“Until Yachne summoned him.”
“Yes. This Kerovan, he is a sorcerer also?”
“Kerovan has, in the past, wielded the magic of the ancient gryphon-lord, Landisl,” Eydryth said. “But he cannot rely upon Landisl’s Power. He has abilities of his own, true, but whether they would prove enough to best one like Yachne…” She shuddered. “She is mad, Alon.”
“Yes.”
“If we cannot stop her, we must at least warn Kerovan of his danger!”
“I agree,” Alon said. “But for us to essay this Gate will take some doing. I have never opened one before.”
“Did Hilarion teach you to do so?”
“He taught me the principles involved. But he warned me against such an action, reminding me of the time that he opened a Gate, entered another world, then found himself trapped and enslaved for thousands of our years.”
Eydryth remembered that Alon had mentioned such before, and bit her lip. “But to be able to step from one place to another—one land to another, in a single heartbeat—we must chance it! We have no hope of catching her, else.”
“I know,” he said heavily. “Let me study how this can be accomplished, while you pack our gear and prepare as hearty as a meal as possible. Using the Power drains the energy… food will offset that loss by a small measure.”
Eydryth nodded, and, in the grey light of predawn, went to do as he bade. She found that she was too upset to have much appetite, but forced herself to eat, not knowing when they would have the chance again. Alon chewed and swallowed mechanically, never taking his eyes from the portal, occasionally muttering snatches of arcane words beneath his breath, as if trying them out.
“Eydryth,” he said, as the sun’s rising flushed the snowcapped peaks that towered above them to the east with crimson, “lend me that talisman you bear, please.”
“Talisman…” she repeated uncertainly; then, following his gaze, she drew her gryphon-hilted sword with its two bits of quan-iron embedded for eyes. “Here.”
“There are ways and ways to open Gates,” the young Adept said, “but since this one is made of crystal, I believe that it may be activated by sound. Crystals give off musical notes when struck.” So saying, he tapped the center of the mirrored surface with the gryphon’s head. A clear, ringing tone filled the air—a note holding some of the same eerieness as the faintly heard sound that had awakened the songsmith last night.
“Mmmmmmm…” Alon sang, trying, without notable success, to match that tone. Not only was his voice too deep, his sense of pitch and key were far off the mark. He frowned, then turned to his companion. “My lady, can you sing that note?”
“It is high,” she said, consideringly, “and I am an alto. But perhaps… Strike it again, please.”
He did so, and Eydryth raised her voice. She fell far short of her goal. “I have not sung in days,” she said, “but perhaps if I warm up…”
“Try,” he urged.
The songsmith attempted several scales, and then, in a few minutes, when her throat improved, sang several songs to exercise her range. Alon grinned as she finished with “The One-Spell Wizard.”
“Let us hope that I have more than one spell to my name,” he said dryly.
“Strike the crystal again,” the bard ordered, and when he did so, her voice soared up, matching the note perfectly.
As Eydryth’s voice hung in the air, the crystal glowed violet, bathing Alon’s face and hands in its light. Something flashed outward from its surface, and he exclaimed with surprise to find himself holding a perfectly formed crystal, clear on one end, amethyst on the other. And yet, Eydryth realized with amazement, as she let the sound die away, the surface of the mirror remained unmarred!
“What is it?” she asked, as he examined the mirror’s gift, holding it up to the sunlight so that it made prisms across his features.
“Our key for unlocking this Gate,” he said. “I only hope it works. Monso!” he called, and the Keplian, snorting warily, came over to him.
Alon reached out and caught the creature’s long, thick forelock, then quickly began twisting and twining the horsehair around the crystal to anchor it against the stallion’s forehead. “What are you doing?” Eydryth asked curiously.
“I won’t leave Monso behind,” he said. “We will need him, if we are to catch up with Yachne, who is traveling afoot.”
Finally he was done, and the mirror’s gift rested within a little bag twined from horsehair that hung between Monso’s eyes. Alon then swung up into the saddle, offering a hand to the songsmith. He still held her quarterstaff in his right hand.
“When I sound the note,” he instructed, “you must sing it, holding it as long as possible—no matter what you may see or feel, do not, I entreat you, stop, or all our lives may be forfeit!”
“I understand,” she said steadily.
Urging Monso forward with his legs, Alon reached out toward the mirror. But the Keplian shied back from the strange surface, snorting. “Easy, easy lad,” he soothed the beast. “I know that this is passing strange, but you must stand steady while I strike!”
Twice more did Alon urge the stallion forward, only to have him shy away at the last moment. “Monso!” Alon commanded, a commanding ring to his voice. “Get hup!”
The half-bred took a final reluctant step forward, to stand so close to the crystal surface that his breath misted across it like a cloud. Alon struck the surface with the gryphon’s head, and Eydryth matched the tone and held it—
—held it—
—then saw before her the mirror’s surface change, glow, as it became misty… translucent. “Go!” yelled Alon, bending down and slapping the stallion’s neck hard.
With a startled grunt the Keplian surged forward, his sudden leap nearly unseating Eydryth. Almost her voice faltered, but she forced herself not to waver.
Before her the Keplian’s forehooves disappeared into the amethyst smoke, then his muzzle, neck, shoulders… Eydryth closed her eyes as the mist struck her face, bringing with it a vast dizziness and disorientation.
But she held the note steady, despite it all, and a moment later felt beneath her the shock of Monso’s hooves striking solid rock.
They were in the witch’s cavern.
With a sobbing breath, the songsmith finally relinquished the crystal’s note, and gazed around her in despair. “Where are we? I thought we would go where Yachne went!”
Alon turned Monso, careful of the surrounding stone walls, to gaze at the mirror within the cavern. “To do that, we must go through that mirror,” he said, sounding so exhausted that Eydryth wondered how he managed to sit upright upon the Keplian.
“Then let us go!” she urged.
He shook his head grimly. “At the moment, I do not believe that would be the wisest course,” he said quietly.
“Whyever not?” she demanded, wanting to shake him in her impatience to warn her foster-father of his danger. “We must save Kerovan! We can’t afford to waste time!”
“Do not forget that she is walking, while we will be riding,” he reminded her. “And after such a major feat of sorcery as opening not one, but two Gates, I feel sure that Yachne must needs rest for today.” Alon sighed wearily. “But, my lady, those are not my two most pressing reasons for wanting to wait.”
“Then what are they?”
“This is the first,” Alon said, and, dropping Monso’s reins, made a pass through the air with the quarter staff and muttered beneath his breath. He was using, Eydryth thought, the same words as Yachne had voiced.
Obediently the mirror came to life, glowing with a sickly blackish-purple radiance that made Eydryth turn her head awaywith a cry of dismay. “This mirror represents the Dark-side of the moon-crystal we leaped through. For us to use it to get to Arvon may be exceedingly dangerous.”