Broken Mirrors

by A. F. Dery

  And now, he had at least two more servants trying to pin an attempt on his lady’s life on Eladria. Why? Was it just because he was an easy target, someone Malachi was already at odds with and thus would be likely to blame? Or was there something deeper going on?

  Malachi felt a dreadfully sick feeling the pit of his stomach as he wondered what the hell was going on.

  “Does anyone believe, with certainty, that this Nora was Eladrian, or came from that place?” he demanded.

  The two who had already spoken insisted again that she was; a third said, reluctantly and with obvious disappointment, that she thought it was “probably” true but she could not swear an oath to it, and had heard nothing herself from Nora; and the fourth said quietly that he knew nothing about this Nora and had heard nothing about Eladria from her or about her before now.

  “Interesting,” Malachi said. He issued an order to one of the sentries as he walked out into the corridor, his mind still reeling. He heard protests and the sounds of struggle as he stood by the stairwell: moments later, the man who knew nothing and the disappointed woman appeared in the corridor, looking bewildered and uncertain.

  “M-my lord,” the man stammered, hesitating. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “I need one of you to assist the healer in removing the knife from my wife’s shoulder,” Malachi explained. “The other is going with me to make some much needed arrangements with the Council.”

  “But, we did not know anything,” the woman said, sounding stunned. Malachi noted with amusement the dark scowl the man gave her, no doubt for reminding their lord of this fact.

  “It would appear my prior threat was an empty one,” Malachi said. “What the two of you decided you didn’t know was more important than what those two decided they did. They cannot be trusted, and I do not presently have the time to pry the truth out of them. It is well past time to do some housekeeping.”

  “Are you all right?” Margaret frowned in the Mirror’s direction. Elsbeth was laying on the chaise, face turned to the wall, but Margaret could see her shoulders shaking.

  When there was no reply, Margaret carefully got to her feet. She still felt an odd tingling in the hand and arm whose shoulder had been pierced by the knife, but the healer had told her that there was not likely to be any lasting damage. She imagined the pain still must be fairly intense, and though she had done her best to keep herself still, it certainly did not appear to be doing Elsbeth any good.

  Margaret moved slowly to the Mirror’s side, her brow furrowed with concern. Guilt pressed down on her heavily as she murmured, “Elsbeth?”

  The Mirror turned back to her, truly looking dreadful, the lines deep around her glazed eyes. Margaret thought with horror that it looked as though the poor woman had aged two decades since she’d first arrived.

  “My lady?” Elsbeth murmured.

  “Would it help if I could take something? Some herbs or something?” Margaret asked a little desperately.

  Elsbeth just shook her head slowly. “It would not be wise,” she said at last. “Think of the babe.”

  Margaret sighed, touching her belly. “It will be a miracle if he lives to breathe our air,” she said miserably. “It’s been one thing after another.”

  “So it has,” Elsbeth agreed distantly. “Please, my lady, if you would help me, leave me to myself. This is what I am made for. It costs me much to speak right now.”

  “All right...but if there is anything we can do for you, you’ll tell me,” Margaret said, trying to sound confident.

  The Mirror barely nodded and turned back to the wall.

  These past few days had been maddening, Margaret reflected as she returned cautiously to her bed. Lina the midwife had yet to be found, and a new midwife had been summoned. The healer Byron was, remarkably enough, still with them, though how long he would stay on to attend her, she did not know and feared to ask. He was not an unlikable fellow but it was still difficult for her to be at her ease around him the way she had been when it had only been the midwife tending to her.

  Her husband had stocked their castle with a complement of servants, and the day before, she had begun to hear the yells of soldiers training all the way from outside the courtyard. Where Malachi would have come up with either, she had no idea. It surely would have taken him more time than what had elapsed to recruit an army and a household staff.

