Defenders of Magic 01 - Night of the Eye

by Scorpion ZS 256

  "Mages have passed the Test in minutes?"

  "I did not say they passed."

  Guerrand looked for Belize to continue, but the mage did not. "What happens to those who fail?"

  "Failure means death."

  Guerrand blinked. "Do many fail?"

  "Only the weak and unready."

  Guerrand stood to pace around his chair. "Why me?"

  "You might think of me as a recruiter," said Belize. "I seek to increase the role and status of magic in the world by finding and nurturing worthwhile mages. It is my way of giving something back to the art that has been my entire life. And I have some influence with the council. I could certainly put in a good word for you."

  "Do you take apprentices?"

  Belize responded with no hint of apology. "No, I'm not well suited to it. I have many other responsibilities, and I spend too much time ... traveling."

  Guerrand was not sure what he had expected, but he felt somehow let down, awkward for having asked. "Well, then," he stumbled, "where and when must I go to apprentice to a learned mage?"

  "Immediately."

  "You mean immediately after my wedding."

  "I mean today—tomorrow at the latest."

  The shock on Guerrand's face was clear. "But that's impossible!" he gasped. "You know I'm to be wed in four days. Surely it can wait until after that."

  "You will be starting a completely new life, and the life you now live will be wiped away. As an apprentice, you would have no way to support a wife and no time to spend with her. From what I've heard of your betrothed, she would not even consider working in a scullery to pay her own way. And what would be the point of marrying, just so you could immediately abandon your new wife?" A slight smile creased Belize's face. "Besides, I doubt your brother Cormac would stand for that.

  "As for your family," Belize continued, folding his arms across his chest, "think how much more valuable to them you might be, returning home as a skilled wielder of magic. Marrying this woman from Hillfort will ease your brother's problems only temporarily. If you marry for Cormac's sake, are you providing him with a permanent solution or simply curing a symptom? Like a tourniquet around the neck of a beheaded man."

  Guerrand winced at the inevitable image. "You know nothing of Cormac's problems!"

  Belize arched a thick brow. "Do you?"

  Guerrand sighed. "So you're telling me that I would do my family a greater service by backing out of my pledge to marry?"

  "I've said only that you should go to Wayreth and become apprenticed to a real master. It is the only way you will advance."

  The mage leaned forward, putting his face quite close to Guerrand's. "The Tower of Wayreth is a powerfully enchanted place. It is in the southwestern forests of the Qualinesti elves, but it can be found only by those who have been specifically invited. I am inviting you. That is a privilege that will not last indefinitely, and it may not be extended again." Belize paused, expressionless, and sat back. "But your life path is for you to choose. Many men are happy as merchants."

  Guerrand could see easily what Belize was doing, and he resented it. Belize had reawakened a hope that Guerrand had long ago suppressed. Yet, it was all as impossibly far from his grasp as ever—farther, even. Cormac would never release him from the agreement to marry, and he could not simply slip away afterward or take Ingrid along.

  Guerrand felt crushed, as if he had reached the mountaintop only to slip and fall all the way back to the valley. He had felt the exhilaration, but it could never really be his. "Thank you for your interest in me, Belize, but what you suggest is not possible." He stood, his head hanging.

  "Nothing is impossible where magic is concerned," said Belize. "You simply have to open your eyes to the possibilities."

  Depressed and confused, Guerrand waved away the mage's latest riddle. "This affects too many people for me to decide now, by myself."

  Instantly, Belize's ruddy face darkened. He stood abruptly, knocking over the bench. "You must discuss this with no one! Especially not your family. Use your head!" He turned and strode impatiently into the shop, then spun back to Guerrand. "Your brother would actively prevent you from going. For your own sake, talk to no one."

  Guerrand turned to leave, then remembered the necklace. He moved to take the wrapped package from the frozen hands of Marthe. The delicate present to his bride-to-be felt like a lead weight. "Good day," Guerrand mumbled as he passed Belize on the way to the still-barred door.

  Belize bowed his shaved head curtly. "I would like to lighten your mood by adding a gift of my own, to show you that I mean you only good fortune. This is for you and, indirectly, your family, not your intended."

