‘What the hell am I going to do?’ he said out loud.
He closed his eyes and suddenly remembered her words, ‘If something is real, the looking glass potentially holds the image; but it is within oneself that the power lies to draw forth the image.’
What made this power particular to Arlenmia? He had managed to still the image she had created to hypnotise him. Estarinel wondered if he could also summon the images he wanted into the mirror.
Arlenmia had left her glass on the table. He put it on the floor and began to toy with the chess set. Moving the pieces unleashed a million reflections that danced on the back of his eye, bringing back disorientating fragments of the drug-induced nightmare. For several minutes he persisted, feeling that he was achieving nothing but complete loss of control over the images.
Then at last he began to move the pieces in a somehow instinctive automatic pattern and he realised he had the power to control the mirror.
Immediately he knew: both her visions of Forluin had been false. So what was the truth? A faint image flickered, a faded landscape frozen under topaz glass, figures bowed in torment, worshipping the Worm for ever. It was what Silvren had described.
Hurriedly he changed the pattern – better not to know. He bent his mind to locating Medrian, Ashurek and Skord, calling into the mirror the knowledge of what had become of them.
Iridescent hues swam and melted in the mercury; then the glass cleared, and he beheld three scenes. They all took place in Arlenmia’s dining hall and he felt that he was seeing the recent past, perhaps the previous day.
In the first he saw Ashurek, dressed in Gorethrian-style robes of blue, conversing with Arlenmia over the crystal globe. Somehow, in his mind, he could hear what they were saying.
‘I hope you are enjoying your stay,’ Arlenmia said, smiling.
‘No, not really,’ the Gorethrian answered. ‘Do any of your guests ever leave?’
‘What a cynic you are!’ she laughed. ‘Of course they do – when they have seen my point of view.’
‘And are ready to do your work?’
‘Don’t mock me, Ashurek, and don’t underestimate me. I have five countries under my control, not just Belhadra.’ Marking the North Pole on the crystal globe was a little jade dragon, which she stroked with a fingertip. ‘It was done not with armies, just with boys like Skord and a few nemen. But understand this, it is not for myself, or even for some mighty empire, that I do this.’
‘I know why you’re doing it,’ Ashurek replied.
‘Yes, but do you understand? Oh Ashurek – you are a mystery to me. You did so much fine work for the Serpent – then threw it all away. What were you thinking?'
‘You call it fine work?’ he exclaimed. ‘It was madness! It had to stop.’
‘And you disposed of the Egg-Stone and suffered the pain of the Serpent’s retribution, just for the sake of your independence?’
‘Oh no, there was more to it than that,’ he answered, cold anger in his face. ‘The Egg-Stone caused me to murder my brother and sister. And it seems to me that the Serpent’s power began to increase when the Stone was unleashed upon the world.’
‘That is true, though it is of little use to anyone, lost in a volcano,’ she said. ‘You have disrupted our work and left Gorethria in chaos, with revolution and anarchy in the Empire. You and Silvren are a great disappointment to me.’
‘Let chaos destroy Gorethria then. It is exactly what she deserves.’
‘No! It is not too late to help her. You can return there and reclaim the throne, and the Egg-Stone can be recovered. Together we can rule the Empire and Tearn, the whole Earth.’ Arlenmia smiled, blue lights shimmering in her hair.
‘Are you mad?’ Ashurek cried angrily. ‘You know much about me, but you do not realise that no offer of power can tempt me. I have had power – and I know that it is sick and evil.’
‘Ashurek, be calm. You misunderstand me.’ Her smile became cold. ‘I am not trying to tempt you with power; I am telling you what you must do.’
Ashurek gave a laugh of grim scepticism.
Arlenmia moved round the globe, nearer to him, and went on, ‘I have been very patient with you. I have not tried to drug or hypnotise you to bring you into my power. You’ve had every chance to join me of your own free will.’
‘Not tried – ? What of that subtle substance which makes me think of the Egg-Stone as I have not thought of it for months?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. It was only to help you recover from your ordeal. But what you say is very interesting.’