  In any event, none of that staff had stepped foot past her bedchamber door besides the woman who had assisted Byron in removing the knife from her shoulder, days before. She was a slim, nervous looking creature with wavy brown hair cropped short, giving her the appearance of a rather gangling and fidgety lad in an apron. The very thought made Margaret smile briefly. She seemed nice enough, but spoke very little, and Margaret had yet to pry a name from her, she came and went in such haste and bustle.

  It was all very odd and she would have loved to have received an explanation for it all from her husband, but, also oddly, he had been to see her only a couple of times and only briefly since she had been stabbed, saying only in reference to all the changes going that he had “things to take care of” and he would be able to spend more time with her soon, tarrying scarcely long enough to give her a chaste kiss before hurrying onto whatever-it-was he was doing.

  The sounds of the training soldiers, alien as such noise was to her, left her with a feeling of foreboding, however. She had little doubt it had something to do with Nora’s assault of her, but she was still baffled as to why she had even been attacked in the first place. She would have loved to have discussed it with someone- at this point, anyone- but Elsbeth appeared to barely be coping now and Byron simply refused to speak of it at all.

  “No business of mine, my lady, and I’m glad of it, I won’t lie,” was all he’d say, often using the opportunity to busy himself in filling his pipe.

  Byron was, however, decidedly more communicative in telling her about life outside the castle.

  “The country’s in quite a state, my lady. The Council has been doing a decent enough job of keeping things running in these past few years, and on the whole, folk have been content enough. But there have been murmurings, down by the eastern borders. Raiders, my lady.”

  Margaret’s eyes had gone wide. “Raiders? But that’s not possible! Lyntara is two countries away and has no allies here.”

  “That is what the people are saying, my lady,” Byron insisted grimly. “Raiders. No one else wears the red and black, as they do, or has those dappled horses that run as fast the devil. They’ve been up to their usual tricks, too, razing outlying buildings to the ground, stealing cattle and, occasionally, women. Demanding ‘tributes’ and killing any who resist, or have nothing to spare them.”

  “But why?” Margaret gaped.

  “There’s only one reason the raiders ever come, my lady,” Byron said. “When Lyntara’s looking for a new holding.”

  “Surely there is some other reason,” Margaret resisted the urge to bite her nails.

  “The raiders don’t make much profit off these raids of theirs, my lady. They mainly find out if a place is worth taking, and sow the seeds of terror there to make them fall that much easier to the invading troops. If the common folk are terrified, their confidence shaken, there is little resistance, which means more profit for Lyntara when the occupation begins- more workers who survive to work for them, more supplies to funnel to their own men that weren’t wasted in shows of violence or rebellion.”

  “But we’re so far away from Lyntara! Has anyone told Edmund- that is, Lord Malachi- about this?”

  Byron shrugged a little. “The Council knows. I’d assume they’d tell his Lordship.”

  “I am not so sure,” Margaret had replied in scarcely a whisper. The knowledge of that conversation burned in her mind even now, and she wondered if she was wrong, if Malachi did know and that was the true reason her husband appeared to be raising troops after solely relying for so long on his inventions to safeguard his country.

  It
had always worked against other would-be invaders, but it was common knowledge that Lyntara was not like those other countries. Malachi rarely spoke of Eladria in Margaret’s presence, but from what little he had, it was clear that he thought of Eladrians in general as being little more than rigorously indoctrinated barbarians. But the Lyntarans were worse still. They did not fight merely due to necessity, but also for sport. They did not simply take pleasure in well honed skills on the battlefield; they took the same pleasure in conceiving death that most people took in conceiving life.

  Margaret shivered at the memory of that conversation, staring out the window into the deserted courtyard. Now more than ever, she yearned to speak with her husband, to make certain he knew of these rumors of Raiders in his- in their- country.

  If they were true...she did not even wish to consider the thought. Dark times would be upon them indeed.

  At least the High Lord will come, she thought, trying to rally. The High Lord won’t leave us to ourselves.

  “Whatever are you thinking of, wife, to have such a look on your face?” a familiar voice broke into her thoughts.

