Transferring to the mug took but the blink of an eye, but from there the thief moved with caution. Not only might the mug wobble, but the child just might wake because of his nearness.
Slowly Vandor Grizt rose from the water. Head and arms floated above, a misty layer below them. Concentrating on maintaining his partially solid form, Vandor stretched his left hand forward, seizing the nearest drawer handle.
With some difficulty, he searched the first two drawers, returning quickly to the safety of his chill realm whenever the burning grew hot enough to threaten him. Unfortunately, Vandor found nothing in either drawer, and the time he had wasted irritated him. Determined, the spectral thief reached for the third.
A high squeak from the drawer made him freeze.
In her bed, the young girl turned over, mumbling. Vandor vanished into the reflection, then, when he felt the water rock, jumped swiftly into the mirror on the other side of the room. From there he watched as the child sat up and drank from the mug. The thief silently cursed; if she finished the water, he would have no method by which to reach the cabinet again.
At that moment he noticed the brooch in her hair.
That a child would wear a brooch in bed seemed odd enough, but the piece looked valuable, making Vandor all the more curious. He waited in frustration as the girl finally put the mug down and lay back on the bed. He waited until she had fallen asleep, then, with one last look at her face, shifted back to the container.
The remaining water barely covered the bottom of the cup, but it served for one with no corporeal form. Pushing himself, Vandor managed to get as much as half his torso above the mug. Gently he leaned over and studied the brooch as closely as he could. Eyes accustomed to darkness had little trouble making out the various details of the jewelry. A ruby sat in the midst of two warring griffons of gold, their diamond eyes glaring at one another. A kingfisher flew above, sword and shield in its talons. Tiny encrusted points thrust out from every edge of the item, which resembled a miniature sunburst. The brooch was valuable purely in terms of coin; Vandor knew it was invaluable to him. He stared at the child’s bauble with the eyes of one who has seen the culmination of a lifetime quest.
He had found the Arcyan Crest.
Why Prester would keep so valuable an object, even if he did not know its true nature, on the person of a small child, Vandor could not say. Sentiment, perhaps. Assuming that the former red robe did not know its magical history, he might have given it to the child as some heirloom from her mother. Had not Prester’s wife come from royal lineage. . possibly even descended from Arcya?
All that mattered to the thief of mirrors was that he now beheld the one object that might prompt Mendel to grant him his freedom. To walk again among men, to kiss a fair damsel, drink a little ale, and pick a pocket or two. . But first he had to steal the brooch from the child.
Already his body sweltered from heat. Wisps of smoke rose from his fingers. However, Vandor Grizt did not return to the water in the mug. He could not wait any longer for his freedom. His tapering fingers gently lifted the brooch so he could undo the clasp. Another second or two and he had the Arcyan Crest free. Child’s play! he thought to himself, admiring his own pun even as the pain, coursing through his body, began to overwhelm him.
Holding the crest close to him, he dove into the watery reflection, then from there to the mirror across the room. True mirrors gave him a swifter path back, and with a treasure of this nature Vandor desired the swiftest path possible. The longer the artifact remained with him in this chilling realm, the more peril there was. Real objects lasted only a little longer in the mirror realm than he could last outside the mirror, only they froze where he burned.
“Mama’s jewel. .”
Vandor Grizt stiffened in the mirror. The little girl, blonde hair half obscuring her features, stared back at him from across the room, an indecipherable expression on her delicate features. She pointed at him, at the crest he held, in a manner so accusing that the thief felt she could see him with strange clarity.
Flee, you fool! he told himself. No force held him here save astonishment, and he could not afford that now. Grizt thought of Mendel’s cursed mirror, knowing full well that to think of it meant to take the first step in returning.
Yet, even more astonishingly, he remained in the child’s room.
“Give me Mama’s jewel!”
Suddenly the thief found himself dragged toward the mirror. The Arcyan Crest-the young girl’s brooch- struggled to free itself from his grasp. Try as he might, Vandor could not keep his hands from passing through the glass.
The realization struck him. The little girl was a mage! Small wonder to him now that Prester had given her the crest. Prester must have seen his daughter’s talent, a rarity since the Chaos War. The crest would only increase her abilities.
The child continued to glare accusingly at him, but Vandor fought back fiercely. If he forfeited the artifact then not only would he lose his one hope of gaining his freedom but Mendel would punish him horribly.
The war of wills continued. Grizt’s arms were extended completely from the mirror but no farther. The battle might have gone on for the rest of the night if not for the inevitable. The thief’s hands, then his arms, began to smoke. Before Vandor’s very eyes, his fingers, his expert, thieving fingers, blackened. The skin peeled away, then the muscle began to burn, revealing darkening bone. Yet, despite the incredible agony, the horror, Vandor Grizt refused to yield.
He heard a minute gasp, then felt himself falling backward head over heels. He was unable to orient himself for a moment. Slowly it occurred to him what had happened: the child had noted his terrible fate. She couldn’t help but allow her concentration to lapse, not only saving him but enabling him to escape.
Escape to where, though? Vandor blinked, seeing that now he stood on the inside of a mirror in a familiar chamber-Lady Elspeth’s. He knew it to be hers for suddenly the noblewoman gasped, dropped a small hand mirror, and turned his way. However, Vandor had already disappeared, the power of Mendel’s sinister looking glass pulling him away. He found it astonishing that he had been cast into a foreign mirror without his knowledge, or the wizard’s permission. Or Lady Elspeth’s. . although Vandor might be condemned to be a phantom, still his thoughts sometimes turned to solid flesh. He had marked the beauty of Lady Elspeth. That desire must have been present when he had been cast loose by the startled girl.
To hold such a woman. .
That dream might at last be within his reach, he realized. In his hands he still held the Arcyan Crest. All he had to do was bring it to Mendel, who would be so pleased with him that he would at last grant Vandor Grizt a return to his body. .
An intense cold radiated from his hands.
“By Shinare, no!” Vandor knew exactly what the bone-numbing cold preceded. He pictured Mendel’s mirror, hoping he still had time.
Mendel’s chamber came into view. Vandor reached out, trying to thrust the Arcyan Crest through the mirror.
The artifact faded in his hands, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Vandor Grizt felt like screaming. His vindictive master would let him burn long and hard for this, no doubt saving the thief of mirrors only at the last moment, assigning him yet another impossible task. Vandor could suffer that torture gladly if he didn’t fear that this time Mendel might destroy his mortal body. After being preserved magically for so many decades, Grizt’s body would decay rapidly once Mendel released the spell.
To be so close to achieving freedom. .
He shook his head, trying to think. Vandor could do only one thing, a desperate measure, but all that remained to try. He could tell his master that he had not yet found the artifact. It would buy Grizt some time, staving off the inevitable. If Mendel thought the Arcyan Crest still existed, he would not punish his slave too severely. If he thought the crest was nearly within reach. .