‘Lying comes to you as easily as breathing, doesn’t it?’ Ashurek said acidly. ‘Spare me your deceitful games.’
‘Very well, to business,’ she said sweetly, unmoved by his attitude. ‘As I said, it was my hope that you would join me of your own accord. However, since you resist… there is the question of Silvren.’
‘What have you to do with her?’ he hissed, gripping her shoulders.
‘We were friends, once; did she never tell you? But as we went our separate ways, I had to send the demon Diheg-El after her.’
‘It was your doing?’ Ashurek shook her, but he might as well have assaulted a statue, so still did she remain in his grasp.
‘Her work was destructive! Better she was out of harm’s way – but I can easily have her released. Or, conversely, if you will not agree to help me, things can be made even more unpleasant for her in the Dark Regions.’
Estarinel thought Ashurek would kill Arlenmia then; but he did not. His hands fell from her shoulders, and she watched him with growing triumph.
‘You wanted to kill the Serpent so that she’d be released, did you not? Well, if you will help me, she will be freed and you’ll be spared your terrible mission,’ she added.
Estarinel’s heart sank; she had won, then. Ashurek could not refuse her offer. He was silent, eyes brooding.
Then he said, ‘Do your damndest.’
‘What?’ Arlenmia said, shocked. ‘I thought even you could not be that cruel!’
‘Think what you like. I am the Worm’s sworn enemy. How would Silvren feel, knowing I’d sold my soul to M’gulfn for her freedom? She’d rather spend eternity with the Shana than that. She, at least, has courage.’
Arlenmia stared at him, her face like white onyx.
‘Very well. You will do my bidding eventually, do not doubt it; and Silvren will be imprisoned forever.’
Estarinel let the scene fade. He was trembling at what he had witnessed, and dreading what else he might learn. He began to slide the pieces over the glass again. An image rippled and cleared, and he saw Skord.
He was by Arlenmia’s fireside, cowering under the force of her wrath.
‘You obey my orders to the letter!’ she was declaiming. ‘You do not play your own little games with my guests! No matter how bitter you are about your parents or your betrothed, no matter how much you hate Gorethrians or scorn the Forluinish, you act for me and not yourself. Oh! By the Serpent, you are a fool!’ She paced the room.
Skord was crouched on the floor. He muttered something that sounded like, ‘You said I’d done well.’
‘So I thought you had, but I didn’t know the half of it when I praised you. You tried to murder Ashurek! You amaze me! How could you be such an idiot? You let the nemen half-kill them to assuage your own resentment. You let them catch you because you couldn’t resist lording it over them. And how – how did you manage to let yourself be hypnotised? How could Estarinel break through the double entrancements of Siregh-Ma and myself? By the Serpent – what have you brought me?’ In her anger she was a vibrant tongue of green flame. ‘Well. If it has brought back your memory it is a just punishment.’ She laughed maliciously. ‘How ironic that you, in catching Ashurek, are the envy of all my other messengers. Her Favourite, they call you; what a position of power you could have reached. Oh Skord – what did you think you’d gain by being so stupid?’
She bent down and stroked his hair, suddenly gentle. He tr
ied to draw away but she entangled her fingers in a clump of hair and held him. ‘Ah, but I know. I know that you hate both me and Ashurek. Your thought was to play us off against each other, hoping that one or both would be destroyed. Oh, you foolish scheming wretch!’ She dragged him to his feet and cast him bodily back to the floor. ‘Most stupid of my messengers! I am not going to give you another chance. I won’t take your memory again. I release you from service, and leave you to your demon, Siregh-Ma.’
Then Skord looked up, absolute defeat and terror in his brown fox eyes. There was no trace of dignity or even arrogance left in him. He was broken. Estarinel felt pity for him then; he was a pathetic sight.
‘Please… make Siregh-Ma leave me…’
Ashurek had said, ‘The Dark Regions… one slip and you will be down there yourself.’ Now the boy saw that it was about to come true.