  Margaret started, turning from the window and unable to stop a wide smile from breaking across her face as her husband’s arms wrapped around her. She hugged him fiercely.

  “I’m so glad to see you!” she whispered, hating the sudden sting of tears that came to her eyes.

  “Oh, oh,” Malachi said slowly, rubbing her back. “I have been neglecting you, I know. I’m sorry, Maggie. There were some things I needed to take care of immediately, and I’ve been running every moment to get it all done.”

  “Then you’ve heard about the Raiders,” Margaret said, pulling away a little to look up into her husband’s face.

  “Yes, I just met with the Council a couple of days ago,” Malachi said grimly. “But it’s nothing you need to worry about, Maggie. I was already scouring the countryside for warm bodies and scribbling letters like mad to our allies.”

  “We have allies?” Margaret bit her lip, immediately regretting the glib remark. But Malachi smirked.

  “Of course we do. They’re compulsory in the Union, aren’t they? Why else would we even bother with the High Lord, if there were no advantage for us in it? As it is, we reach our hour of need, and they have little choice but to fall in. Although, I too have little choice but to fall in with the High Lord’s requests if I wish to reap their assistance, and he has been demanding my presence at Court for some time now.”

  “Then you must go!” Margaret exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Why do you tarry here if the High Lord wants you there?”

  Malachi sighed and touched his forehead gently to hers. “I can’t leave you like this, Maggie. It’s twice now someone’s tried to kill you, and I still don’t know who or why-”

  “Twice?” she interrupted, her brow furrowing, but he continued on hastily, “And I don’t trust our new hires any farther than I can toss them after what happened with that maidservant. And I admit, with regret in this instance, that I’m not a particularly strong man.”

  “Someone tried to kill me twice?” Margaret insisted, now pulling entirely free of her husband’s arms.

  “Hush, love, not in front of the servants,” Malachi tried, glancing pointedly at Elsbeth, who was still lying with her back to them on the chaise in the corner, not ten feet from them.

  Margaret ignored him. “I know about the stabbing, of course, but what else happened that you didn’t tell me?”

  “Really, it’s important that you don’t get upset,” Malachi tried to pat her arm but his hand met empty air.

  “You’ve been keeping things from me,” Margaret observed with a calm that she didn’t really feel.

  “Only for your peace of mind, love. You’ve been through so much, and I’m taking care of it, I promise you. It just takes time to get things arranged to my complete satisfaction. I’m trying to convince the High Lord to live without me until you deliver, at least.”

  “Has he been so insistent?” The initial flare of anger at her husband’s reticence to tell her everything was quickly snuffed out by a sudden surge of foreboding. “What does he want with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Malachi admitted. “Whatever it is, he won’t confide it in writing, at any rate. He knows I’m not one of his biggest supporters and never have been. I’ll do my duty as the Union requires it of me, of course, but I can’t help but wonder if he wants a more personal favor that requires the full force of his charm to obtain.”

  Margaret knew at the tone of Malachi’s voice that the reference to the High Lord’s “charm” was a euphemism, she was just uneasily uncertain as to what, exactly, it was a euphemism for.

  “You must go,” she said quietly. “No one thwarts him, Edmund. I’ll be fine.”

  “You may be,” Malachi said gruffly. “But I won’t be, not knowing you are here and scarcely knowing who, if anyone, can be trusted with you. I’m pretty sure of Byron at least or he wouldn’t still be here. But he’s only one man and off smoking that blasted pipe and talking the ears off our new cook more often than not. Besides, someone must teach the new troops how to handle the sentries in my absence and I’m the only one qualified.”

  “Not exactly,” Margaret said. “I don’t know as much as you do, of course, but I could teach them the basics.”

  “From your bed, my lady?” Malachi frowned suddenly. “And what are you doing on your feet, for all intents and purposes while alone?”

