The Spriggan Mirror

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Gresh frowned. “Do you think Kaligir will agree to my terms?” he asked Tira.

  “How should I know?”

  “Did they think he would?”

  “Yes—but I don’t think they know him very well.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So how will you find the mirror?” Twilfa asked. “That spriggan you talked to didn’t know where it is.”

  “That’s not the only spriggan in the World.”

  “That’s sort of the point,” Tira remarked.

  “You know, there must be some way to kill them,” Twilfa said. “Maybe not a natural one, but magic can do almost anything. Couldn’t a demon eat one, or a warlock’s magic squash one?”

  “Maybe,” Gresh said. “And there may well be wizardry that can destroy them—but the cure might be worse than the disease. Maybe that spell that killed Empress Tabaea could kill spriggans, but from what I’ve heard the spell could have destroyed the World if it hadn’t been stopped. Even if we knew how to kill them, if they don’t die naturally and that confounded mirror keeps spitting out more.... I want to find the mirror and put an end to it, so we don’t wind up in the middle of an everlasting war against the little pests.”

  Twilfa shuddered.

  “So when you find the mirror, what are you going to do with it?” Tira asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gresh admitted.

  “Will you give it to Tobas?” Twilfa asked.

  “I told you, I don’t know. I barely know the man.”

  “Does Dina? Being a wizard and all.”

  “I don’t know—and I want to talk to Dina, in any case. I need to know more about the magic involved. Maybe she can give me some idea what Tobas has in mind. Twilfa, could you....”

  “I’ll go,” Tira said.

  Gresh looked at her in surprise. “I thought you and Dar had business this afternoon.”

  “It can wait.”

  “Well, that’s...that’s very generous of you. I can certainly use Twilfa here at the shop. I’m going to assume that Kaligir will agree to my terms. I’ll start my preparations for a trip to the Small Kingdoms.”

  “Is there anyone else I should find for you?”

  Gresh took a moment to think. He saw no obvious use for a warlock or a demonologist, so there was no reason to call on Difa or Shesta. He had already spoken to Chira. Pyata was the family theurgist; Karanissa had mentioned the odd fact that the gods couldn’t perceive spriggans at all, just as they sometimes couldn’t see warlocks or demons. Pyata had once said the same, so she wouldn’t be any help in dealing with the little nuisances, but she might be able to advise him about travel plans—the gods were usually reliable at predicting the weather, for example, and this time of year he wasn’t sure what temperatures to expect in the mountains.

  That was hardly urgent, though, and besides, Tira’s husband Dar was a theurgist, as well, and could handle such simple matters.

  He didn’t need any new clothes, nor any sort of expertise with fabrics or sewing, so there was no reason to talk to Ekava. Neva was at sea somewhere, not due back for a sixnight. The city guard had no business in the Small Kingdoms, so Deka would be no help. He would probably be bringing some healing herbs and perhaps a few interesting intoxicants along, but he would need to check his own stocks before troubling Setta, the herbalist. Her husband Neran the ship chandler might have some useful supplies if Gresh needed to climb around in the mountains, but that could wait until his plans were a little more advanced.

  That left Akka, the ritual dancer, four years younger than Gresh.

  “Don’t go out of your way, but if you see Akka or her husband, you could tell her I could use a dance of good fortune.”

  “If I see Akka, maybe. If I talk to Tresen he’ll want to know what you’re planning and whether he can help.”

  “Good point. Don’t tell Tresen anything, then, but if you see Akka....”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  “You might ask Dar about the weather in Dwomor for the next few sixnights when you get home.”

  “I’d be happy to. It’s off to Wizard Street, then. Take care, little brother.” She rose from the table, and with a wave over her shoulder she headed for the back door.

  Gresh and Twilfa watched her go. Once the door was closed, Twilfa leaned over and asked, “Why is she being so helpful? She wasn’t this morning.”