Estarinel shuddered as full realisation came to him; he was responsible for Skord’s awful fate. If he had not hypnotised him, the youth would not now be in this doomed and sorry state. What a dangerous thing was curiosity. With hesitant hands he shifted the mirror’s image and sought Medrian. He could not imagine what use Arlenmia would have for her; Alaak was only a small island, and part of the Empire anyway. But there was probably no limit to Arlenmia’s ingenuity.
At last the chess pieces brought the mirror into focus, and he beheld a third scene.
Medrian and Arlenmia were sitting at the dining table. For a moment he did not recognise Medrian; she was wearing a long dress of white silk with her ebony hair falling around her shoulders. Her head was bowed as if she was listening intently to Arlenmia.
‘The one I could never see, and you arrive on my very doorstep!’ Her eyes were warm and luminous as she looked at Medrian. ‘Most precious of my guests and helpers – you alone are worth every one of them.’
‘You know, then,’ Medrian said flatly.
‘Of course. You are as limpid as crystal to me. So, before you start fighting me, let me explain what I can offer.’
‘Please don’t; I can do nothing to further your aims, so don’t waste your time.’
Arlenmia reached out and took her hands.
‘I don’t want you to do anything, Medrian; just let yourself be helped.’
‘Let me go,’ the Alaakian said coldly. ‘You won’t change anything.’
‘There you are wrong. Haven’t you ever thought what it would be like to be free?’ At this, Medrian looked up at Arlenmia; as if realising that she possessed a precise and terrible power.
‘You couldn’t!’ Medrian exclaimed.
‘Oh, but I could. You know it,’ answered Arlenmia, warm and gentle. ‘Now, if you like. Rest your head on my shoulder, and sleep. You will wake free of pain, and you can go home.’
The look in Medrian’s dark eyes was one of such misery and longing that Estarinel yearned to comfort her. Tears burned his eyes. Arlenmia held out her arms and Medrian wavered, her body swaying slightly as if pulled by a mesmeric impulse. It was so easy to fall, and so hard to resist.
Her body became still, and she said, ‘No.’
‘Come, Medrian,’ Arlenmia said softly. ‘Don’t torment yourself.’
‘It’s too late. My mind was made up, in snow and lead and ice, years ago. I no longer have a choice.’
‘You’d condemn yourself to a life without hope?’ Frustration crept into Arlenmia’s persuasive voice.
‘Hope was a small bird guarding an egg in her mountain nest; when the egg was taken, hope fled the world,’ Medrian said, her voice bleak as the wind. ‘Now I am the world’s only hope.’
‘The alternative is for me to kill you,’ Arlenmia said harshly.
‘Do what you like. When you finally understand it will be too late.’
The scene turned misty and was lost in the still silver of the mirror. Estarinel sat back from the table, breathless. He felt amazed at his ability to control the mirror; surely Arlenmia had not anticipated it?
He was also aware that the effort had drained much energy from him. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, and suffering the cramps about which Arlenmia had so solicitously enquired earlier. Even gathering the strength to think was exhausting.
He glanced down and noticed her glass on the floor. He saw that the remaining drops of water had evaporated and left a whitish powder on the inside. Curious, he picked it up and sniffed it. It had a faint but distinctive smell, gingery, bitter and unmistakeable.
It was mircam, a drug extracted from the herb called Brownblade, which had powerful properties. It was never used in Forluinish medicine as it was addictive and affected the personality in unpredictable ways.
That was the cause of the strange languor she had about her and the unnatural dilation of her eyes; she was addicted to the herb. At last he had discovered a possible weakness in her. Surprise, followed by a faint ignition of hope, gave him just enough strength to decide what to do.
Somehow he must break through the multiple reflections separating him from Medrian and Ashurek. He would begin by looking into the mirror to see if he could discern their nature. Perhaps that way he would gain a clue as to how to undo her sorcery.