  Margaret shook her head at him. “It’s fine, husband, really. I feel fine. Though I’m a little worried about...” and she inclined her head towards the reposing Mirror.

  Malachi grunted. “It will be good to have this over with,” he said in a low voice.

  “It was good of the High Lord to send her, though,” Margaret reminded him.

  “Oh yes, very good, like feeding contaminated water to one who is dying of thirst.” Malachi glared darkly at the Mirror’s back.

  “She’s really not that bad,” Margaret murmured, glancing guiltily at the chaise.

  “Of course not,” Malachi said dryly, “And you know, she thinks just as much of you. That’s why she happily stood there and watched you get stabbed without lifting a finger to come to your aid.”

  “What could she have done? If she ran for help, she no longer would have been taking my pain,” Margaret pointed out reasonably. “And she doesn’t look like much of a fighter.”

  Malachi shook his head. “For pity’s sake, Maggie, don’t absolve her. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s here doing a job, and she’s one ‘gift’ that will end up being paid for twice, rest assured of that. Whatever she cost the High Lord, and then whatever the High Lord will extract from us in recompense. I don’t think much of anyone who can’t be troubled to so much as raise their voice and call for help while a pregnant woman is being attacked right in front of them!”

  Margaret bit her lip, looking away from husband and Mirror both, not knowing what to say to that. He’s right, she thought sadly. Why didn’t she at least yell for someone? At least she did follow me inside...but then, what else could she have done, especially if it looked like I might survive?

  “Oh, Margaret,” Malachi said quietly, taking both her hands in his. “Don’t look so troubled. It will be all right. Your confinement is half over, I’ll find out what the High Lord wants soon enough, and we will be much better defended at the end of it all. This entire experience has been the slap in the face I didn’t know I needed. But I did. I let myself get too absorbed for too long in my own personal interests to the detriment of other important matters, but it is not too late fix things. It will just take time and a bit of sacrifice on both our parts until everything is sorted out. If there are Raiders, they are foolish ones to come this far south when we are surrounded on all sides by allies.”

  “Is Eladria our ally?” Margaret asked quietly, still not meeting his eyes. “Would he help us if Raiders tried to run through their border?”

  Malachi was silent a m
oment. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “But I know Thane wouldn’t open his borders to Raiders even to get to me. It is too dangerous to trifle with Lyntaran interests, and the High Lord loathes them too deeply for even a dalliance to be worth the effort it would take to keep such a liaison from his eyes.” He squeezed her hands and she finally looked up at him. “It’s going to be all right, Maggie, I promise you.”

  She tried to smile but her face felt as though it were made of wax.

  Malachi did not stay long with her, citing the need to supervise certain “renovations” he was planning, but the truth was, his heart felt like lead in his chest.

  Raiders. In his country. Had things truly gotten so bad? He knew his new bride, along with some recent advances he’d made in his inventions, had been consuming his time and attention, but Raiders? Lyntara would not have bothered to send them so far from home unless they perceived his rule was cracking and splintering, unrest already fomenting for them to feed on. The Council insisted the people were, in general, satisfied with their leadership and that there had been no particular signs of such unrest.

  Things were, at least on the surface, running smoothly. He’d been content for these past few years to let the Council take care of the mundane matters of rule, reserving only the right to overrule them if he chose- and he never had. The elders of the Five Provinces of his country sat on the Council, along with an equal number of people he had chosen himself to represent his own vision of his country’s future. There had been no serious conflict between any of them.

  Those at Court thought him mad to dream up such an arrangement, to hand out so much power. Mad, or just plain lazy. But it worked, or so he thought. Was this structure crumbling and the Council refusing to admit to it?

  For the truth was...they had said nothing to him about Raiders. He wondered if they ought to convene again, if they had been keeping it from him for some nefarious purpose or if they had simply dismissed the rumors as being just that.

  My days have grown dark indeed, he thought to himself as he emerged into the courtyard. Just when did everything in my life go straight to hell?