  “Didn’t you hear her? I’m going to save the World. I think she likes the idea. You know what witches are like, always looking for ways to do good and insisting they don’t care about money. Here’s a chance for her to help her greedy brother do something really useful, instead of just fetching oddities for wizards.” He grimaced. “Not to mention that even witches are getting fed up with the spriggans.”

  “Oh. Oh, I suppose so.” Twilfa glanced at the door just as the front bell jingled. She hopped up to answer it.

  Gresh did not rise. Twilfa could handle ordinary business, and she would call him if he was needed. Right now he wanted to think about what he should bring to Dwomor.

  He had already decided that Dwomor would be the first stop; that seemed to be where everything had started. He intended to travel by flying carpet, if the one Tobas had was large enough; that would be much faster than anything else available. If it wasn’t large enough, well—he would deal with that if it became necessary. That meant he could not bring very many bags, and it also meant he couldn’t travel alone. Tobas would, of necessity, be coming with him, since Gresh did not know how to operate a flying carpet and could hardly expect Tobas to trust him with it in any case. That was not a problem; Tobas would probably be useful, and it shouldn’t be very hard to distract him on any occasion Gresh did not want company.

  He would not bring anything wizardly, then—that would be Tobas’s responsibility. He would want to discuss that with him and make sure the wizard had all the ingredients he needed for any spells he knew that might be helpful.

  He would have Chira’s talisman to help him spot movement. Now, were there any other sorcerous devices he might bring? He had a handful in the shop, but half of them were not functioning. After some thought he decided that the other half didn’t have any obvious applications for this expedition.

  He would need to bring money and his usual assortment of tools, and since he was undoubtedly going to be dealing with spriggans, he thought some snares would be useful. He would also bring a bag of candy—he had heard that spriggans liked honey-drops.

  He had a set of snares and nets intended for catching rabbits or hawks, but they should serve well enough for spriggans.

  Were there any particular trade goods that might be useful in mountainous country? Nothing came immediately to mind.

  He mulled over possibilities for several minutes, until Twilfa called him to help a customer whose needs were somewhat esoteric, and who did not trust a teenaged assistant to meet them.

  Trade was brisk for the next hour or so, and he became so involved in conducting his normal business that Dina’s arrival caught him by surprise. “What can I get for you?” he asked, before he remembered that he had sent for her.

  “A less troublesome brother,” she replied.

  He smiled crookedly and gestured for her to follow him to the chairs by the fire. “Well, I’m afraid the supply is limited, and we’ll just have to see if we can modify the one you have, rather than replace him. I’m sorry, Dina; thank you for coming. I hope the transmutation spell went well?”

  “I haven’t done it,” she said. “It takes eight hours, so I have to do it at night, when I won’t be interrupted. I don’t have an apprentice to stand guard, not since Inria made journeyman.”

  “Oh, of course. I hope it will go well, then.” He gestured for her to sit.

  She remained standing. “What did you want me for, Gresh?”

  Gresh glanced around. Twilfa was making change for the last of the other customers over at the far side of the shop. The vault was standing open, and the fire was burning low, but otherwise every
thing was in order. No one appeared to be listening in—though of course someone might be using a scrying spell on them. The shop was warded against such spells, but no ward was perfect.

  “Have a seat, please, Dina; I have some questions I need to ask you.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “To begin with, tell me everything you know about Lugwiler’s Haunting Phantasm.”

  “Lugwiler’s...? You know the basics, don’t you? It’s a third-order invocation requiring a mirror, black sand, spider’s ichor, a rat’s eyeball, three crow feathers, the long outside bone from a bat’s left wing, and the wizard’s own saliva.” She made a surreptitious gesture indicating that there was another ingredient she was not listing, which did not surprise Gresh. He knew that most spells used the wizard’s dagger somehow, and that for some reason this was not ordinarily mentioned. She settled into the chair, still speaking. “It’s generally used as a minor curse and has no obvious other use, though it’s always possible someone might think of one. It’s handy in that it doesn’t require anything from the intended victim, not even a true name, though in normal usage it won’t take effect until a line of sight is established between the victim and the enchanted mirror. It can be triggered by a command from the wizard when he sees that connection, or set as a booby-trap for the next person who happens into the mirror’s effective area. Why are you asking me this?”