Control of the mirror came more easily than before. He summoned to mind an image of a long golden corridor with several doors leading off it. Then he called forth all possible aspects of that view at one particular time – the present. The image moved out of focus, revealing several identical reflections that seemed just out of register with each other. His eyes strained to make sense of what he was seeing. Illogical lines of perspective intersected and faded into other lines, all edged with glittering, blurred lights where they reflected sunlight falling through a confused multiplicity of windows.
He knew what to do.
He brought each reflection into equal prominence, disregarding the pains that stabbed through his head with the effort. Then, with nightmarish, slow precision, he began to drag each reflection into line with all the others. Strings of diamond light danced achingly across his vision, sparkling in and out of focus, until at last all slid into register. In the mirror was an image of one sunlit golden corridor.
Two servants, going about their business in different reflections, stopped short with exclamations of surprise when they saw each other.
Estarinel let out a cry of elation. He let the picture shift and began searching swiftly for his companions. ‘Ashurek! Ashurek!’ he called out loud as he scanned through reflection after reflection, intent on contacting the Gorethrian.
But his strength was exhausted.
He saw into infinite depths of mercury that drew his mind further and further down. He was fighting, drowning. A small hole broke open in the fluid metal, ripples spreading out from it as it increased in size. Then Estarinel knew that Arlenmia’s myriad reflections were broken, but his own mind was lost in the dark hole, and he could not surface.
There was a terrible sensation of falling, falling into blueness, and it was as if a laughing, evil power revealed to him terrible phantasms of the future. There was snow and ice, and red glass, and a dark-haired woman – or was it a bird? – crying out for help he could not give.
Chapter Twelve. A Welcome Traitor
‘I never dreamed it would be so difficult,’ Arlenmia said, looking at her reflection in her dressing-table mirror. Behind her, her maid Gulla combed and threaded jade beads into her blue-green hair. ‘I’ve come to despise them; how can three so foolish and blind give me such a fight?’
‘I’m sure it is only a matter of hours before they give in to you, my Lady,’ said the maid.
‘Hurry up; I must go and see how Estarinel is faring. If he still resists after seeing my mirror, I will have to fetch a demon to deal with him.’ She bent forward and rubbed some mist off the glass. ‘It’s such a perfect opportunity to complete the work. I control five countries, Belhadra and her neighbours, yet I cannot control a mere three people!’
‘My Lady, they are the gift of the Serpent, after all, and such a gi
ft cannot be taken for granted,’ said Gulla.
‘You and your words of wisdom!’ Arlenmia exclaimed. ‘Are you really on my side? Perhaps you’ll betray me as Skord has.’
‘My Lady,’ Gulla answered, ‘everything you have taught me and shown me, I truly believe.’
‘Yes, Gulla,’ she sighed, taking the maid’s hand. ‘I know you do.’
The calm energies that the mircam provided seemed to be waning, as if she needed yet another dose. The drug had been useful once, when she had first come to the world and needed to stay awake for many nights to establish her powers. But now she felt anger at her dependence upon it. The Serpent’s energy should be enough.
#
Ashurek was approaching Arlenmia’s courtyard, having spent another wasted hour trying to find a way out of the city. It was like perpetually walking out of one reflection and into another and he felt sure Arlenmia must be watching and laughing at his attempts to escape.
He was certain that she had thwarted him utterly, and wished she would make her final move to enslave him soon; then at least he might have something to fight against. He toyed with the possibility of pretending to co-operate, at least until Silvren was free… yet he could not believe Arlenmia would keep her word. He would happily have killed her, had he not feared for Silvren’s safety.
As he entered the courtyard he had the sensation that something had changed, just as a place in a dream looks the same but is different. He looked around him and noticed two of Arlenmia’s messengers crossing the far side; this was strange, as the city was usually deserted. Then he saw the small dark-haired figure sitting by one of the fountains.
‘Medrian!’
For the first time, she actually looked pleased to see him. ‘Ashurek – how did you find me?’
‘It wasn’t deliberate,’ he said drily. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, perfectly.’ They regarded each other, each looking for signs that the other had been seduced to Arlenmia’s side.
‘What do you make of our gracious hostess?’
A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Page 23