. There was a chest with its lid open, and it was filled with chalices—gold, silver, copper, and some metal that was pure white. There were pieces of armor on the ground. There was an anvil, and a hammer with a head as big as Parley’s. There was a globe of smoke-colored glass on a pedestal, and sealed urns and jars. And on a tall, round table in the center of the room—chest-high for the Dwergh, waist-high for Parley—there was an assortment of smaller items. Daggers. Medallions. Seven-sided disks of metal, like coins. Parley’s eye went to a pair of strange candlesticks that looked like intertwined snakes with their open mouths pointed skyward. The candles had been in them so long that the wax melted without the benefit of flame, and they lay on the table like wilted flowers.

  “His name was Khorgon,” Harth said. “The most powerful Dwergh sorcerer who ever lived. He died hundreds of years ago. But before his death he collected many magical objects—some dangerous, some not, some he discovered, some he devised. He hid them away in secret places scattered across your land and ours. Mokh is one of those objects. We found the molton in another chamber like this, under a hill many miles from here. But we have always sought one object in particular. A most dangerous thing. We prayed we would find it here, but that was not the will of the earth”

  Parley couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What was that thing that was so dangerous? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  CHAPTER 28

  “A mirror,” Parley finally moaned, after a long drink of water restored his voice. “That’s what you just said, isn’t it?”

  “What do you know about this?” Harth said. Kholl stared at the courier with a fierce glint in his dark eyes.

  “Oh me. Oh dear,” Parley said. He slumped on the floor of the sorcerer’s chamber. He shrugged off his pack, stuck a hand inside, and then paused to look sheepishly up at the Dwergh. “I’ve done something less than honorable. I’m ashamed to tell you, really. But you have to understand how bored I was, locked up like that. You know, if Mokh had just played dice with me, I never would have—”

  “Tell us what you know!” snapped Kholl, strangling the air before him.

  “Right! Well …” Parley began. He pulled the roll of parchment from his pack. “sort of opened this letter. It’s from the baron’s son Bert to his brother, Will* Bert is staying at The Crags for the summer.”

  “The Crags,” whispered Harth. Kholl leaned forward His black eyes looked as if they might burst into flame.

  “That’s right, The Crags,” Parley said. He coughed and tasted dust. He wanted another sip of water, but thought Kholl might throttle him if he delayed another second. “Well, you see, according to the letter, Bert … found something. In a … you know, hidden chamber. Under The Crags.”

  “He found a mirror,” Kholl said

  “Yes,” Parley said. Kholl was so quiet for so long that Parley risked another sip. He stuck the little cork back into the skin and wiped his mouth. “Listen, boys, you said this thing was dangerous. Bert’s not in trouble, is he? He’s very dear to me, that lad.”

  Kholl and Harth exchanged a glance and a frown.

  “Tell me! Is Bert in danger?” Parley asked. His lip trembled, and his one eye blinked madly.

  “Read the letter to us, Par Lee,” Harth said.

  Parley sighed. He peeled the wax away from the parchment. “I’m so ashamed This is the second time I’ve broken the seal. After I repaired it so nicely, too. No one would have noticed. Well, here’s what it says: ‘Dear Will, by the time you finish reading this, you’ll wish it was you that came to The Crags after all. I just made the most amazing discovery….”

  Kholl listened with his fingertips pressed together over his nose. Harth tugged his beard and paced around the se ven-sided chamber.

  When Parley reached the part about the candlestick that unlocked the hidden door, his eye went to the similar object on the sorcerer’s table. He read on about the secret stairs. The hidden chamber. The throne. And the mirror. He cringed, and his face turned as warm and red as the setting sun when he got to the last words: “’Remember that everything I have written is a secret. Hide this letter, or better yet burn it, and tell no one.” The courier coughed and lowered the parchment. “Well, shame on me for prying.”

  There was a long silence. Harth stared at Kholl while the elder Dwergh brooded with his eyes closed. Harth finally spoke.
“Can there be any doubt, any at all?”

  “Hidden under the castle of The Crags. You told us once it might be there, Harth,” Kholl said. “We should have listened.”

  “But you were right, Kholl. It was too risky to approach, under that man’s suspicious gaze.”

  “Listen,” Parley said in a voice that quavered, “what’s this all about? You haven’t answered my question. Is Bert in danger?”

  “He is,” Kholl said wearily. “As is everyone he knows. Including us, for that matter. Par Lee, you must hear the story of the Mirror of Khorgon as we return to the others. And then we will decide what is to be done.”

  Before they left, Harth sorted through the items that remained in the sorcerer’s chamber. He filled two large sacks and one small one with objects. He and Kholl carried the large bags and Mokh took the smaller one.

  Parley protested that he could carry his share, but Harth would not hear of it. They pushed the sacks ahead of them through the tunnel and bustled back the way they’d come. Parley marveled at the energy of the elder Dwergh, One hundred and sixty-seven years old, and I can barely keep pace, he thought as he puffed along between the two of them and their stone servant.

  “Walk beside me, Par Lee, I will make this as brief as I can,” Kholl said. “The deeds of Khorgon were great. You see, every now and then, we Dwergh encounter strange and terrible things as we explore the cracks and crevices under the hide of the earth. Serpents, Trolls, Spirits, Goblins, Khorgon vanquished scores of these, with axe and incantation. And the more he slew, the greater his pride became, until he deemed himself invincible. He foolishly chose to confront the most evil thing we Dwergh ever encountered. It was called the ‘Ulgonog,’ the Unspeakable, It was a demon, of sorts, that lived deep in a watery cave—so hideous to behold, it could drive you mad to look at it. The Ulgonog had a fearsome power: It could see from afar. It knew what its enemies planned and when someone approached. And when you drew near, the Ulgonog whispered promises, offering to make your fondest wishes come true. Once you heard its voice, you could not resist. You walked—no, you ran—into its lair. And when you crawled out days later, your heart and mind were gone. You were a babbling, drooling animal, as hollow as an egg drained of its yolk. That is the way of the Ulgonog: It feasts on souls.”