  “Because I’ve been asked to retrieve a mirror that was used in a failed attempt at it,” he said, taking the other chair. “Are there known ways it can fail?”

  “Well, yes, of course—it can dissipate harmlessly, or attach the curse to the wizard instead of the intended victim, or detonate the mirror, which wouldn’t leave anything to retrieve.”

  “Detonate?”

  “Explode. Shards of glass or metal everywhere. One of Dabran’s apprentices did that once and almost took out her own eye, not to mention smashing assorted jars and a good lamp and scaring Dabran’s cat half to death.”

  Gresh nodded. “It’s supposed to produce a phantasm, right? A monstrous little creature that only the victim can see?”

  “Well, an image, anyway. No one’s entirely sure just what the phantasm itself truly is—whether it’s a living creature or a malign spirit or a minor demon or an illusion or what, or whether it’s really where the victim sees it, assuming he’s seeing something real to begin with. One theory is that what the spell actually does is affect the victim’s vision so that he’s catching glimpses of another reality, one inhabited by these hideous little things. Another is that the creatures, whatever they are, are all around us all the time, and what the spell does is to let the victim see things that are normally invisible to us. Mostly, though, we assume it’s just an illusion, that the spell plays tricks on the victim’s mind.”

  “What do the phantasms look like?”

  “How should I know?”

  “You’ve never seen one?”

  “No one’s ever had a reason to put a curse on me, thank you very much, dear brother.”

  “But you learned the spell as an apprentice, didn’t you?”

  She glared at him. “As it happens, no, I didn’t. Have I ever bought rat’s eyeballs from you? I’ve read about it, and I got the formula in a trade with Sensella of the Isle, but I’ve never tried it—Dabran’s apprentice, whatever her name was, made me wary. And even if I had, if I did it properly I wouldn’t see the phantasm.”

  That was mildly inconvenient. Gresh had hoped to get every detail of the spell, perhaps see it performed, in order to give him more background, and it appeared Dina couldn’t readily provide that. She did have the formula, but trying a new spell always carried some risk. He was sure she wouldn’t do it unless he paid for it.

  Of course, he could count that as a research expense and charge Tobas and the Guild for it. He might resort to that.

  “So it can dissipate, or explode, or hit the wrong target,” he said. “Has it ever produced something other than the expected phantasm, that you know of?”

  “Well, now, who knows what the expected phantasm is? For all we know, every victim might be seeing something different. Most of the victims don’t compare notes, and the descriptions usually boil down to, ‘Oh, ick!’ They mostly involve hair and claws and eyes, but don’t get into a lot of specifics—for one thing, the victim usually only sees the phantasm from the corner of her eye, and it’s gone when she looks for it.”

  “Someone could try it twice and see whether they get the same image.”

  “They could. Maybe someone has. I haven’t, and no one’s ever mentioned it to me. This isn’t a spell that gets a great deal of attention, Gresh.”

  “Well, perhaps it should. It appears that on one occasion it did produce something else, instead of a phantasm.”

  “And they want you to recover that particular mirror to see if they can do it again?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It probably won’t work—that spell has half a dozen deliberate variables in it, depending on exactly how you want the curse to operate, as well as all the usual ways to mess it up. The mirror probably isn’t what mattered.”

  Gresh hesitated, debating whether to explain in more detail what he was after, but then decided against it, at least for the moment. Instead he asked, “How do you get rid of Lugwiler’s Phantasm?”

  “It depends how you set it up in the first place. If you had any sense, you made it conditional—it would work until the victim did something, such as apologize, and then it would end by itself. Or it would only work so long as the victim stayed in a particular area, or carried a specific object—then you wouldn’t need a countercharm.”