  "That's not necessary—" Guerrand interrupted, only to be cut off himself.

  "You're not interested in justice for your murdered brother?"

  Guerrand stopped in his tracks. "You can't know how to find those bandits." His frown deepened, and he turned slowly. "Unless—"

  "You're a suspicious lad, aren't you?" Belize seemed amused. "No, I'm not secretly the ringleader of a band of cutthroats. I have far more interesting ways to spend my time." The mage pulled something from the depths of his red robe and held it up to the flickering light. A palm-sized fragment of mirror caught a beam shining through the smoke hole and reflected a shaft of light painfully into Guerrand's eyes.

  "Magical glass. It's a useful little item, one that I'm sure any master wizard could acquaint you with. It will show you the location of your brother's killers."

  "Could it be true?" wondered Guerrand. Even if it was, how could he tell Cormac where the robbers were, without revealing where he'd gotten the information? If Guerrand said someone in the village gave him a tip, Cormac would either discount it as rumor or demand Guerrand produce the informants. As if impatient, the mirror glinted in Guerrand's eye again.

  He had to look, if only for Quinn.

  Belize tipped the mirror slightly toward Guerrand, to afford him a better view. At first he saw only the reflection of his own eyes and nose in the small glass. He stared, but the image didn't change.

  Embarrassed, Guerrand finally asked, "Do I have to say or do something special? It doesn't seem to be working."

  "Just concentrate," Belize murmured. "Concentrate on your memory of your brother."

  Guerrand renewed his effort, this time trying to think of nothing but Quinn as he looked into the mirror. He envisioned his brother as he had last seen him alive, two years before, wearing his gleaming armor and sitting astride his gaily decorated horse as he set out for war, adventure, and plunder. Slowly an image swirled in the mirror, forming a picture of a small campsite. Three vague figures sat around a low, smokeless fire, eating provisions or tending their weapons. He recognized the spot as a pleasant hilltop in the woods, only a few leagues from Thonvil. But as his thoughts strayed from Quinn, the vision swirled away.

  "H-how do I know they're really the ones who killed Quinn?"

  Belize slipped the small mirror into Guerrand's palm. "I've commanded it to continue showing you where they are. Use it to track them down and get proof. Give it to someone else if you're afraid.

  "And now, I bid you farewell." With a quick wave of his arms, Belize released the spells on the shop and its occupants. In that one gesture, the breeze stopped, the fire came back to life, the awnings and doors flew open, and Wilor, his wife, and apprentices began to move again. Belize was gone.

  Wilor looked slightly puzzled until he saw the package in Guerrand's hands. "There it is! Strange, I don't remember handing it to you." He shook his head and smiled to himself. "Must be getting old." With that, Wilor returned to the apprentice and the anvil to finish the work he'd been at when Guerrand arrived.

  As Guerrand hurried from the shop, he couldn't decide which item in his hands weighed him down more, the mirror or the wedding present.

  Chapter Four

  "What am I doing?" Kirah heard Guerrand mumble. Yes, what on Krynn was Guerrand doing, she wondered from her hiding place behi
nd a haystack in the stable. It was all very mysterious. Why was Guerrand, who didn't even like horses, saddling one in the middle of the night?

  Guerrand had seemed unusually distant this afternoon. Though they weren't exactly speaking, she'd watched him through the tunnels, seen that he'd gone to the village that afternoon to retrieve a trinket for his bride. Hoping that there was still a chance she could talk him into running away, she'd hidden in the tunnel outside his room earlier. She'd been trying to screw up the courage to go in and make peace with him, when he had launched into a very mysterious sequence of activities.

  First, he donned his leather and mail armor, then, apparently changing his mind, took it off again, very thoughtfully. Next he pulled on a baggy tunic and trousers and a pair of stiff, high boots. Dressed, he recited some quick prayers to Habbakuk, took his sword and dagger down from the wall, and slipped out the door.

  Intrigued, Kirah had followed him, creeping around in darkened corners, slipping silently down the staircase after him. The keep was dimly lit, everyone else asleep, or at least retired for the night. She'd been more than a little surprised to find that the stable was his destination. Now Kirah settled back to watch her brother struggle the headstall of a bridle over the horse's head and set the bit in its mouth.

  "I must be crazy," Guerrand growled to himself, "but what else can I do?" With a soul-felt grunt, he tossed the saddle over the roan's back. Once the saddle was cinched in place, he hung a small, round shield from the pommel and buckled on his swordbelt and dagger.

  The sword looked as proper on Guerrand as a third arm, mused Kirah. Her brother was no knight, despite his best efforts and Cormac's insistence. Where in the Abyss was he going in the middle of the night with weapons? Worse still, how was she to follow with him on horseback? Kirah was puzzling through that while Guerrand put the finishing touches on his gear and then swung lightly up onto the horse.

  Suddenly Guerrand fell still in the saddle. His eyes misted over and closed gently. Grasping his right eyelashes between thumb and forefinger, he gave a tug. Guerrand pulled from his pouch a sticky wad of gum into which he pressed the eyelashes. The young girl's heart constricted. She alone in Castle DiThon, save Zagarus the sea gull, recognized when Guerrand was about to cast a spell. She had no idea what it would be, but if the spell took him away from the stables, she might never know.

  Watching her brother closely, guessing when he'd progressed too far to halt the spell, Kirah silently sprang from her place behind the bales and launched herself onto the rump of the startled horse. Guerrand and the horse beneath them both disappeared from her sight, though she could feel them. Looking for her own arms, she realized she couldn't see herself, either!

  "What—who's there?" squealed a startled Guerrand.

  Before Kirah could respond, she became disoriented and nearly toppled from the horse. Her spindly young arms flailed and finally latched around Guerrand's waist.

  "Kirah?" he demanded. "In the name of Habbakuk, what are you doing here?"

  For once in her young life, Kirah didn't know how to answer. She'd never heard Guerrand sound so angry. "I—I'm sorry, Rand. I didn't mean to startle you," she said as meekly as she was capable. "I was worried about you and was simply trying to find out what you 're doing."

  "Don't use that innocent, little-lost-girl tone on me," Guerrand snarled. "You have no idea what you may have done by interrupting me."

  "Then why don't you just tell me. Where are you going? Why the invisibility spell?"

  "I should dump you off here," Guerrand muttered, ignoring her questions. He shifted in the saddle. "In fact I think I'll do just that. It would serve you right."

  "If you do, I'll tell the entire keep you turned yourself invisible and ran off into the night!"

  "You wouldn't dare!" Guerrand gasped. He thought it unlikely Kirah would betray him, and yet she was willful enough to suggest the blackmail. Guerrand twisted around painfully to look in the direction of her voice, though he couldn't see her, either. "Someone should have spanked you years ago, Kirah."

  "They tried. It didn't help." Kirah's voice had regained its normal lilt, edged with smugness. "So, are you going to tell me what you're up to or not?"

  Frustration burned behind his eyes. He'd slipped away without telling Zagarus of his plans, because he knew the bird would somehow let them slip to Kirah. And here he still had to deal with his wayward sister. He loved Kirah too well to just dump her, unprotected, in the dark and run, though he was annoyed enough with her to do just that. She deserved worse. The snoopy little scamp deserved to be dipped in honey and tied to a tree. She had no idea how she was wasting precious time and fouling up his plans. Yet, she could be reasoned with. Perhaps if she knew what she was ruining, she'd see the wisdom of returning quietly.

  "Please, Kirah, don't ask any more questions," he pleaded softly. "For once, just do as I ask and go home."

  "You're up to something strange, Guerrand DiThon, and I intend to know what it is." Kirah locked her spindly arms more tightly around his waist.

  Guerrand laughed, despite himself. "I wish I could stay angry with you. You give me ample opportunity." He fell serious. "I want to get away from the castle before anyone else overhears us. I'll tell you then." With that, Guerrand spurred his roan out of the stable and into the moonlit night, holding fast to the reins.