  “But suppose it wasn’t conditional.”

  Dina sighed. “Let me think. Casting Javan’s Restorative on the victim should work.”

  “Would the victim need to cooperate for that?”

  “To the extent of being present and not interfering in the preparation, yes—though it might be possible to use his true name instead.” She frowned. “I wouldn’t want to try it that way, though; it’s a seventh- or eighth-order spell, and I don’t like improvising at that level. It can be put in a potion or talisman, though, and if the victim drinks the potion or invokes the talisman....”

  “I don’t think that will work in this case, Dina. Are there any other countercharms?”

  “I don’t know. A Spell of Reversal might do it. They say that works on almost anything.”

  “Spell of Reversal? I don’t think I know that one.”

  “That’s because the only difficult ingredient in the usual version is hair from a stillborn child; everything else is simple, basic stuff like candles and water and shiny stones that nobody would bother to pay your prices for. Besides, it must be tenth-order or worse; I can’t do it, and not many wizards can.”

  “So how does it work?”

  “It reverses a process or undoes a spell, so if you’re quick enough and a good enough wizard you can undo some of your worst mistakes. There are rumors it’s even been able to raise the dead if the timing’s just right. You can make a broken jar unbreak itself, a knife unrust, blood flow back into a wound, or a river run uphill. But it doesn’t reverse it permanently—after half an hour or so it wears off and the natural flow is restored. If you’ve reversed it back to before the process started you can try to prevent it happening again—put the jar somewhere safe, keep the knife dry, bandage the wound—but the natural order returns, and that river’s going to run downhill again, the wound is going to bleed, and you can’t stop it.”

  “So how would that work on Lugwiler’s Haunting Phantasm?”

  “I’m not sure it would—but if it did, and you used it quickly enough, you might be able to undo the spell, reverse the process to before the mirror was enchanted, and make it as if it was never cast. Or at least make the victim not have looked at the mirror, or whatever.”

  Gresh nodded thoughtfully; that sounded like a stupendously useful spell. The ability to rever
se anything? That could have a thousand applications.

  Tenth-order, though—and it probably took hours to prepare....

  “Can it be put in a potion or talisman?”

  “Not a potion; you cast it on a process, not a person, so a potion wouldn’t work. Maybe it would work in a talisman or a powder; I don’t know.”

  Gresh was about to ask who might know more when the doorbell jingled. He glanced over toward Twilfa, who was opening the door, and her expression prevented him from continuing the conversation. He rose.

  “Tell your master that Kaligir of the New Quarter is here to see him,” said the new arrival, as he stepped across the threshold.

  Chapter Seven

  Gresh arranged his features into his most welcoming smile as he crossed the front room to greet the thin man in elaborate robes. The wizard was almost as tall as he was, even without counting the shiny black cap he wore.

  “Master Kaligir!” he said. “What a pleasure!”

  The wizard looked at him, then cocked his head to one side and said, “I was going to question that, but on further consideration it probably is a pleasure for you—my presence means we haven’t rejected your terms out of hand.” He glanced around, and nodded at Twilfa. “Your assistant?”

  “Yes—my sister, Twilfa of Ethshar.” That was the name he used for her when talking to patrons. At home or in other contexts, she had always been Twilfa the Helpful.

  “And is that Dina the Wizard? One of your customers?”

  “Another of my sisters, Master.”

  Dina rose and bowed. “I can go if you would prefer, Guildmaster.”

  “Stay. Sit. We may need a neutral party.”

  Dina sat. Gresh kept smiling, but did not like the sound of Kaligir’s words.

  “Shall I go?” Twilfa asked, gesturing toward the passage to the kitchen and looking back and forth between the two men.

  Gresh looked questioningly at Kaligir.

  “It’s your house,” the wizard said. “I’m sure you have a way for her to listen in, and of course you might just tell her everything afterward, so please yourself.”