  Kirah clutched her brother's waist and snuggled her face into the soft fabric of the tunic on his back. She was delighted with herself, thrilled with the adventure of the moment. Solinari was nearly full, but hidden behind thin clouds that glowed a ghostly blue-black where the bright orb tried to shine through them. The crashing sea and the horse's hooves created a thrilling rhythm as they galloped away from the darkened castle and across the damp, earthy moor.

  Guerrand abruptly pulled the horse to a dead stop and without preamble announced, "I'm going to find the men who killed Quinn."

  Kirah gasped. "How?"

  Guerrand reached into the cuff of his gauntlet and a small fragment of mirror simply appeared before him, as if suspended in air.

  "What's that?" she breathed.

  "Someone in the village gave me this mirror. It can reveal the location of Quinn's slayers," he explained vaguely.

  "Someone?" she repeated with a squeal. "Who in Thonvil would have anything magical, let alone a mirror that knows the whereabouts of Quinn's killers? That just doesn't make sense, Rand."

  Guerrand sighed heavily. Obviously Kirah wasn't going to let him off easily. "He was a mage, a stranger here, but he seemed genuine. His spells were incredible—" Guerrand quieted abruptly. Belize had warned him to tell no one of their discussion about leaving for the Tower of High Sorcery. For Kirah's sake, he would mention nothing of that. Besides, he knew it would only get her talking again about running away.

  "So what was a mage doing in Thonvil? And why did he give this mirror to you instead of Cormac?"

  "I suspect that he tried, but you know Cormac and magic." Guerrand found himself thinking again about the argument between Belize and Cormac, about the timing. They hadn't learned yet of Quinn's death. Belize and Cormac couldn't have been speaking about that, then. Kirah's chatter pulled him away from his musings.

  "How do you know the mirror can do what he says? Maybe this mage is just trying to get you into trouble by sending you on a merry chase."

  "That's why I didn't tell Cormac. I couldn't very well walk up to him and say, 'See what a mage gave me?' could I?" Guerrand felt her curious fingers on the mirror.

  He instinctively jerked it away and gently slipped the palm-sized glass back into the safety of the loose cuff of his left gauntlet.

  "If you want to know the truth, I can't shake the feeling that I've let Quinn down." He thought of his vow to stay near Quinn, broken to prevent a dishonorable brawl before his brother's bier. He didn't mention the painful memory to Kirah, even though guilt over it was the reason for his quest. "I owe it to Quinn to personally follow any lead on his killers."

  "You
'll eventually have to explain to Cormac how you found them, won't you? Besides, what are you going to do with them? Drag them back to the keep? Kill them?"

  Guerrand snorted. "If Quinn and the cavaliers with him couldn't fend them off, I hardly think I'd stand a chance against them. No," he said, "I intend only to retrieve physical evidence of their responsibility for Quinn's death. I'll find some way to tell Cormac when the time comes.

  "Now you know everything," he announced, readjusting himself in the saddle. "Surely you can see why you need to go back. I cast the invisibility spell to slip away unnoticed, thinking it would last until I got to where I was going. I've already lost precious time, and I've a lot of ground to cover before the sun rises or the men in the mirror move on."

  Kirah hugged his waist more tightly. "Then we'd better get moving, hadn't we?"

  Guerrand pushed her hands down. "Kirah, don't be absurd! I'm not about to gallop across the countryside to spy on some ruffians with a chit of a girl wearing only her night shift. Even you must see how dangerous this is."

  "Which is why you need me along," Kirah said brightly. "Besides, what difference does it make what I'm wearing if we're invisible? I could be stark naked for all anyone would know! I won't need weapons since you don't intend to fight them, though that makes me wonder why you're all decked out with your best weapons. Still, you obviously need my eyes. I notice details better than you. I won't take no for an answer. You know I won't."

  "This is blackmail."

  "For your own good. Now, kick this horse into a gallop and don't waste any more of our time."

  "Don't push your luck by getting imperious, Kirah," Guerrand said stiffly. "I don't think you realize how furious I am with you."

  "You know you can't stay mad at me, Rand. We always forgive each other."

  Kirah was right about that. They had only each other. "Against my better judgment, I'll let you come along. Just remember, keep quiet and, for once, do what I say, when I say it."